THANKS TO HAROLD, MOM'S BROOM WAS DEFLECTED

In am happy to announce that both my books, "Wrights Lane...Come On In" and "Dresden Life Remembered" are currently being converted to Ebook digital form by the publisher.  More about the release date in a couple of weeks.  Meantime, I thought that I would reproduce a couple of the stories from Dresden Life Remembered that are yet to be posted on my "Dresden:  Father & Son Turn Back the Clock" web site.

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(Extract from Dresden Life Remembered)

The Wright family, as far as I know, were always respectable, law-abiding citizens.  As a young lad about to step out into the world to seek fame and fortune, I certainly had no intention of blemishing that fine record.   An incident when I was about 16 years of age, however, still has me feeling like a borderline criminal -- thanks to my mother of all people.

On one fateful evening I had attended a movie, stopped for a customary milkshake at Swainstson's Grill and engaged in some small town banter with a few friends on the main street corner when I realized that it was getting rather late.  I don't remember ever having an official curfew, I just always knew that it behoved me to be home somewhere between 10 and 10:30 on movie nights or suffer the wrath of my mother who could be quite excitable and reactionary at times, to put it mildly.

CONST. HAROLD HEDDEN

Having lost all track of time, and before I knew it, the town post office Big Ben was striking 11 o'clock.  "I'd better get going." I said to my friends as I broke away from the group.

I was only a couple of minutes into my walk home  (opposite the Green residence and across the street from Doc Ruttle's, as I recall) when the town police cruiser slowly glided up and stopped beside me.  "Are you on your way home, Dick?" came a voice from the darkened vehicle at the curb.  Recognizing the form of Police Constable Harold Hedden, I responded in the affirmative.

"That's good," answered Harold, "because your mother just called and wanted us to pick you up."

Almost as an afterthought when pulling away, he applied the brakes and shouted back:  "Better get a move on and good luck when you get home."  I knew what he meant.

As I cautiously approached our property on Sydenham Street, I could see the shadow of a figure hovering just inside the front door.  Having been there and experienced that on several occasions in the past, I pushed the door open and took a quick step backward.  A corn broom came crashing down in front of me, breaking into three pieces as it hit the floor with great force.  I made a hasty entry unscathed, leaving my mother with half a broom stick still in her hand and screaming:  "Now, see what you made me do!"

Just some of the things that a boy has to endure when his mother is trying to raise her only child as best she can, and on her own, under less-than-desirable conditions in the 1950s.

I always thought kindly of good old Harold for his discretion that night and for giving me advance warning of the potential bodily harm awaiting me when I got home.  

The police motto:  "To serve and to protect," has special meaning for me to this day.

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POSTSCRIPT:  After the infamous staying-out-late, broom-breaking incident, neither my mother nor I ever discussed the matter again.  Although I bought her a brand-spanking-new Fuller broom for her birthday to replace the old "taped-up" one.  Needless to say that went over like a lead balloon, much like the time my dad gave her an electric orange juice squeezer for Christmas, which she promptly returned to the store from which it came.  I honestly do not know what ever happened to the broom that I gave her, but it no doubt suffered the same fate as the electric orange juice squeezer.

DON'T PUT OFF ENJOYING LIFE, DO IT NOW!

Last in a three-part series

"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.  -- George Bernard Shaw 

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My late wife Anne became a strong proponent of the power of positive thinking in the late stages of her very courageous struggle with cancer.  Several months before she passed away, she requested a copy the book "You Can't Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought" by John Roger and Peter McWilliams.

I'm not sure if she ever got to read any part of the 622-page publication after receiving it.

When working on the previous post several days ago and looking for inspiration, my hand casually fell on the book which had remained undisturbed on a shelf for at least 10 years.  Upon opening it to the forward, I was surprised to find that the binding had yet to be broken.  It was a surreal moment that I cannot quite put into words. 

I spent the remainder of the evening with the highly-acclaimed book and countless hours since.  One very brief chapter in particular caught my attention, "Live Your Life Now".  In only eight paragraphs, the subject of procrastination -- putting off things that you've always wanted to do -- resonated with me.  That is what I have rather awkwardly tried to get at in several posts recently.

We all put off unpleasant activites, but we also put off enjoyable ones too.  We dole out pleasure, contentment and happiness as though they were somehow rationed.  The supply of these things is limitless, yet we seem to do the rationing ourselves, ie. "I'll do it when I have more time" or "I'll do it when I have more money" or "I'll do it when I'm a little older".  If we look, there are always perfect reasons why we shouldn't enjoy life or why we should postpone doing things that we have always wanted to do.

In life we have either reasons or results.  If we don't have what we want, we usually have a long list of reasons for why we don't have them.

Roger and McWilliams answer to that is to focus attention on all the positive things taking place in ones' life.  "If you can't find something positive about your environment, look again -- with fresh eyes.  Try another point of view.  Be creative.  What good are you taking for granted? 

"If you can't find anything, hold your breath.  Within a few minutes, you will really appreciate breathing."

If you are not enjoying life as much as you could or should, don't put it off until later...You are already in your "laters".  Start now before it is too late!

I think that is what Anne would say.

LET'S BE REALISTIC ABOUT BALANCING OUR POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE WAYS OF THINKING

I have written rather extensively about positive thinking because of its importance to the well-being of each and every one of us.  The opposite of positive thinking is, of course, negative thinking -- possibly the primary self-inflicted disease of our time.  Negative thinking tends to drag us down mentally, emotionally and physically.  It literally makes us sick.

Our positive thoughts (joy, happiness, fulfillment, achievement, worthiness) create positive results (enthusiasm, calm, well-being, ease, energy, love).  Negative thoughts on the other hand (judgment, unworthiness, mistrust, resentment, fear) produce negative results (tension, anxiety, alienation, anger, fatigue).

It goes without saying that without our thoughts, things simply would not happen in our lives.  Where we are in our lives at this very minute, is the result of a lifetime of thinking, both positive and negative.   While I have had bouts of negative thinking in my lifetime, I consider myself to be generally positive by nature.

Unlike pregnancy where you either are or you are not, I have cause to wonder however if it is possible to be a little bit negative.  Are realists and rationalists just a little bit negative in their thinking?  And in this regard, can negativity be a matter of personal perception; in other words, in the mind and eyes of the beholder?  Allow me to explain those rather convoluted questions as perhaps only I can pose them.

My wife Rosanne is impulsive by mature and has been known to embrace ideas with great enthusiasm, which more often than not I encourage and support.  There are times, however, when it seems to me that her enthusiasm has blinded her from reality, prompting me to suggest: "Rosanne, think about your health.  You are not physically able to do that...", or "Remember, that will cost money which we do not have..." or, "Come on now, what would we do with that if we had it?"

Rosanne's response is always the same:  "Why are you so negative?  You always want to knock me down when I am happy about something!"  At that point any attempt to explain myself falls on deaf ears and I am left feeling badly about having hurt her feelings.  Maybe in not patronizing her with false hope, I could be accused of negativity.  In her mind, she is convinced that I can be positive one minute and negative the next  -- but she loves me nonetheless.

If I really wanted to push the issue, I am sure that I could also convince Rosanne that I only react in her best interests, but down deep I think she really does understand.  Most assuredly, I do not want to make "negativity" an issue in our lives and I am committed to being a little more sensitive when it comes to playing the role of devil's advocate with my wife.

So what is my point?

To me, both positive and negative are equally important as they comprise the whole. Just like every coin has two sides, there is day and night, there is life and death, there is joy and pain, there is beauty and ugliness – all of these things are complimentary to each other. This is what we call "reality". Reality cannot be changed. A lie changes, but truth always remains the same.

Have you ever realized the joy of seeing things as they are in their whole or totality, instead of looking at only one side? No question about the existence of a positive-negative balancing act, but there is so much joy in adopting a realistic approach in life – just accepting the way things are with grace and love. 

Of that, I am positive.

TAKE IT EASY, BE HAPPY!

I take liberties. but someone once said something to the effect Don't take life too seriously...You will never get out of it alive anyway.

Singer Bobby McFerrin also made popular the song "Don't worry, be happy" and for some personalities that may be easier said than done.  It is a good philosophy, nonetheless, and an attitude worthy of adoption.

Trust me, I have learned the hard way that I should make every effort to be easier on myself, on everyone and everything in my life.  As much as possible, and believe me it is a struggle at times, I try to suspend judgment on the way things should be, to my way of thinking.  In so doing, I find myself more at ease.  It helps too to take time to do things that relaxes us -- walking (the dog), going fishing, playing some golf, doing aerobics, visiting friends, meditating, reading, writing, painting...you know what I mean.  Personally, I take advantage of my ability to doze off to sleep at the drop of a hat and whatever I happen to leave undone at the time will certainly get done later, when I get around to it.  That, I guess, is one of the advantages of being retired with no one to answer to, other than the better half.  Naps are the greatest!

Some people think that happiness just happens, and, yes, to a degree that is true.  But happiness has a better chance of happening in situations we generally find enjoyable.

I think that we all should be more conscious of the things that bring us "ease" and ultimately "happiness" -- acceptance, patience, giving, grace, effortlessness, simplicity, acquiescing, permitting and forgiving.   We would do well to expand on those words, going so far as to make a list to review in our minds on a regular basis, lest we forget.  It's all about fostering the right attitude.

Tomorrow I plan to expand on this train of thought by adding to this post my impressions of "negativity" and how it affects our lives.  Betcha can't wait?

CHATHAM-KENT BOYS LEAD WINDSOR SELECTS TO CANADIAN JR. BASEBALL CHAMPIONSHIP

Dresden's Justin Cook slid safely into  home plate to give Windsor Selects an early lead in Sunday's Baseball Canada Junior Championship game.

http://youtu.be/XJiuhPyy6JY

Over the past couple of years we have been following the progress of three talented Chatham-Kent baseball players in U.S. college play and with the Windsor Selects in national junior competition during the summer break.  This past weekend they reached the pinnacle of junior baseball supremacy in Canada.  *Click on the YouTube video link above to see the boys in action and as they were interviewed following the Canadian championship final game.

Larry Balkwill of Chatham, and Dresden twin brothers Justin Cook and Matt Cook captured a Baseball Canada Junior Championship Sunday afternoon in Windsor as members of the Windsor Selects.  The Selects went 6-0 in the tournament including a 5-2 win over Mississauga in the Gold Medal game. Balkwill hit an outstanding .471 in the tournament with 3 RBI’s, including a 2-for-4 performance in the gold medal game.

Justin Cook showed off his skills at the plate in the gold medal game collecting 2 RBI’s. Justin had 4 RBI’s in the tournament and finished with a .313 average. Brother Matt Cook also had a hit and an RBI for the Selects in the gold medal game. Matt pitched the semi-final game of the tournament striking out eight batters and allowing only two hits in a 2-1 win over St. Thomas Tom Cats and was named  the tournament's all-star right-handed pitcher for his effort.  Justin also pitched and won a game in the 10-team championship tournament.

Balkwill was named the tournament's all-star defensive catcher.

I bet I know two sets of very proud parents who made the trip down 401 Highway for that championship game on Sunday.

The three Chatham-Kent athletes are about to head south to begin their NCAA seasons with their respective college baseball teams.  We wish them well.

IN LIFE AND DEATH, OUR NAME IS THE VERY ESSENCE OF WHO AND WHAT WE ARE

My first assignment as a cub newspaper reporter was to write obituaries.  It was not the most stimulating task in the newsroom, but a necessary one nonetheless.  Obituaries were considered to be the rite of passage for any reporter hoping to advance to bigger, more challenging assignments.

Details for obituary write ups and customary death notices would be submitted by funeral home directors on a special form and it would be my job to convert the information to news copy for publication in the news columns and classified advertising section of the current day's paper.

Copy deadline was 11:30 a.m. and the funeral homes were required to deliver the information to the news desk by no later than 11:00 a.m.  Same day publication was crucial to the funeral homes  because of the need to get visitation times out to the public in advance of the funeral service itself.  I was never comfortable when up against a fast-approaching deadline because it meant that I would often be required to rush my copy and confine it to the more-often-than-not meagre details handwritten in the blank spaces of the forms provided by the funeral home.

It did not take me long to understand that obituary copy should be more than just a name, time of death and funeral service details.  Obituaries, if handled correctly, represent some one's life, someone who only a matter of days before lived, breathed, functioned, loved and was loved; someone who made contributions to life in any number of ways and someone whose achievements were their legacy. Wherever possible, I took it upon myself to solicit additional facts and missing information  about the deceased -- occupation, community service, special interests, affiliations -- to add to the customary list of survivors.  In all seriousness, I felt that it was the last thing that I could do for them.

One of the other things that my newspaper experience taught me, was respect for names.  People and their names are what community newspaper should be all about -- the more the better.  People love to see their names in print, likewise their relatives and friends.  People also deserve to see their names spelled correctly and it behooves publishers to insist on that being the case.

I make frequent contributions to a Dresden Virtual History Group forum on Facebook and I commented the other day on the significance of names and why I include so many of them in my nostalgic writings about my old hometown.  We all relate to names, familiar ones in particular.  They prompt memories and allow us to escape, for a few brief moments at least, to another time and another place, to old relationships.  We remember people by their names.  When we forget a name,
recall of the person is blurred.  Remember a name and everything about the person comes into focus.

The one defining characteristic we all share, the one unique and profound element of each and everyone of us is the name we are given. From the reason to why we were given such a name to the historical lineage and significance of what a name has come to represent, our name (beyond it’s objective purpose) encompasses what and who each one of us is. It’s essence is at the very heart of our existence.

We all have good, honorable names with long histories.  Our fathers gave them to us.  Protect them.  Respect them.  Be proud of them, o ye sons and daughters.

Names do not die with the person.  They live on in the hearts and minds of those who remember them.

And, oh yes...In the obituary column archives of our newspapers too.
 

IT'S A WELL-WORN CLICHE BUT TIMES HAVE CHANGED, JUST ASK THIS OLD BALL PLAYER

ITEM UPDATE:  Major league baseball announced signing of top draft picks following the Monday, Aug 15, deadline for this season.  The total of the 32 first-round bonuses was an unbelievable $94.5 million (U.S.), an average of $2.95 million per player.  Equally astonishing was the fact that Tyler Beebe, the 21st pick overall and one of the top high school pitchers in the U.S., turned down a $2.5 million offer from the Toronto Blue Jays (his family was asking for $3.5 million).  The 18-year-old has announced his intentions to attend Vanderbilt University instead of turning pro and is obviously gambling that he will be worth much more to a big league team after he graduates.

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NO BONUS BABY
...but happy with $60 a week
to play baseball.
St. Thomas Times-Journal
photo, May 15, 1956

News that several top-calibre teenage baseball players have turned down $2 million signing bonuses out of the major league baseball draft this past week, really has me scratching my head.  I can't help but think also about the uncertain futures of two of my grandchildren who are college students and two others who soon will be.  Something is surely out of whack here somewhere.

It is particularly difficult for a kid of the 1940s and '50s to rationalize just how much things have changed over the past six decades.  Personally, it is mind-blowing.  Back in the 1950s I was little better than average as an athlete and below average as a student.  I honestly do not know how I would "make the grade" in today's specialized, technical marketplace.

In the spring of 1956 I was offered a take-it-or-leave-it contract to play professional baseball in the United States.  I had just turned 18 years of age, was extremely wet behind the ears and had stars in my eyes.  After short stops in Florida (Cocoa) and Tennessee (Chattanooga), I ended up on the roster of a Class "D" team in Donalsonville, Georgia, as a pitcher.  My $60.00 a week contract was more money than I had ever made before and a far cry from the $22.00 weekly that I was making in a clothing store back home in Dresden.  I was soon to learn, however, that there was no security in minor pro baseball in those days.  The revolving gate was rarely at rest.

Due to the emergence of what would become a life-time chronic back problem, I was eventually given an outright release from the Donalsonville team and told to stay in shape and to keep in touch for next year.  Sadly, next year would never come.  My departing pay cheque did not completely cover the cost of a bus trip home and I had to use money my mother had wired me a few days earlier to purchase the ticket.

Back home in Dresden, a high school dropout and jobless, I was not ready to give up on my baseball dream.  After a few days of mom's good home cooking and my knapsack full of freshly laundered clothing, I boarded a bus in Chatham destined for St. Thomas where I had been informed the semi-pro "Elgins" were signing players for the upcoming Senior Intercounty Baseball League season.

The bus dropped me off in St. Thomas at the old London and Port Stanley Railway station.  I had never been in the city before but I had noticed the Grand Central Hotel on the way in and felt that would be as good a place as any to check in.  My first night's lodging cost a break-the-bank $35.00 which put a big dint in the $60.00 and change that I had in my wallet.

I dropped my belongings off in the rather sparse hotel room and headed back out to Talbot Street to get a better lay of the land.  I stopped the first person I saw and asked for directions to the ball park.  "Are you here to try out for the Elgins?" asked the middle-aged man in a coarse voice.  He introduced himself as Gerry Drynan, a CNR engineer, and explained that he was a member of the baseball team's executive.

He went on to say that there would not be anyone at the ball park at that time of day (shortly after noon), but that he would take me across the street and introduce me to another member of the executive, Bill Mattis, a bowling lanes operator.  Bill, in turn, offered to set up a meeting for me with Tommy White, the then playing-manager of the Elgins, and very kindly accompanied me on foot further east on Talbot Street to Tommy White's Sport Shop.

Tommy, a cigar-smoking tobacco-chewing jolly sort of guy in his early 40s, immediately made me feel welcome and invited me to a team practice that evening at Pinafore Park.  "I'll pick you up at 6 o'clock,"  he offered with a slap on my back.

Practices with the Elgins went well over the course of the next week and out of necessity I left the Grand Central after that first night and moved to the Empire Hotel for a more moderate rate of $15.00 a night.  I had just enough money left to buy a loaf of bread, Cheese Whiz and a quart of milk, still uncertain as to my status with the baseball club.  Finally, on my sixth day and with my food stash depleted, I signed a contract with the team for an amazing $60 a week.  In addition, thanks to Len Barnes, another member of the team's executive, a full-time job was arranged for me with Jack Fraser Stores which payed me another $45.00 a week.

With my first advance from the baseball club, I ordered a T-bone steak dinner at Gettis Restaurant and when it was placed in front of me by waitress Vivian Kerhoulis I could not eat any of it because my stomach had shrunk so much from my starvation diet of the past week.  From that point on, however, I never again left food on my plate.

Those first five months of 1956 were eventful for me to say the least, complete with highs and lows,  maybe some predestination, but the beginning of my education in the real world -- the school of hard knocks, you might say.

But boy, a kid from the small town of Dresden getting paid to play a game that he loved, with a full-time job to boot?  A first girl friend, a first car (1948 Plymouth coupe) and a wonderful boarding house were to follow.  No question about it, I had arrived!  Or so I thought.

Today, I'd probably have trouble getting a job digging ditches.  Come to think about it, people don't dig ditches today -- machines do, driven by specially licensed operators making at least $40.00 an hour.

"Times have changed," you say?  Tell me about it.

ABOUT DECISIONS, RESOLVE AND COMPROMISES

I have been a coward on the rare occasion, taking the most expeditious easy way out of certain situations.  You know, "what will be best for me?" or "what will be best for other parties?  Surely I am not alone in that admission.

The "easy way out" can be prompted by one's natural predisposition for self-preservation while, on the other hand, the interests and feelings of others might be the overriding consideration.  Resolution can, and does, take many forms and in the end if we are lucky we can gain solace from knowing that "all is well that ends well".  Again, if we are lucky.

My contention is that "the end" of which I speak is not always reached without ill-advised influences, sacrifices, compromises, enduring uncertainty and self-questioning.

"Easy outs" can simply mean walking away from uncomfortable issues, failing to accept a fair share of responsibility, soft-pedalling of problem areas, a general dismissal of root causes and stubborn resistance to recognition of any common ground.  Much easier to settle for personal appeasement and justification enabling us to get on with life, hopefully leaving the whole mess behind.

So caught up are we in "self" and "others" when facing challenging issues in life, that we tend to overlook honest to goodness consideration of the right mindset with which to assess and rationalize facts of a given matter.  We simply do not reach down deep enough within ourselves when engaging in the crucial decision-making process.  From the womb we have been conditioned to conformity. By that, I mean the idea that our purpose in life is to make things easier for our parents, our family, our teachers, our friends.  Eventually we learn to work our own interests into the equation as well and that only further complicates matters for us.

From the word "go" we are told not to rock the ship, make no fuss and to not question decisions made beyond our control and behest.  Is it any wonder then that we look for "easy outs" when we later face difficult challenges as adults in a very complex world?   I know that I open myself up to the possibility of criticism, but generally in our formative years we are conditioned to think that it is good for us to accept whatever life throws our way, no matter how sub-standard.  To this day our  youngsters are expected to be suppressible and accepting.

As with many subjects dealt with in Wrights Lane, my thinking in all of this is admittedly simplistic  but I cannot help but be just a little upset.

At no time, at least in my experience, are we ever told that when faced with awkward situations and difficult decisions, it just might be better to make ourselves briefly unpopular than to become permanently compromised.  Like tough love, tough solutions are not always immediately understood, nor appreciated.  Also, nowhere is it written that we have to accept certain situations and that we are necessarily compelled to make life "easier" with the courses of action we decide to take.

There are those too who fall back on the "will of God" in such instances, but to me that is another all-too-convenient easy way out.  What is wrong with individual backbone and common sense?  Why place the onus on God?  After all, He gave us minds and a biblical blueprint to utilize in dealing with difficult and challenging earthly issues.

There are times when idealism, out of necessity, should give way to unbridled reality -- and uncompromised, guilt-free thinking that takes into consideration what is truly conducive to satisfactory resolution of the challenging issues we face in life.   Circumstances and the ramifications of issues are what should be considered first and foremost and not necessarily the feelings and prejudices of ourselves and others.

It is a shame when you have to admit to being a compromised, "easy out" coward like me.  And to think that I was never that popular anyway.  There have been situations in the past where I could have risked being unpopular for the sake of what would have been best for all concerned in the long run.  If only I had gone deeper within for answers and ignored misguided and often misconstrued influences, as well-intended as they may have been at one time.

Suffice to say, the easy way out does not always equate to the wisest way out.  Excuses, likewise, do little to enhance our position.

Ah me.  We get too soon old and too late smart(?)!

LET'S ALL BE THE BEST WE CAN BE

"Sometimes in life we know that we are not the best player in the game, but if we try our hardest and are the best that we can be, there is a very good chance that we will emerge victorious because 'best players' have been known to level the playing field by being complacent."  -- The Old Coach


I always told kids that I coached in sports to not be intimidated by players who they think are better than them, rather "put all of your energy into being the best player that you can be."  The same thing applies to all aspects of life, because there will always be someone who is "better than you", but that need not stop us from the enjoyment of full application and ultimate satisfaction in having done our level best.

For me there might well be a case here for "preacher heal thyself" because I fear that I have not always "tried my level best".  Oh, I am sure that I have tried, but in retrospect I have to wonder if I fully applied myself to certain tasks and goals.  If I only had it to do over again...

Perhaps some readers of this post will also question the extent to which they have "tried their level best" in the past as opposed to just going though the paces and settling for come what may.

So this weekend, I am donning the old coach's cap and suggesting that we find the wisdom to base our decisions on inspiration rather than fear, and on imagination rather than conformity.

It is time for us to truly be the best we can be, physically and emotionally, in all that we do.  With that as our guiding principle, how can we possibly go wrong.

May we all be "the best" winners this weekend...and for ever more!

REMEMBERING THE 1950s BOBBY SOCKS ERA

BOBBY SOCKS:  The word "Bobby" comes from bob, meaning cut short, as in bobtail and bobby pins used in bobbed hair.  Since the socks described by the term were cut much shorter than the earlier knee-high socks worn by girls, they were called "bobby socks". 

NOTE:  To set the mood for this item, click

http://youtu.be/9EY4TT2bLRM to hear Frankie Avalon's 1950 hit song, "Bobby Sox to Stockings"

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Just as I had hoped in a post last week, the unusual word "mulligan" has finally been wiped from my mind only to be replaced in the last 12 hours by the words "bobby socks".

"Why in the world are you thinking about bobby socks now, of all things?" you might justifiably ask.  Well the answer is: I really can't explain it other than the fact that I am an old sentimental fool who has a soft spot for everything bobby socks, including the socks themselves, the girls who wore them and the era in which they were worn.  It may have been something I saw on television that prompted this latest word(s) obsession.

"Bobby soxer" is a 1940s sociological coinage denoting the over zealous (usually teenage girls) fans of singer Frank Sinatra, the first singing teen idol.  By the 1950s, fashionable adolescent girls wore poodle skirts and rolled down their socks to the ankle. More often than not, the footwear of choice was the popular black and white saddle oxford of the period.  In high schools, the gymnasium often was used as a dance floor: however, since street shoes and street detritus might damage the polished wood floors, the students were required to remove their shoes and dance in their bobby socks, thus the phrase 'sock hop' was born.

Bobby socks, saddle shoes and let's not forget penny loafers, were also synonymous with flared skirts and lots of petticoats, cat-eye glasses, drive-in movies, drive-in restaurants, milk shakes and root beer floats, cherry cokes, juke boxes, and rock n' roll music.  The late 1940s and early to mid 1950s was a very exciting decade and still is for that matter, especially for nostalgia buffs.  It was a time of happiness for those of us who lived through it and lots of plain old-fashioned clean fun.

By the late 1950s young women's hair styles changed dramatically from basic pin-up curls and ponytails to big back-combed bouffant, beehives and the French pleat, none of which appealed much to me.  Give me curls or poneytails any day.

Young men suddenly became very fashion conscious in the bobby socks era too.  With the short-lived zoot suit doing a fast fade, more conservative drape trousers became a must for every young man about town.  Normal dress pants were taken in at the cuff, gradually tapering off at the knee.  Regular pant bottoms with cuffs were in the 19-20 inch range, but when draped could be as little and as drastic as 13 inches.  My mother insisted that a 15-inch drape was sufficient for her son.

Pink accessories were all the rage for men at the time too -- pink shirts, ties and sweaters worn with charcoal grey pants and suits.  Duck tail hair styles, slicked back at the sides with far-too-much Brill Cream and Vitalis, also gained popularity during the period.

In time, the pink and charcoal fad gave way to Ivy League stripe, button-down fashions.  Today, I do not think that there is a particular fashion, unless you call baseball caps, T-shirts, faded blue jeans and dirty white running shoes a fashion.

The music of the 1950s very definitely influenced the time period and flourished as a result of the previous decade. The 50s saw the emergence and rise of what would come to be known as Rock ‘n Roll, but it  also witnessed the popularity of Country and Western music in a variety of forms. Musicians like Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Hank Williams helped to redefine the entertainment industry with the types of music that they created following the devastating effects of World War Two.    

No discussion of 1950s would be complete, however, without talking about the King of Rock and Roll – Elvis Presley. He is the epitome of the 1950s musical revolution. His rockabilly style followed in the tradition of Carl Perkins, but he had a great deal of success with every form of music he attempted, including country, gospel, and R and B.  Elvis, of course was followed by The Beatles -- and the rest is history as we know it.

Ah yes, bobby socks and the 1950s.  Sock hops, juke boxes, drive-ins.  Lots of wholesome fun and good times.  Gone but not forgotten.  There will never be another era like it.  Girls will never be the same either...At least in this oldtimer's estimation.

WOE IS THE WRITER WHOSE LAWN MOWING INSPIRATION GOES WITH THE WIND

I write some of the greatest stories and blog posts ever when I'm mowing my back yard.  No distractions, just me and the hypnotic rattle of the gas-powered motor as it chews its way through the odd collection of grass, all-too-healthy clover and ever-present common plantain and dandelions. 

Maybe it is the smell of fresh-cut grass, blue skies overhead, warm temperatures and my steady walking pace that combine to stir up these marvelous creative juices.  Only trouble is, the juices cease to flow and my mind becomes a complete blank the moment I stop cutting.  Try as I may, I can never fully recover the inspiration that came so naturally and freely while trudging along behind the lawn mower in a mesmerized state just minutes before.

As much as I hate to admit to a developing short-term memory problem, I have to concede to the possibility.  Under normal conditions when I come up with ideas or thoughts for stories, I immediately drop whatever else I might be doing, fire up the computer and bang off a few quick notes that will help me regain the train of thought at a later time.  This routine works fairly well for me, but I do pay a price when Rosanne chastises me for abandoning dinner preparation at times or sees my computer monitor light flashing in the middle of the night.  I am also not beyond pulling the car over to the side of the road to jot down a few thoughts when we are already late for a doctor's appointment. 

Happily, my long-term memory seems to be as good as it ever was; although some people in my old hometown of Dresden may wish otherwise when I keep coming up with nostalgic tidbits from my early childhood.  I fear that I rubbed a few of those folks the wrong way last year when I publicly sought an apology from the white community for discrimination against Blacks in the late 1800s to mid 1900s.  Boy, think of the spew of indignation and shock if I ever took it upon myself to write about the Peyton Placeish dirty little secrets of that same period in good old Dresden.  Not to worry though, a tell-all historian in the true sense, I am not.

Funny how on one hand I am struggling with short-term memory retention while on the other I suggest that I selectively suppress certain rather revealing memories that are the product of the very active and hush-hush rumor mill of past generations.  Somewhat of a dichotomy, I must admit.  And that's as much of a tease as I will ever offer on the subject.

Anyway, more to the topic, I am determined to find a way to capture those lost moments of creative energy while mowing the lawn.  Maybe I can tie a tape recorder around my neck and orally dictate key points of inspiration as they come gushing forth over the loud hum of the mower. Better hurry too because the lawn cutting season does not last all that long.

One thing for sure, the readers of Wrights Lane will be the first to know when I have found a solution to this problem -- I'll suddenly begin to produce some of those "greatest stories and posts ever" that I have alluded to.

Putting pressure on myself like that seems to stimulate what is left of my abilities of short-term recall.

Come to think of it, I forgot that I left a pot boiling on the stove more than a half hour ago.  Rosanne must have dozed off, otherwise I would have heard about it before now.  Gotta run!

EVERYONE DESERVES A MULLIGAN, OR TWO

You know how it is when you get a certain song or musical refrain on your mind.  Like a broken record it keeps playing over and over again.  For me, it is the same with certain words or phrases that stick in my mind to the degree that they eventually haunt me.

Over the course of the past week for instance, the word "mulligan" has been strangely indelible in my mind and it keeps surfacing as if containing subliminal meaning.  The mulligan I'm talking about here is not the Irish sir name "Mulligan", rather it is the game of golf version of the word "mulligan".  A mulligan in a friendly game of golf is awarded to a player who hits a bad shot, or duffs the ball, generally off the tee.  By consent of others in the foursome, the player is allowed to take the shot over again without penalty on the scorecard.  There are many stories on the origin of the term, dating back to the 1940s, all lacking a definitive explanation.  It can be assumed, however, that a duffer by the name of Mulligan was originally involved, either as a taker or provider of forgiveness for a bad shot.

I can trace all this back to a recent email exchange with a young(er) friend of mine who was filling me in on marital problems he was having.  He explained that things had been extremely rough for a while, but that he decided to foster a reconciliation with his wife and they were in the process of "working things out" for the benefit of three teenage children.

Without asking about the circumstances and who was at fault, I congratulated him for finding it within himself to turn the other cheek and "do the right thing".  We mutually agreed that many couples today give up on marriage too quickly and that it is usually the kids that suffer the most.  I was of the opinion that everyone makes mistakes and that it is always in the best interest of the parties involved to agree to forgive and forget and to give their relationship a second chance.  Kind of like a marital mulligan, I thought...An opportunity to take another shot at marriage and this time to stay out of the rough.

I hope that by posting this item now I can finally get mulligans off my mind.  As I conclude the text, however, I cannot help but think of how much better the world would be if we were all prepared to offer more mulligans in our relationships, marital or otherwise.

There is no question that differences substantially add to our handicap.  We also make our share of mistakes and ill-advised decisions that cause us to stray off the fairway, but that's not to say that we should be exempt from a "second shot" or two as we play out this game of life.

Sometimes too, it is best not to keep score at all.  Mulligans are just between golfing partners -- or husbands and wives.

And, oh yes...That subliminal meaning I was talking about earlier:  "To err is human, to forgive is devine."  I finally got it!

AWAKENINGS AND NEW BEGINNINGS

When you stop to think about it, waking up in the morning is a wonderful thing.  We all do it, if we are lucky.  It certainly beats the alternative anyway.

While I love my bed and generally go to sleep the moment my head hits the pillow, I find myself increasingly gratified to wake up in a new day.  Such was not always the case for me.

Maybe because I do not have a particular schedule to meet and am free of the demands of a job awaiting me, I now linger between the covers a little longer after waking up each morning.  In my first five to ten minutes of consciousness, I have discovered a peculiarly receptive and impressionable state.  All relations with the material world have for a time been shut off and, excluding the possibility of a bad dream or two, the mind is in a freer and more natural state.  This is no doubt why many times the highest and truest impressions come to one in the early morning hours, before the activities of the day and their attendant distractions have exerted an influence.  We  all probably do our clearest thinking in our first few waking minutes of the day, if only we had the ability to bottle it.

But you know, we can take advantage of this valuable quiet time when our mind is a clean slate, to direct thoughts productively along the highest and most desirable paths, thereby setting the pace for the day.  We can be thankful that each morning is a new beginning and we have it entirely in our own hands to make the best of it.  There is nothing in this connection that can be conceived of that cannot be realized somehow, somewhere, sometime.  Yesterday becomes just that -- yesterday.  And tomorrow is...well, tomorrow.

It is sufficient for us to know, however, that the way we live our today determines our tomorrow.  The secret rests in how we utilize those first few minutes each day before getting up on the right side of the bed -- and beginning again, fresh and awake to the potential that lies within and without.

Hello skies all burnished brightly;
   Here in the spent earth all reborn;
Here are the tired limbs springing lightly
   To face the sun and to share the morn
   In the chrism of dew and cool of the dawn.

Every day is a fresh beginning,
   Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,
And, spite of old sorrow and older sinning,
   And puzzles forcasted, and possible pain,
   Take heart with the day and begin again.

  

THE INTUITION THAT LIVES WITHIN US

"What's this reach from within stuff that you talk about, you silly goose?  Explain yourself a little better my friend!"

That question may be quite in order after reading my holiday weekend post, below.

I should explain, unlike a lot of bloggers, I do not push causes and I do not pretend to have all the answers.  Most of the time when I write it is like I am talking to myself.  I share insecurities, experiences and seek rational solutions through communication with you, my small and intimate audience.  I pass on seriously-considered food for thought in the hope that it may influence, or impact, the life of someone else.

When I advocated reaching from within in the previous item, I was talking about digging down to a inner spiritual sense called "intuition".  Some may call it the voice of the soul; some may call it the voice of God; some may call it a sixth sense.  In the degree that we open ourselves to this (divine) inflow, does this voice of intuition speak clearly to us.  In the degree that we recognize, listen to, and obey our intuition, does it speak even more clearly until such time as it is unerring in its guidance.

My conviction is that, so far as physical life is concerned, all life is from without.  There is an immutable law which says:  "As within, so without; cause, effect."  In other words, the thought forces -- the various mental states and emotions -- all have direct effects upon the physical body and our ultimate actions; i.e. if we want to be of a strong, healthy body, we first have to be of a strong, healthy mind that is stimulated by the cumulative influences of kindliness, love, benevolence and good-will. 

So when I suggested taking time to "reach from within" on the weekend, I meant forgetting the baggage of everyday life and relying on inner intuition to tell us how to concentrate on the things that are really important to us, and the actions we must take as a means toward fullness of life, bodily health and vigor.  We all have it within us.  We just have to reach down for it and heed the inner voice we hear!

"Within yourself lies the cause of whatever enters into your life.  To come into the full realization of your awakened interior powers, is to be able to condition your life in exact accord with what you would have it."  -- Words written by Ralph Waldo Trine, 1890. 

REACH FOR THE VERY BEST FROM WITHIN

In a matter of hours (two sleeps) July, 2011 will be the month that was.  While other parts of the world experienced environmental disasters, civil strife, economic downturns and man's inhumanity to man this past month, we here in God's country continued to be blessed in every way possible.

As we contemplate the month of August and plan the rest of our summer, we would do well to make a promise to ourselves to act out of love and inspiration, not out of need or obligation.  As we visit with family and friends in our leisure and enjoy everything that summer has to offer, we can be free to reach for the very best within ourselves.  It's really all about eliminating the potential to incur or experience  negative reactions which tend to impede us on our journey through life.

Now go and enjoy a very positive long weekend!  I plan to.

Resolving to not care about something does not mean that you are no longer a caring person. It simply means that you will not allow yourself to worry about it nor let it influence you in a negative way. --Dick Wright

DO YOU CARE ENOUGH NOT TO CARE?

Following along with the "caring/not caring" theme introduced in my previous post, I was taken by something astrologer-philosopher Jonathon Cainer said the other day:  "Feeling good is not always related to what you've got or what you are striving for.  Sometimes, it is linked to how little you care!"

On the surface that may seem like a strange statement, but I know what Jonathon was driving at.  You can be missing out on many things in life, but if you are content with the few things you actually do have, you won't care about the others.  Sometimes too, when we are attempting to overcome a bad habit or struggling to loose weight, quit smoking or dealing with any number of other addictions, satisfaction is directly linked to finding the ability to give up on something we have come to rather like and is readily available to us.  In this case we have to work on not caring about what we are giving up.

It is all a matter of degree.  How little we care about something, or how much we do care.  There is an up side to caring as well as a down side.  We have to be careful and selective.

And in following our heart we should not be deterred by what others may think.

COME ON, WHO CARES WHAT OTHERS THINK

I was thinking the other day how most of my life I have allowed myself to be influenced by what others may think of me -- my actions, the way I talk, the way I write, the way I look.  I have a feeling that many of my generation too were raised to consider what other people may think, in fact I can still hear my mother chastising me with "What would your family think?  What would the neighbors think?  What would our friends think?  In time a certain paranoia sets in and it influences every decision we ever make.

I can't really pinpoint when I began to smarten up and let my heart influence what I do and what I say, but it took most of my life to get over the "what will people think" syndrome.  Oh, I get in trouble sometimes, but for the most part it feels pretty good.

There are two types of decision makers in the world. The first are internal decision makers. These are the people who self-analyze every step, every option, every possible outcome and never talk it through with others. This doesn't mean they don't care about the opinions of others.  In fact, my experience is that it is quite the opposite. They've been burned so many times, they choose to make their decisions on their own as a way of avoiding being rejected.

The second is an external decision maker. These people constantly seek the opinions of others, asking for their approval in ways such as, "Do you like this idea?," "Am I right?," "Are we in the right place?," "Am I doing the right thing" and "Are we okay?" They're thought of as team players because they want to get everyone involved in their process. They simply can't move forward without the validation from others.

The addiction to the opinion of others affects areas of your life you may not even be aware of.   For example, your decision to live in a particular neighborhood, drive a certain car, send your kid to private school, wearing designer labels, the watch around your wrist, the vacations you go on, the clubs you belong to, all of these things are tied to what someone else thinks.

The addiction to what other people think has another significant impact; it represses us, which in turn keeps us in a sort of purgatory, afraid of the consequences of pursuing the life we really want. 

Since we are the stories we tell ourselves, as one writer put it, they impact the way we behave.   "When we release from an old story, we let go of our self-imposed conversations and traps that keep us stuck. In the process, we become more sure of ourselves, become more expressive and are more likely to make decisions that move our life forward because we're no longer living from that story that has been holding us back."

The only way to have complete freedom from this addiction is not to worry about the outcome other than think positive about it.   It takes practice and courage to not place any level of importance on someone else's opinion.   An opinion is not fact.   It may not even be the truth.   It is merely someone else's view about an issue that is based solely on personal judgment and therefore should not have any impact on our choices.

So this weekend put on those shorts that you haven't worn for a while because you've put on too much weight -- who cares -- sit out in your back yard with a cool glass of something and sing and laugh out loud to your heart's content.  Who cares what those old fogey neighbors might think.

"Who cares", that's the ticket!

THREE GENERATIONS OF CRAWLING BEFORE WE COULD WALK

I have an affinity for old things.  I have a lot of old things, in fact I am an "old thing".  So why should I keep my old things to myself?  My philosophy is "why not share my old things with others who too enjoy old things.

On a bar room bet, Ernest Hemmingway once wrote a six-word story about "never-worn" baby shoes that were "on sale".  While I'm no Hemmingway, I too have a story about baby shoes, but in this case they were well worn -- by my grandfather, by my father and me.

Photographed above are prized old baby shoes worn by three generations of the Wright family.  On the left are surprisingly well-preserved genuine leather shoes worn by my grandfather Wesley as a toddler, 1849-'50.  In the middle are colorful, red boots worn by my father Kennth, probably for a short period, 1899-1900 as her learned to walk.  On the right are bronzed shoes (originally white in color) that were worn by me as I took my first steps in the year 1939 on the same hard wood floor on Sydenham Street in Dresden as my father some 40 years before.

It is interesting to note that my left baby shoe was worn (tilts) more to one side.  To this day I wear out the heels on my left shoe in the same manner.

As I hobble along now on two repaired feet and ankles, I give thanks for every step I have taken in life -- and for those three pairs of old baby shoes that helped start it all for us.

O' YES, I REMEMBER THEM WELL

READER RESPONSE:  "Hi Dick. I enjoyed your books on Dresden and Wrights Lane. I too grew up in Dresden. My name is Robert (Bob)Hedden. son of Margaret & Harold Hedden. I grew up in Dresden and now reside in Wallaceburg.  I enjoyed your story about my Dad the local Constable sending you home because you were late.  I knew your Mom from Carr's Drug Store/McTavish.

"I delivered newspapers  and groceries for Gerry Weese and then learned a trade in the meat business from Hugh Farnsworth.  I have very fond memories of my hometown. I have every book published about the town now including yours.  Also old newspapers.  I have thought about organizing what I have and attempting to put together stories of the people I knew growing up.  My sons will kid me about my trips down memory lane with our grand children or whoever will listen to me.  Rosey Johnson mentioned Hook Davis coaching him in one of your blogs.  Hook had a sister Norma who became my mother-in-law. I married her first born daughter, Linda, 44 years ago. 

"It was nice to read Dick Turner's comments.  I am not sure if he still remembers me.  I visited their house on Centre Street when we were kids.  Dick (Turner) and I are about the same age.  It was great to hear their mother is still alive. I have fond memories of their father Roy also.

"Dick Wright keep writing those stories.  It takes you back to a much simpler time."

--Bob Hedden

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am always gratified when I receive these types of comments on my "Dresden blog" and two fairly recently-published books, Wrights Lane...Come On In and Dresden Life Remembered.  Hardly a week goes by that I don't hear from someone completely out of the blue.

Just recently I received surprise coincidental email messages from three (I almost said "boys") let's say middle-aged men who grew up in Dresden in the 1950s and 60s.  They share a number of things in common -- a love of their home town, a compulsion to reminisce and talk about "the good old days", and a belief that I do not remember them when in fact I remember them and their families like it was yesterday.

Bob Hedden, Dick Turner and Dennis Webster are all about the same age and it is only natural to think that an older guy (me, then a teenager) in a small town would not notice them, or even be aware of their existence.  After all, I was admittedly not the most gregarious teen in those days.

The most recent message from Bob Hedden is published above as a case in point.  With great feeling Bob introduces himself and talks about growing up in Dresden, his parents, his first job(s) and a certain young lady with whom he now celebrates 44 years of marriage.  I write this post primarily to prove to Bob (as I have in similar responses to Dick and Dennis *see their comments to the right) that I not only remember him, but a lot of other things that might surprise him.  Here goes...

I remember Bob's parents and grand parents even before he was born.  Harold and Margaret Hedden lived the first few years of their marriage with Margret's parents, the Henderson's.  The Henderson home was on Hughes Street (cor. West Street) across from my Aunt Hattie Sharpe.  As a matter of fact, Margaret went to school with my cousin, Norma Johnston (Sharpe).  Harold, of Irish parentage and originally from Hensall, worked for a while just down the street at the O. and W. McVean (Hub and Spoke) factory before becoming a member of the town's two-man police force.

On hot summer days a tiny diaper-clad Bob could be seen frolicking in a playpen on the Henderson's front lawn and then sprouting up to become a young lad about town as Margaret and Harold added substantially to the family circle.  I am not completely sure, but I think that Bob was the first of at least a half dozen other Hedden siblings. 

Besides my Aunt Hattie, her adult son Jim, and the Baverstock family that rented a portion of her house, I also remember many of the other Hughes Street neighbours in those days, many of which Bob would be familiar with:  The next-door Howells (former police chief), the Cooks, McCrackens, Frasers, Tassies, Andersons, Rigsbys, Weeses (former mayor) and renters the Morgans, Houstens and the other Sharpes, May and Ern.  A little further up Hughes Street were the Brassetts, Martins, Johnsons, Carrs, Rev. Newtons, Morrisons and Aubry Buttler, the Yontz, Slaghts, Goodmans; and last but by no means the least, the Wells and son Keith.  

How am I doing so far, Bob?  Have I got you convinced?

Not much unusual about my recollections, really...It's all part and parcel of life in a small town where everyone knows everyone else.  No need for "Neighbourhood Watch" in those days, it just came naturally.  Of course some of us have longer memories than others and we appreciate opportunities to share them. 

Nothing wrong in revisiting where we came from if it makes us feel good and satisfies a need within us.  As Bob puts it: "It was a much simpler time then!"...and always nice to remember.

A NIGHTCAP THAT LASTED A LIFETIME

When was the last time you had a nightcap?

Answers to that question could vary depending on one's imbibing habits.  Of course it depends too on what kind of nightcap you are talking about -- the drinking variety or the type that you wear on your head.  The term "nightcap" also applies to the second game of a doubleheader (two games) in baseball.

For me, the answer to the original question would be that I've had a nightcap all my life.  It actually belonged to my father before me and in this case he wore it to bed on cold winter nights.  It wasn't just any kind of nightcap, it was the creation of my Aunt Hattie Sharpe and given to my dad as a Christmas gift.  There was no front or back to the cap but the name "Ken" was embroidered in blue thread on what could naturally be assumed as the front, but it didn't matter when putting it on in the dark anyway.

There was no heat in the upstairs of our house in the 1930s and 40s and Ken had been complaining for some time that his bald head was cold at night in winter and while there were a lot of laughs when he opened his gift and promptly modelled it, he was extremely appreciative of his sister-in-law's thoughtful handiwork.

I have always prized that old nightcap that has survived 70 years (see photo) and have it displayed on a shelf in my office-den along with a lot of other family relics.  Strangely, in my mind's eye, I always associate the nightcap with the parodied poem "The Night Before Christmas":  "...Mamma in her kerchief and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap..."

Strange as it may seem, there is comfort in this for me.

THE ART OF LISTENING IS A GOOD THING

Listening with half an ear is one of my pet peeves, topping a list that includes hearing only what one wants to hear and convenient, selective hearing.  Those of us who are lifetime public communicators learn very early in the game to rationalize these traites, but they can be a challenge at times.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Most of us, if questioned, would pay lip service to being a good listener.  But, honestly, how good are we at listening?

In order for us to hold our own and to function effectively in today's society we are required to communicate and that involves conversing a lot in both social and business settings -- endless meetings, encounters and conversations.  A common perception is that it is not necessarily what you say that matters, but how forceful and glib you were in saying it.

How often have you been involved in a conversation and felt that the other party(s) was not really listening to you?  How often have you thought that the point you were trying to make really did not sink in and you wonder after-the-fact how you could have made more impact and held the interest of your listener(s)?

My take is that frequently, we all generally find ourselves thinking more about what we are going to say next in a conversation, than about whatever someone else has just said, losing sight of the fact that we may be giving the impression of disinterest.   

I honestly think that listening is a lost art today, but if we want to make progress in sensitive situations we should do less talking and more undivided, wholehearted listening.  To my mind, it is a common courtesy too.

We can fulfill a natural self-serving impulse to be clever and dominate in our conversations, but not at the expense of the necessity to listen and to be seen as a genuinely attentive listener.

DEGREE OF TRUTH IN MY MALAPROPISM?

Rosanne's gift for unintentional "malapropisms" is starting to rub off on me.  I take full credit for one today that cracked up even me, if I do say so myself.

By means of explanation, I had just done a special favour for Rosanne which she acknowledged by saying: "Thanks. I hope you know that every time you do something for me I love you a little more, if that's possible!"

Me:  "Well, you know what they say...Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder!"

Don't know what made me think of that.

A SCHOOL PRINCIPAL'S 12 STEPS TO "LIFE THAT IS WAITING" FOR HIS GRADUATE STUDENTS

Telling it like it is in terms that kids can understand
~~~~~~~~~~

At a recent Grade 8 graduation ceremony,  Principal Dan Russell thanked his G. C. Huston Public School students, parents and teachers in Southampton for work accomplished throughout the year and delivered some words of advice to the graduates that deserve repeating.  In fact, his remarks are so impressive and relevant today that I feel they are worth readers of this site passing them on to all young people of their acquaintance.

DAN RUSSELL

The community-minded Russell, a man of intense energy, acknowledged that there have been "incredible changes in technology, communications, television viewing choices and the way we educate".   Despite the many changes, he emphasized that there are some things that have remained the same and that are "constant and appropriate, despite our changing world".   He referred to them as "The 12 Things that Life is Waiting for..."  The following are in part, his Life steps:

1. Life is waiting for those who treat their body like a temple, not a tent. It is your life so take care of it ... stay away from fashion magazines, they will only make you feel frumpy ... eat well, exercise regularly and don't smoke. Nicotine is a drug just like all the other bad ones.

2. Life is waiting for positive participants rather than negative onlookers ... boredom is self-inflicted ... develop a hunger for learning worthwhile things and never let it go. The world is a fascinating place, the things God has created are much more wonderful and fascinating than what man has come up with. No one can force-feed learning, it has to be a conscious decision on your part to fully participate in the process ... develop a positive attitude ... life is waiting for those willing to develop their brains in directions that will really pay off in later life.

3. Life is waiting for those who become loyal friends ... laugh and giggle a lot, mostly at yourself. A true friend will put a finger on your faults without rubbing them in ... stay away from people that are mean or who are proud of making stupid choices.

4. You can't be brilliant in all things ... remember life is sometimes waiting for those who emulate Winnie-the-Pooh, who had little brain but an enormous heart.

5. Read! Life is waiting for those are avid readers ... read everything, especially good fiction ... good books will develop your imagination ... what we need in this information age is wisdom. It is your generation that will have to acquire the moral imagination to solve some of the great ethical problems that have been created by previous generations with all their knowledge.

6. Life is waiting for those who recognize where their strengths and weaknesses are ... I believe we were put on this earth to make it a better place than it was before we got here ... work to discover what it is you are good at, but it must be positive and constructive ... do something to make the world more beautiful ... life is waiting for those who listen to and respect their elders ... love your parents and family.

7. Life is waiting for those who strive to be creators of circumstance rather than simply creatures of circumstance ... don't guess at or wish about things, make them happen ... move to get educated as much as you can ... recognize not only the difference between the best and the worst in life but also the difference between the best and second best ... never give up and don't be astonished if you don't succeed the first time.

8. Life is waiting for those who take time to be alone with themselves ... don't get over-busy ... learn to pray, you can make better judgement calls about what is truly important to you and what is not ... in those quiet moments always search for truth, it sometimes comes in peculiar direction ... we often make important discoveries through others.

9. Life is waiting for those who recognize early that knowledge can result in power for both good and evil in this world ... life is waiting for those who are more interested in their character and beautiful character begins in the heart.

10. Life is waiting for those who avoid slick advertising designed to create a market of useless nonsense ... you have more money in your pockets than any previous generation of kids ... don't waste it.

11. Life is waiting for those who work on a solid understanding of the difference between what is a want and a need ... 'want' just puts you into debt.

12. Finally, believe it or not, life waits for those who do not dream of being famous ... society is in the process of bemusing itself to death with movies and reality television ... getting caught up in this insane feeding frenzy for fame and notoriety ... life especially waits for those who refuse to get absorbed in worship of celebrity ... the frustration of young people is universally paramount when they discover that their chances at fame and fortune are rather limited. You do however, have the option to be successful instead ... success is not what you achieve as much as what you overcome -- bad habits, laziness, misplaced anger, carelessness and thoughtlessness -- just keep working on them and don't forget ... success often means taking risks.  This all builds character.

"Parents are the most influential educators of all and teachers help mold the character of their students.  Remember the simplicity and goodness of your roots.  Do good and keep on doing it.  Life is waiting for you !"

May your words and wisdom have meaningful impact on the lives of your students, Mr. Russell -- and all who read this.

A LUNCH THAT HAD NO APPEAL FOR LUNCH

We had four bbq'd chicken wings and some potato salad left over from supper last night.

"You can have that for lunch tomorrow," I suggested to Rosanne.

At noon today, however, she announced as only she could:  "I don't want that lunch for lunch (meaning the wings and potato salad)!"

"Well, then, maybe you can have it for supper," was my common sense retort, "otherwise it'll go to waste.".

"I don't want that lunch for supper either," came the mournful yet decisive reply.

I didn't dare mention having the lunch for breakfast tomorrow.  For some reason I didn't want to have that lunch for lunch today either.   Any wonder I'm on the brink of insanity?

Biblical expressions are timeless

My last post (below) carried what may seem to be a rather odd heading.  "Seeing through a glass, darkly" referred to the fact that I had engaged in a close look at myself and was taking measures to correct what I saw.

In the real biblical sense, to "see through a glass (mirror-like), darkly," is to have an obscure or imperfect view of reality.  The expression comes from the writings of the Apostle Paul where he explains that we do not now see clearly, but at the end of time, we will do so.  Sadly, to my way of thinking, Paul's contention will come too little too late to do our worldly selves any good, but I digress.

The "through a glass" heading got me thinking about other age old expressions that remain in common usage today.  "No man can serve two masters". "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak". "The last shall be first, and the first last". "Man shall not live by bread alone". "Turn the other cheek". "Well done, thou good and faithful servant".  What do these familiar expressions have in common? The answer is of course that they all derive from the King James Bible. In fact, they can be traced to a single one of the 66 books that make up the Old and New Testaments: St Matthew's Gospel.

Even in an age when Christian faith is faltering, the language of the 1611 King James Bible is an important strand running through everyday English. Whether consciously or not, we reproduce its elegant phrasing when we say something is a thorn in our flesh or refer to an event having turned the world upside down. From Matthew alone we draw the expressions "den of thieves", "thirty pieces of silver", "O ye of little faith" and "the salt of the earth".

"Get thee behind me, Satan" is another Biblical expression frequently called on by yours truly.  Sometimes he does...Sometimes he doesn't, but once again I digress.

SEEING THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY

Something happened to me on the way to my present persona and I do not necessarily like it.

I have written before about the shyness that I was born with and troubling adolescent inhibitions that carried well into manhood.  It took almost 70 years for me to be comfortable in my own skin.  Along with that comfort, however, came a growing tendency to be a bit of a mischief maker and a compulsive tease.  It has been a subtle transformation that only recently I have acknowledged through some eye-opening soul searching.

More than anything else, perhaps, it has been Rosanne's insistant "people just do not understand your weird sense of humour, Dick", that finally forced me to take a close look at what I thought was a harmless "fun" side of my nature.  What I came to realize is that generally that "fun" was at other people's expense and that increasingly I could legitimately be accused of trouble-making.

Did the devil make me do it, or was I giving in to a personality flaw that had this strange way of surfacing?  Honestly, maybe a little of both.

It has been suggested that mischief making is a creative activity on a par with painting, cooking, basket-weaving, flower-arranging or God help me -- writing.  Pride is taken in all those types of activity.  Practised mischief/trouble-makers like me also become apt at hiding a big wooden spoon  because we know that stirring the pot is always best done subtly.  A disruptive word here.  A slightly stinging criticism there.  A tongue-in-cheek joke someplace else.  Gleefully rattling chains.

It is rather sad for me now to think of how often my kind of "fun" may have actually been misplaced and unappreciated.  As result, I am making a conscious effort to abstain from any form of teasing or mischief that has hidden potential to be misunderstood.  I am refusing to rise to the devilish challenges that so frequently presented themselves to me in the past.

If I do not seem to be the fun(ny) kind of guy that I used to be, you will now know the reason why.  It is all for the better.  Self-sensorship is serious business and it is certainly no laughing matter!

We jokesters walk a fine line and we have to be sensitive to how our words and actions are perceived.  Many times that "fine line" is none other than a fuse leading directly to a powder keg.

I think we all agree with the principle that we can accomplish far more with warmth, support and consistent kindness, than we can through conflict, confrontation and assertive intervention.  There are times, too, when we are better off turning the other cheek, simply letting go of certain issues and situations.  Why, then, is it so difficult for some of us to grasp that concept?  Why are some things in life far easier said than done?  God bless those who have the capacity to forgive -- and forget!  It is written that "their's will be the Kingdom of Heaven".  

THE BEST DADS BELIEVE IN THEIR KIDS

"My son is a major leaguer playing in the minors."

--Former big league baseball star John Mayberry talking about his son John Jr. who is developing his talents in baseball's minor leagues after several years as a standout college player.

A salute to fathers everywhere whose job it is to be supportive and have faith...And never hesitate to demonstrate pride in their kids.

MY LATEST BACKYARD MIRACLE

HELLO WORLD!...THE BREAKTHROUGH MOMENT

HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW!?

Miracles never cease in my back yard it seems.

Last summer it was a stray, determined sunflower seed that grew and grew against all odds, once stripped of all its leaves by a hungry Cotton Tail Rabbit and three times beaten to the ground by high winds and heavy rain storms.

This summer it is a fern pushing its way through five inches of driveway asphalt.  Several weeks ago I noticed a baseball-sized mound heaving up and breaking through the asphalt just inches from a garden walkway.  Within a 48-hour period the tips of several baby Fiddle heads were distinguishable as I pushed aside several clumps of asphalt (see photo above).  It was then that I realized that I had another amazing summer story in the making and weeks of fern-watching entertainment ahead of me, courtesy of Mother Nature.

Today I photographed the mighty little fern again -- all 18 inches of it, crispy green, healthy and justifiably proud of its accomplishment, in a horticultural sort of way.

If only we mere mortals could harness the sheer force and power of that little fern pushing its way through a driveway surface, surely we could move mountains.

Awe, the wonder of it all!

SETTING THE RECORD STRAIGHT ON BAGELS

Old friend Ray Gilbert was so intrigued by our silly little "New York bagel" story (previous post, below) that he could not resist doing a little research on the subject, just for his own edification.  He kindly passed his findings along to me.

"The two most prominent styles of traditional bagel in North America are the Montreal-style bagel and the New York-style bagel. The Montreal bagel contains malt and sugar with no salt; it is boiled in honey sweetened water before baking in a wood-fired oven; and it is predominantly either of the poppy "black" or sesame "white" seeds variety. The New York bagel contains salt and malt and is boiled in water prior to baking in a standard oven. The resulting New York bagel is puffy with a moist crust, while the Montreal bagel is smaller (though with a larger hole), crunchier, and sweeter.  Poppy seeds are sometimes called by their Yiddish name, spelled either mun or mon (written מאָן) which is very similar to the German word for poppy, Mohn, as used in Mohnbrötchen. The traditional London bagel (or beigel as it is spelled) is harder and has a coarser texture with air bubbles."

In thanking Ray for the interesting information I suggested that I hesitate to inform Rosanne that it is not "where" bagels are made that gives them their name, but "how" they are made.  Perhaps I will wait for an opportunity to tactfully work it into conversation.  God help me, she doesn't even know that I wrote about it.  For now, the rest of us will know the real story however.