Holders of the heart...

“We make a living by what we get, but

we make a life by what we give.”

- Winston Churchill

I just finished reading John Grishom’s  ‘Bleachers,’ the story of a group of ex high school football players returning to the scene of their early glory years. They have “…come home again…” because the most influential person in their lives, Eddy Rake, the most winning coach in the history of their the mythical town of Messina, is on his deathbed.  The protagonist, All American Neely Crenshaw comes back after 15 years for reasons that provide a little tension to the story.

I liked the book, for reasons that will emerge below. It was an easy read and equally easy to visualize my mind’s eye. Out of curiosity, I thought I would look at reviews from people that had also read it.

Flipping through the ‘1 to 5 star ratings,’ a pattern reminiscent of junior high school dances emerged. The girls metaphorically standing on one side of the gym thought the story, on balance, was trite, fairly shallow and a waste of a weekend’s attempt at relaxation.

The boys on the ‘other side of the gym’ basically loved the book and identified with the sense of male bonding that happens in the ‘warrior battles’ of high school athletics. One might argue for many men who played high school sport, these were some of the best years of their lives.  This can be seen at high school reunions where extra attention is given to the greying hair and ever expanding waistlines of former players.

On the other hand, I have an older sister that has been meeting with a number of girlfriends from high school on a regular basis for decades. She and the girls are in their 70s, and for all my attempts to understand what draws them together, it is illusive at best. Apparently they just like each other without an obvious common bond other than friendship. Maybe there is something to the ‘Mars’ and ‘Venus’ thing.

This piece, however, is not about gender specific bonding experiences; it is about the voices in our heads, from incidental or deliberate sources that continue to guide our lives. We have all had influential people (for better or worse) with whom we interacted, whose images have taken up residence in our minds, and remain to this day.

In Grishom’s book several of the players recount, as they huddle quietly together in the stands at the football field, brief stories of how Eddie Rake’s voice continued to resonate so strongly that years later it stoked the fires of fierce drive for survival and success or festered a sense of failure and betrayal, acting as a barrier to personal forgiveness and freedom.

My influential voices…

All of this led me to think of the voices from days gone by that continue to play in my mind…the voices that come and go…sometimes with encouragement and others in condemnation.

For example, I still the hear voices of:

The girl who first said, “I love you.” A voice to which I still feel a gently indescribable warmth ripple through my mind.

My father who by word and deed imparted the importance of duty…the undeniable truth that emergence from the darkness comes by putting one’s head down and taking the next step…and the one after that…and the one after that.

My mother…from the Bible and other stories that came to me as a child. Today when I read the Psalms or the Proverbs or hear those stories – God’s voice sounds just like my mother – apologies to the Almighty.

My younger, late sister Nancy who was my best friend and a single parent, fiercely faced every day never ceasing to encourage almost everyone she met. She often emerges when I need her the most.

My Aunt Nellie, Jim Priester, Harold Duvall, Walden Skinner, Garth Russell, Vert Mooney, Betty Lou Knapp, Griff Fowler, Tom Newbrough, Bill Reppert, June Stout, Theora Bell, Eddie Baker, Mattie Belzer, John Schram, Lizzie Keller, Paul Flicker…all people for whom ‘success encouragement’ was just the way they lived their lives.

John Toothman, my best high school friend, Bob Yund my closest friend in Vietnam, David Price an honest “..don’t give me any BS…” Army buddy.

These names will mean nothing to most of you, but like the cast of characters residing in your minds, they all have had unseen influence.  

There are, of course, other not so edifying voices that have taken residence, but I don't assign them any credits and do my best to keep them locked up in their rooms.

Maybe there was one…

I don’t really have an ‘Eddie Rake’ that drove himself so forcefully into the minds of the youngsters of his football teams.

The most influential for me…the director of personalities living in the boardinghouse of my mind would be my mother.

While I understand she is simply an image in my mind, I still find myself wanting to please that gentle, quietly powerful, and loving soul.

We are, as has been said, an accumulation of all the people with whom we have interacted. Of that I have little doubt.

If you and I find ourselves on the ‘Bleachers’ of life some day, I look forward to sharing a story or two about those folks who still live within the confines of my mine…

ted

So it begins - or not...

“I am always doing that which

I cannot do, in order that I

may learn how to do it.”

- Pablo Picasso

“You need to get into a small support group,” she said.

I was uncomfortable hearing these words. Confronting them would cause me to ‘take the step’ I was uncertain that I could.

“Look,” Rosemary continued, “People that tell you they can do this all alone with no help or feedback from others, are simply not being honest.”

I was feeling the pressure.

A little background…

Like a lot of people, I suppose, I have done a little writing in my life. I actually never kept a diary, or wrote anything that was not assigned in school until…until I found myself in Vietnam in 1969-70.  My friend John had suggested I keep a journal of things that happened that year, but I had not done much writing and things seemed to happen so fast there...the journal didn't happen.

During that year, however, I found the loneliness of so suddenly being transported to a land and culture for which I had no frame of reference, in combination with few anchor points, led to writing thoughts in the form of short poems and observations.

Things would bubble to the surface, from time to time, that were so troubling, I felt compelled to record my feelings. Of course, I never revealed my true feelings, but masked them in metaphor and cloaked meaning, just in case someone else happened to read them.

Over the years the habit continued, meaning there were things that passed by and through my life I felt compelled to write about. Most of these things were in notebooks that I didn’t keep. I suspect I felt it was the ‘momentary’ experience that counted…the experience of exploring the thoughts in writing.

The few times, I tried to write a book, I would start something…get a few pages in and simply run out of gas. Finding a story to tell seemed completely out of reach. It wasn’t just the ‘blank’ page into which I would stare; it was a blank mind preceding the blank page. Somehow I thought if I just sat in front of the computer long enough, something would come...they didn't! 

There were NEVER aspirations of writing the next great American Novel; it was just the desire to tell a story in writing.

Do something more...
In the fall of 2010, in Turkey, I finally decided enough was enough. The tension of the desire to write and the fear of failing tipped in favor of writing. That fall, I started writing ‘It’s a Big Life’ blog on the web.  There is no way to express how difficult starting that project was.

I told myself that writing would help me gain a better understanding of who I am (it has). I also thought that if I consistently wrote, it would help me find a broader voice and a longer narrative in the form of a book (it hasn’t). At the time, I had NO IDEA how much or even what I would write.  

As it turned out, I found myself churning out a blog every single week. I thought it would be easier as the weeks passed (it hasn’t). Every week the blank screen says,

“Seriously, do you think you have anything to say??”

In the spring of 2013, at Molly’s recommendation, I attended a writer’s workshop at our local library. She knew the angst I go through and suggested being around other writers might help the process.

Over the past two years a couple of things have happened. The first is that our workshop leader encouraged me to compile the blogs into collections, leading to two published books: Life in Small Bites – moments in time in 2014 and Life around the Edges – a winding road in 2015.  The second thing is that I have begun to consider actually writing a novel by myself. 

I say by myself, because I started a couple with my friend Bob in Texas, but after each story got going, our collective creative tanks seemed to empty out.

I have tried not to talk about the desire to write a book, because of the fear that I won’t be able to ‘find a story’ to tell. It’s not that there is a burning passion to write, but rather wondering whether I am capable of stretching a narrative long enough to actually tell a coherent story.

Forcing the issue…

I found myself floating the idea to some of my workshop colleagues, but hedging my bets by saying I was just ‘thinking about it’…hence my conversation with Rosemary who, by the way, is an accomplished and successful writer of historical fiction.

“I like your blogs. You seem to know how to do that. Now it’s time to step it up and write something longer. Remember, we all need help.”

           

So now I find myself in the situation of either doing this or not. In some ways the mountain seems insurmountable, on the other hand I know that when you openly confess fear or doubt, much of the battle has been won.

So, to the readers of this blog I confess my doubts and declare I have begun a novel. It may not see the light of day, but that is not the goal here. The goal is to face the discomfort…the blank page…the brain that unconsciously says, “No you can’t” and make the effort to consciously say, “Yes I can.”

As I find a group to work with, the blogs will continue, just know so will my angst….

- ted

Unexpected pleasures...

“With a library it is easier to hope for serendipity

than to look for a precise answer.”

- Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket),

When did you see her last?

He was sitting on a brown colored couch ten feet from the down stairs escalator and a few feet away from the luggage carousel.  

To his left was a ceiling mounted closed circuit television displaying exiting passengers some 150 feet before the down staircase and escalator to the airport exit. The approaching images on the screen gave those waiting with limousines, flowers and simple ‘welcome home’ hugs time to be on their feet when the person they awaited descended to luggage areas 6 & 7.

Had I not misunderstood his schedule, I would have been standing there, but I was late so there he sat.

When he saw me, he leaned forward for a little momentum and stood up.

“Well Ted, you look just about the same.”

We both smiled knowing this is the sort of things people say to one another when it has been several years from the last visit.

The truth is, aside from being a little slower from more than eight and a half decades on the planet, he did look pretty much the same.  At this age, he is still in demand as a practicing physician.

“I have had bilateral knees done, so I use this cane for a little balance,” he said

And with that we were off to the car.

Garth Samuel Russell…In my life he is one of those fellows for whom words fail, or perhaps there are so many it is difficult to know where to begin.

Seeing him brought a flood of memories and gratitude for the great life I have had.

That would have been more than enough, if it hadn’t been for his partner arriving a few hours later.

Robert Raymond (Ray) Cunningham arrived in the early afternoon from Columbia, via Dallas.  This time I was early; saw him coming down the hallway and waited at the bottom of the stairs as he descended into the baggage area.

No escalator for this mid-seventies orthopedist, just a ‘still light of foot’ friend who’s descent to the arrival lounge warmed my heart.

39 years earlier…

“Ted? This is Dr. Russell from the Columbia Orthopedic Group. I understand you can write.”

This brief cold call from a man I did not know, nor had ever met, changed my life in completely incalculable ways.

The year was 1987 and I was teaching at one of America’s 12 historically African American land grant universities founded in 1866 in Jefferson City, Missouri.

“Why don’t you come by the office here in Columbia this Friday if it’s convenient. I should be finished clinic by five o’clock.”

By the end of that year, I had begun working for this man, and over the next decade I watched him build this practice into the largest orthopedic group in the Midwest.  As his research director, my career grew right along with the practice.

Ray Cunningham joined the group in the early 90s.  He was/is one of the more unique orthopedists…no that’s not exactly right…one of the more unique men I have met in my life.  A true iconoclast, yet he is modestly thoughtful with a richly deep sense of caring for people in his life.

While I worked for Dr. Russell and the other spine surgeons, Ray befriended me.  There was an affinity I felt that blossomed over the years, through mutual respect, good humor and an unpredictability that frequently surprised me.

There are a lot of stories that could be told about my experiences with this man, but the one I am most appreciative of was being asked to marry he and his ‘to be’ wife Sue.

During those years, I was part of a spiritual community and a part time minister. I had performed a few weddings before this and a few after, but the ceremony in Ray’s home with a small group of his friends and family is one of the standout experiences of my life.  This wasn’t someone I met briefly, counseled and then married…it was a friend, and the opportunity to do this wedding was both ceremonial and sacred for me.

Whenever I return to Columbia, Ray is high on my list for a visit. Little is better than coffee, maybe some bread to break and lively conversation with this man.  As genuine as the day is long, if he considers you a friend, he means it – plain and simple.

Marcus Cicero, in his Treatise, On Friendship writes this concerning the subject:

“…with the exception of wisdom, I am inclined to think nothing better than this has been given to man by the immortal gods.”

I think Cicero must have had men like Ray in mind when he wrote these words.

The end of the week…

So it was these two fellows, for whom I have the greatest affection, who found themselves in Tucson, Arizona for a medical meeting, and in my presence and heart once again as we spent a little time together.

One might say it was serendipity that brought me together with these men nearly four decades ago, and serendipity they decided to take this course in Tucson. One might say that, but I would not.

I would say, there is a God who seems to take pleasure, or at the very least care for his children, by arranging circumstances for no other reason than an expression of love for which He is counted author.

We have all had these sorts of experiences at one time or another in our lives, and as a recipient of such a gift this week, I can only say ‘thanks.’

- ted

Older could be better...

“…somehow, my soul was ever on the alert,

looking forward to posterity, as if it

realized that when it had departed

from this life, then at last

it would be alive…”

- Marcus Cicero:

De Senectute

(On Aging).

There are a few things I know now that I didn’t when I was younger, one of which is that getting older is NOT what I was led to believe it would be. What I knew about aging came from television programs, what my parents told me, and the older people I knew and/or visited in my youth.

Hanging around with older people is kind of like the other end of being a grand parent, or in my case a ‘grand uncle.’ There are varying frequencies of visits with the growing child for short periods of time and then you head home.

They are like the book reviews of the person/child in question…brief encounters that are extremely gratifying, but DO NOT provide nuances of experience or insight into the lives of those with whom you have just spent time. Consequently, it is hard to know what the other person’s life is really about.

What I thought…

My expectation in youth, therefore, was that getting older would be kind of cool.

Uncle Jim, for example, always had a smile on his face and a quarter in his hand when he came to visit. By the time I met him, he was in his 70s and never mentioned his debilitating arthritis or COPD…nope, he was a pleasant and cheerful older fellow.

Aunt Nellie lived to 103. When I arrived on the scene, she was near the end of her teaching career and retiring at the age of 65. Little did she, or any of us, know she would have nearly another 40 years of life. A kind soul, she always seemed to be busy with small projects and reading books. 

While she lived all of her life in Canada, I saw and spent time with her frequently and yet as enjoyable as it was to be around her, I never had one bit of insight into the final years of her life.

My older family members were reflective of all the older people I knew growing up. I got NO INSIGHT into the challenges they faced getting older.  I never thought to ask them what it was like.

Change – it’s coming youngsters…

As latter years arrived for me, I began to notice a few things:

·  My balance wasn’t quite what it had been – putting on my trousers required leaning against the bed or a wall.  

·  Molly frequently asked me to turn the volume down on the television because it hurt her ears. 

·  Glasses I had worn for a number of years did not work so well.

·  Climbing stairs was a little more taxing.

·  Walking and riding my bicycle subverted jogging.

·  Resistance exercise at the gym was a little bit more difficult…in fact; I couldn’t lift the weights I had been accustomed to.

·  It was no longer possible to eat anything I wanted, in whatever quantity I wanted without putting on weight

·  Somewhere mid afternoon, I began to feel a powerfully seductive urge to lie down for a few minutes – sometimes a little more than a few.

·  Returning home from long air travel and across time zones took more time for recovery.

What the heck!! I thought.

No old folks talked to me about these things!  They just smiled engagingly, chatted a little and then moved on. Where was their responsibility in all of this??

[Editorial comment: It should be noted that these changes caused me to explore possible solutions. While getting much stronger is probably not in the cards, Tai Chi and exercise calisthenics to music at the gym have returned my balance to normal. Molly changing our diets to more fruit and vegetables/legumes has made weight control much more manageable].

Change – rebounding…

For a brief period these changes led to a sense of melancholy.  Life as I had known it was diminishing at an unacceptable rate.  You understand, as human beings, we are used to moving forward, growing, overcoming challenges, doing a little better tomorrow than today, so you can sense my dismay as the margins of my capacity began to encroach on my lifestyle.

On the other hand, I also noticed I had unconsciously begun to think about my life differently. I was reading things that interested me and began engaging other people in more thoughtful dialogue and meaningful conversations. I noticed that while I am becoming less physically vibrant, my interactions with those around me are richer.

I have found that I love more deeply…think more openly…read more interestingly – all of this because aging has brought with it something youth and the middle years did not – time! Not really more time, but rather a more deliberate and better ‘personal interest’ use of time.

Older people often say,  “Life seems to be move so much faster than when I was young.”

I identify with that, but life can also be much more rewarding in these years depending on the way that perceived ‘ever accelerating time’ is used. My inability to be so physically active has allowed me to convert that time to exploration and thought I never even considered in earlier years. I have found a softer, less driven side of my personality permitting me to explore more of the little things.

There is little doubt, from a physical perspective and possibly a mental one; life will continue to be one of diminishing return. Having said that, at this moment, as I put these words to this electronic paper, life is richer and more meaningful than at any other time I have known.

All of this, of course, makes me wonder what is next…

- ted