The In Between
We perched above the Pacific, gigantic waves crashing below. Sitting, looking, listening…, imagining. One of the few times in a very long while that my mind was empty. The thought drifted in so honestly, it took me a long moment to realize it wasn’t physically possible. “I should call Dad”. Sitting here in Llano, Texas so far removed from that setting, there is certainly water flowing.
The drops are partially the result of phone calls that can’t be answered and salty from those that simply won’t be. As Dad would say, “Ain’t that a helluva thing”?
I often think about Mom and Dad and the decisions they made. Right or wrong, for we are All a faulty lot, they made the best ones they knew how. Though comparison is the devil’s work and a fool’s punishment, I can’t help but draw them. Daily, I ruminate on my record, going so far as to flog myself for actions that were inevitable.
There isn’t a one of us that can alter the past, or who we are. Quite the contrary. We must strive to be our true selves, not denying inner for the outer everyone expects. I’ve witnessed the destructive and combustible results of that behavior. Still, we are human. Therefore, we long.
Each day I search deeper, Praying for answers that may never come. I try to Rise rather than fall. Then I sleep. Though I wake from Dreams, sometimes in my slumber those phone calls are answered from both sides of Tomorrow.
Hear the Waves Crash and Listen to what the Silence says in between.
I remain ever Hopeful.
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Contentment
In the Book of Awakening, Mark Nepo wrote, ” One key to knowing joy is being easily pleased.” So simple and true. A life lived unhappy with anything other than perfection is an unhappy life lived. If we can accept that life is not perfect, we just might find it is damn close.
Children are masters at loving exactly what is. Everything they encounter is a treasure and their imagination makes it doubly pleasurable. Have you ever seen a child enjoy the box their gift came in more than the present itself?
The first golf club I ever owned was a Wilson Staff 2-Iron with the shaft broken in the middle of the grip. I found it just short of the hazard in front of the second tee at Terrell Park in Beaumont Texas. No doubt, the damaged orphan was left there by a man who ruined his own day the moment the club helicoptered from his hand. A fellow with over inflated expectations of the results his lack of talent should have produced.
Dad told me he thought we could tape the grip and it would work fine, “Just Fine”. I marveled that it was just my size! To me, the broken stick was so much more than that. First of all, it was a beginning; My own golf club! I hit imaginary shots with my new friend, careful not to cut my hand on the sharp edge of the creased steel. Every shot I pictured traveled straight and true. When a dove flew by, the club head quickly became the stock of a shotgun. I aimed the jagged end at the bird and my expert marksmanship brought it down. At each pond, the iron became a fishing rod. I made casts to waiting largemouth and caught one every time! Nothing could go wrong, I had a magic wand.
I can still see the make shift grip Dad built with thin white tape. As soon as he was done, I begged Him to take me back to the course to no avail. It didn’t matter. I turned the neighborhood into Augusta National and Pebble Beach all in one. A tennis ball doubled as a Titeleist and trees became flagsticks. Twenty First street and the driveway were water hazards. It was beautiful!
I hope whoever left that club experienced better days. After all, his trash gave me a treasure that lasted years. Thinking back to that old 2 iron, I’m reminded that loving the “perfectly imperfect” is a recipe for increased deposits in the International Bank of Happy.
When things aren’t just so, think back to your childhood and that first Magic wand. Wave it and turn your front yard into whatever you’d like. Moments are just that, and they come and go. Try to smile when the grown up response would be to yell. I bet you’ll be pleased with your balance sheet.
Enjoy Every Second
Will
Sent from my iPhone
Are You Listening
“If you want to be truly understood, you need to say everything three times, in three different ways. Once for each ear… And once for the heart.” – Paula Underwood Spencer
On occasion, I will tell a joke. If you have been around me enough and choose to continue coming back, chances are you will hear the same story more than once. It will vary in content, characters and certainly details, but the punch line will be the same. Paula Underwood Spencer’s words made a thought that I have had repeatedly over the last few months echo in my head; I have been telling this story all my life.
In order to be heard, the delivery might need to be crafted for a certain audience; fast, slow, serious, stern, loving. If your audience is repeat, a detail here or there must change to keep them interested. No matter the story, to make sure, We must tell the tale multiple times to finally be heard.
Our lives are ever changing, but who We are has been with Us from birth, possibly even before. Each day We tell our story in hopes that someone will listen. The question is whether or not we are listening to Ourselves.
There are incredibly important messages delivered to Us everyday. We work hard to listen for and to them. Sometimes however, we forget to listen to Our own story. The messages that come from within us can move mountains.
Our Soul speaks to us constantly. The wisdom and advice repeated many more times than three. Listen when it does and let your heart be the first to hear.
Peace
WJN
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
A Well Worn Book
Pages dog eared and tattered. Cover ripped. Water, whiskey, wine, and coffee stains in more than a few places. The edges of the spine are worn, and its middle creased – the connection from page to anchor point not so solid. There’s nothing like a good book well appreciated.
Appreciated you may say?
“How can that be? It’s been beaten and bruised, ripped and torn, Marked on and…, And there are even pages missing! It’s been mis-interpreted and left behind in tatters. It’s been Used!”
No, no, not used. Yes, It’s true the physical imperfections, and even the subtleties not detected, tell a story one might cry over if you let Yourself. You could fret over the damage by the inconsiderate, or bemoan the fact that it was dismissed by the moronic; hell it was Considered less by the overly self-absorbed, because it’s words weren’t big enough, or even not read because the author was not well respected. However, you must remember that it was considered, even by those so and so’s..
If you see it, really take it in, you see a Masterpiece. Those physical imperfections from cover to spine are from being held, and carried to far away places ( distances are irrelevant). It just couldn’t be put down because of its power, message, beauty. The readers words scrawled on its pages show it has been listened to. The underlines and highlights reveal the words that inspired one of its recipients to further their own thought, or dream another dream.
It’s clear that it has been loved, as evidenced by the creases. One has introduced it to another along the way, or perhaps it was lost and found at the right time. It has been a companion to many, and a Guide book for Many more. It has been and is a Force.
Sound like anything familiar?
Turn the Page
William
Sent from my iPhone
Anonymity
To be known is wonderful. Pride and ego, not the same thing by the way, urge us to be seen and heard. To her audience, my Momma would say she hated to brag, and then went right ahead and did. On a phone call home, She’d always ask Us to tell Her something good, “so she could brag”. It’s one of those forms of living out loud, and you have to be as amazing as Mom to get away with it. Yes, being known is nice, but so is anonymity.
A reputation spawns expectations. I can’t tell you how many times friends have asked me what is wrong when I have consciously made the effort to shut the f up for a minute. I can promise it is an effort… Believe it or not, sometimes I want to be quiet.
At the core, We are all who We are. Decisions may be made to pretend to be someone else, but that is just an act. Tigers and stripes as the saying goes. We must not fool ourselves into thinking We know everything about a Person. Even those closest to us. What don’t I know about you? Let’s suppose I know everything. That still does not mean I understand. We aren’t smart enough. We are too conditioned to judge. We are too human.
It is at the rare times of disconnection from the norm that we become anonymous. No judge and jury in site, no referee to call foul, no standard to bare. Just Us.
Whether it’s the quiet of a walk in the water, with a rod in hand, or simply a closed door in Your home, We need these times. Disconnection breathes life into connection.
I say live out loud. We all want to hear you. And take the time to disappear, it will make the notes We hear much more beautiful upon Your return.
Different makes the World better and much more interesting. Find it.
Will
Unnecessary Noise
My Daughter and I drove to Houston yesterday, and as Fate ( the larger Plan) would have it, my Family had planned a Mass at my Sister Carroll’s home to celebrate the Life and final Reward of my Father. As usual, the event was just what the Doctor ordered.
Without real reason, I was struggling when I arrived on Swift Avenue to meet a small contingent of our clan. Despite the fact that I have been doubly Blessed over the last few days to spend them with my Son, and the next few with my Daughter, in an instant I felt fearful.
I started to say that fear and anxiety was sudden and inexplicable, but in this worldly reality I can trace the cause to the root. If I did, I would realize that it was neither sudden or inexplicable. Needless yes, but a mystery the feelings were anything but.
We gathered around Carroll’s circular table with Cousin Johnny Stacer at the head. I to His left and my Sister Mary to His right. I took in Johnny’s African garb, which I always admire in a wondering way, and the Hosts and wine in front of Him. My first thought was “wherever two or more gather”.
I listened with intent, but not intently, as I stewed on the anxious thoughts that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. At this point, and as I have done before when clutter and fear have stepped in the way of my conversation with God, I consciously told the devil to get out of the church. he was not welcome.
At that moment, We were holding hands in the Circle and as Johnny prayed for our intentions, I could feel His left thumb gently stroking the back of my Hand. His next words were, “help Us let go of unnecessary anxious feelings and fear”. Immediately the anxiousness was gone.
The circumstances that caused the feelings were, and are, still the same. However, the realization of the pettiness, unimportance and lack of control I have on them was bestowed upon me. Delivered as Johnny said, on the HOV Lane right from the Source of All.
The short Mass with my Family, and subsequent dinner did what it always does. It lifted me and Us All up. We laughed at, and with Ourselves, told old stories and new, loved and were Thankful.
I am not a good Catholic, but I love my Catholic upbringing, and strong Roots. They gave Me a solid foundation from Which to grow my Faith and Relationship with God. I Believe that our relationship with God is individual. However, it is Moments like These that point out the interconnectedness of All.
Just as Electricity needs a conduit to flow, Messages need a delivery mechanism as well. Sometimes that Pipe is a group of People, or maybe just a Person. We can only Hear if We Listen and the Song is sometimes louder when sung in a Choir.
“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” – Matthew 18:20
Peace
Will
Sent from my iPhone
Thunder and Lightning
I can see our lines floating in mid-air
and the hair standing up on my brothers’ heads as the storm approached. The rain hadn’t made it there yet, but the clouds were ominous. The arcing lines and skyward reaching strands of blonde and black mops made the presence of the electricity more than evident.
The wind picked up and the air cooled instantly as the bolts of lightning started to appear out of the steadily approaching black clouds. I eyed our 12 foot vessel, perched on the rocks, and made one simple inquiry of Dad.
“Daddy should we head to shore?”
The answer was equally as simple. “We can’t beat the storm. We’ll just have to ride it out.”
All these years later, the wisdom in those words, as a metaphor for turbulent times of life, presented itself. Storms will come and we cannot run from them. Our boat is not fast enough to outrun a squall.
Running puts a small craft, in a storm on the Gulf, at the mercy of Mother Ocean. While the prospect of buckling up and powering through may seem as dark as the sky producing our fear, exiting stage left means we never deal with the flash flood. And that is all that it is. The water will recede.
I recall the Lightning being right on top of us, and the cracking explosion of the thunder, immediate and deafening. We turned the little John boat upside down and balanced one edge on the cooler. Peering out from underneath, I saw a 4 foot shark breach the surface and shoot skyward. It’s gray and white body matched the colors of the lightening sky and made the scene black and white.
The flashes of lightning moved further away and the thunder lessened as the rain softened. The midday sun started to penetrate the heavy air, and color came back into the world. The wind dropped to a breeze, and the hammering downpour turned into a steady flow of drops.
As we emerged from our makeshift Tenement, I felt the rain. The drops were now individual. The kind you can count; the enjoyable sort. Heavy, but cool on your hand. They still explode when they hit you, but there is kindness in the release.
Little by little the stream of tears softens and fades away. The sun returns and you flip your boat back over, re-enter the water and head for shore. As the gray clouds turn white, you can start to see blue again. When your boat hits shore, the sun is visible just before it lays down to sleep; A last little Wink to tell us it will be back tomorrow.
The Sun will show its splendor, but Make no mistake there are treasures in the rain. We just might have to brave the sound of the thunder to find the drops that taste right.
They come. So you gotta go ahead and love a good storm.
Peace
Sent from my iPhone
Analyze or Act
To Analyze or Act
“It’s hard to comprehend.” That is a statement we have all made so many times, yet today I thought about it in an abstract way for the first time. Maybe some things are not meant for our comprehension.
In love, pain, anger, happiness, distress; in relationships, business, sports, even card games, puzzling, wonderful and sometimes overwhelmingly heartbreaking events occur. Some are justifiably infuriating, others simply odd, but they are, in the end, “hard to comprehend”.
In my life the term has primarily been used for a few distinct powerful situations, and to emphasize the seriousness of such. In anger, sympathy, joy no matter, it is an emphatic place holder for that which we cannot wrap our heads around. Is it possible that in some of these instances we are supposed to just wrap our arms around one another instead?
I’m not the worlds best planner. In fact, unless it’s a fishing, hunting or a golf trip, I might be the worlds worst, but I’m a good liver. No, no.., I didn’t say I had a good liver, I said I am one. That “where the wind may blow me” roadmap leads to many ports of call, and thousands of differing relationships. This invariably presents “hard to comprehend” in droves.
Life is a wonderful mystery. It is full of joyous moments as well as painful events. Unfortunately, We would not recognize one without the knowledge of the other. The events that cause the highest of highs and those that spawn the lowest of lows share at least one thing; they are very often unfathomable, unexplainable and “hard to comprehend”.
We have a choice when these things occur; spend our time trying to wrap our heads around them, or spend that energy wrapping our arms around each other. I believe the later will Leave us in a Better Place. Together We will enjoy the Mountain tops of euphoria longer. Embraced by One another We will rise from the depths of despair sooner, allowing Us to climb the peak once more.
Peace
Will
Sent from my iPhone
Anticipation
December 27, 2014
Anticipation
It’s 4:23. The alarm isn’t set to go off until 5 and I’ve been up since 3:30. William is asleep in the room adjacent to me and I’m sure sawing timber. Me, no chance of anymore rest. We meet at the barn at 6:10 to load the 4 wheelers and get to the blinds!
Whether its hunting or fishing I’m like this every trip. Giddy with anticipation, I can hear the geese screaming and the Mallards deep distinctive call even now. I can picture the darkness before dawn which will hide the first teal buzz.
While I’d be excited no matter the trip, this morning brings indescribable joy because of the 15 year old in the next room. He’s hunted pheasant, dove and deer. William’s caught speckled trout, redfish, king mackerel, flounder, largemouth and more, but he’s never been in a duck blind.
Never has he heard a rice field full of ducks and geese chatter in the dark. Sensed the rise of a huge group from the water by the sound of simultaneous wing motion. He’ll try to strain his eyes, yet only be able to imagine the birds movement as darkness conceals their flight.
The walk down the levy will be slow and unsure. The light of the flashlight not exactly revealing what is to come next. I’m sure there will be a stuck boot here or there.
The excitement of the slide into the blind will be aided by the boys fascination with what the Labrador retriever is doing; where he’s going to set up. Anticipation will rise for his first call to action.
Once in the blind we’ll load our guns and talk about barrel swing limits and shooting lanes. I’ll ask about his safety for the 500th time of the morning and finally we’ll settle into the silence before shooting time.
The color will start to go from pitch black to soft; from there to gray and hearts will start to pound a little harder. The light will rise just enough. There will be no orange today as the rain is here and the clouds will be low. The sounds that of drops hitting rain jackets. Then out of seemingly nowhere the first group will be on us.
Hard and fast with wings cupped and webbed feet extended beautiful waterfowl will break over our decoys. The words simply, ” Take ‘Em!” Through tears of joy I’ll see that first barrel rise.
God bless nature, this morning and my son. There is nothing more amazing than time with your kids no matter what you are doing; To me the earlier in the morning the better. I guess it’s all about those beginnings.
Thank you Lord for this day, the next moment and all the great moments spent between Father and son in the field. Thank you for this sunrise and these raindrops, thank you for this opportunity. I am a lucky man.
Gotta go, the alarm finally went off.
Will
Sent from my iPhone
Welcome Messages
I received a note from an old friend last week. It was a late night letter, the likes of which I’ve penned many times before. It seemed to be an apology at first, then a reflection and ended as a letter of love and thanks. It was awesome.
Let me just say, I do not deserve an apology from anyone ( Well maybe from Bubba and John for the beatings, but that’s a different essay…). I have a Lisotta’s Store All full of my own apology letters to be disseminated by Tracie on my passing. However, I’ll take the thanks, love and nostalgia any day. I’ve also got a couple of those letters addressed and adorned with the correct postage.
In the end we all do the best we know how. Sometimes our best sucks a little… Doesn’t mean we don’t love. It just means we are perfectly imperfect. The more sunrises we see, the more we recognize the mistakes we’ve made. May I suggest we also recall the good we have done; the smiles we have created.
I have more regrets than Clinton had girlfriends. Luckily, I also have a treasure chest of love and laughter to hunt in when the need arises. We all have that pirate booty available. Ain’t nothin’ better than a little treasure. The note I got was equivalent to a bag of Lafitte’s gold coins.
Look for your map today and see what you find under the proverbial X. I’m betting at least a smile.
Good Mornin’ from Louisiana y’all. See you in Texas by lunch. Make the day a great one.
Will
It’s about the ride. Enjoy it.
willwandering 