FOUR WOMEN NOW LEAD PROTESTANT CHURCHES IN CANADA

Canadian Governor General Mary Simon was joined by three leaders of Canadian church organizations for the site selection ceremony of the National Residential Schools monument on Parliament Hill in Ottawa on the 20th of June. Pictured here (l to r) are Her Excellency; The Right Rev. Dr. Carmen Landsdowne, Moderator of the United Church of Canada; The Rev. Mary Fontaine, Moderator of the Presbyterian Church in Canada, and The Most Rev. Linda Nicholls, Primate of the Anglican Church of Canada.

It was a breath of fresh air to read of the recent election of Rev. Mary Fontaine as Moderator of the Presbyterian Church in Canada, meaning that the Presbyterian, United, Anglican and Lutheran churches are now all headed by women in our country -- a Canadian record.

Mary Fontaine is Nehiyaw (Cree) from Mistawasis Nehiywak, Saskatchewan. She has a B.A. in Native Studies from the University of Alberta (1995) and an M.Div. from the Vancouver School of Theology (2003). She was on the Executive Committee of the World Communion of Reformed Churches (2010–2017) and convenes the National Indigenous Ministries Council of The Presbyterian Church in Canada.

In June of last year The Rev. Dr. Carmen Lansdowne was elected only the second Indigenous Moderator of the United Church in Canada. Born in Albert Bay, British Columbia, and a member of Heiltsuk First Nation, she was ordained in 2007 and is a prominent speaker and writer. .

The Most Rev. Linda Carol Nicholls is the 14th primate of the Anglican Church, having been elected in 2019, and The Rev. Susan C. Johnson was elected as the fourth national bishop of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada in 2007, re-elected again in 2016.

This group of distinquished church leaders shows the possibilities and potential for women in leadership roles in other church denominations in Canada, as well as demonstrating how far many have come in the past couple of decades.

The question of who leads a spiritual assembly is very much up to members of that assembly. Even the head of the Global Anglican Church, Archbishop of Canterbury Justine Welby, has spoken out on the subject.

Addressing a conference on religion and media, Welby said the structure of the Anglican communion (which claims 85 million members worldwide) needed reform "so it is no longer invariably run by a white guy from England in a communion that is 90 per cent global south."

JUST FOR UNDERSTANDING PURPOSES: A CURSORY LOOK AT SOCIETY'S HUMAN IDENTITY DIFFERENCES

"...and in the end, they shall join themselves together."

I am sure that like me, a number of Wrights Lane readers, have little understanding for widespread differences in the human community of which we are all members. No denying a general
reluctance to acknowledge certain differences, choosing instead to adopt perceived safety of an arm's length ignorance on the entire matter.

As a for instance, have you ever wondered what the "Q" in LGBTQ stands for? Or what the other letters mean? Just as language constantly evolves, the words we use to describe ourselves and other facets of identity are changing, too. 

I think that it behooves all of us to join the 21st Century by keeping up to date with the often complex evolutions impacting our society, none of which will go away now or in the future. 

To that end, here are some terms warranting ready acknowlgement and with which we should become familiar and feel comfortable using, based on resources from the American Psychological Association; The Association of LGBTQ Journalists and the National Center for Transgender Equality. 

LGBTQ: The first four letters of this standard abbreviation are fairly straightforward: “Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender.” The Q can stand for “questioning” -- as in still exploring one’s sexuality -- or “queer,” or sometimes both.

QUEER: Once considered a demeaning slur for being gay, “queer” is being reclaimed by some as a self-affirming umbrella term, especially among those who consider other labels restrictive. Some still believe it’s a homophobic slur, so it’s always best to ask or wait for the person whom you’re speaking with to use it.

SEX: The scientific community views sex as different from gender. Sex is assigned at birth based on a newborn’s physical and biological characteristics, such as chromosomes, hormone prevalence and anatomy. Generally, a newborn’s sex is assigned male or female, though some states and countries provide a third option for those who are intersex.

INTERSEX: People born with sex chromosomes, external genitalia or an internal reproductive system that is not considered standard for males or females. Parents and physicians usually choose the sex of the child, resulting in surgery or hormone treatment. Some intersex adults want this practice to end because one’s sex at birth may not align with their own sense of gender or identity.

GENDER: The socially constructed roles, behaviors and attributes that serve as cultural indicators of someone’s personal and social identity. Typically, these roles are grouped into one of two categories: male or female. That’s starting to change, as society grows more comfortable with the idea of gender as a spectrum and not binary.

GENDER IDENTITY: A person’s emotional and psychological sense of their gender, which may not align with the sex they were assigned at birth. The most common examples of gender identity are male and female, but there are several terms for people who don’t fit into those categories, such as the following…

NON-BINARY: One of the more common terms to describe people who don’t identify as male or female. Some may have a gender that blends male and female elements, or they may not identify with any gender. Common synonyms or alternatives to non-binary terms include genderqueer and gender nonconforming.

TRANSGENDER: Unlike non-binary people, transgender people may identify as male or female. What the two groups share is the innate sense that their gender identity does not match the sex they were assigned at birth.

CISGENDER: The prefix “cis” means “on this side.” Adding it to the suffix “gender” creates a word for someone whose gender identity aligns with the sex they were assigned at birth. In other words, someone who does not identify as transgender.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: One’s innate sexual attraction to other men, women or others who identify as non-binary. Not to be confused with gender, sex or gender identity.

LESBIAN: A noun and an adjective for women who are attracted to other women, although some women prefer to be called gay or queer – it’s always best to ask!

GAY: An adjective and not a noun, most often used to describe men who are attracted to other men (except in the aforementioned cases).

BISEXUAL: Someone who is attracted to more than one gender.

ASEXUAL: Asexuality is a sexual orientation characterized by a lack of sexual attraction, but it doesn’t rule out romantic feelings or tendancies.

PANSEXUAL: The prefix “pan” says it all. Pansexual is an adjective for those who are attracted to all types of people, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation.

TENDER LOVING CARE: A FORMULA FOR SUCCESS

An elementary school teacher tells of the morning she met a neighbor in the laundry room of their apartment building. “How’s your 10-year-old daughter doing in school?” she asked. “Well,” he said, “let’s put it this way: I was helping her with her homework last night when she looked up at me and said, ‘Dad, you’re almost as smart as a mom.'”

Indeed! Perhaps more important for that daughter is something that was again confirmed in a recent, well-regarded scientific study: All around the world, women are better empathizers than men. And no matter where they live in the world, no matter what their cultural or family influences, moms score high marks in this area of life. And we all know empathy is crucial for any parent who wants to provide tender, loving care for their children.

Many years ago, at the University of Wisconsin, there was an undergraduate literary club — a group of brilliant male students who had demonstrated considerable writing talent. They met regularly, and at each meeting, one of the members would read aloud a story or an essay he had written and then submit it to the criticism of the others.

When the criticism got underway, no punches were pulled. The group held nothing back. The material was mercilessly dissected, almost line by line. So brutal were the sessions that the members called themselves “The Stranglers.” 

Not long after, a similar club was formed. It was called “The Wranglers,” and its membership consisted of female undergraduates who had demonstrated considerable literary talent. They, too, read their manuscripts aloud at their meetings and then submitted them to the other members’ critiques. But there was a significant difference in the criticism. It was exceedingly gentle and sensitive. In fact, there was almost none. 

The Wranglers tried to find kind things to say. They spoke in tender, positive rather than negative terms. The key attitude was one of encouragement, even for the feeblest efforts.

About 20 years after “The Stranglers” and "The Wranglers” had been born, a university alumnus analyzed the members’ careers. She discovered that not one of the bright, young male talents in “The Stranglers” group had achieved a literary reputation of any kind. On the other hand, “The Wranglers” had produced half a dozen prominent, successful writers. 

The essential talent in the two groups had initially been much the same. The Wranglers uplifted and encouraged others to believe in themselves, esteem themselves highly, and aspire to their true worth. But the Stranglers did the opposite, promoting self-doubt, self-discouragement, and low self-esteem. 

It seems that in choosing a name for themselves, “The Stranglers” had been wiser than they realized.

TO PLAY OR NOT TO PLAY: THE SUNDAY DILEMMA OF A YOUNG CHRISTIAN ADHERENT ATHLETE IN MY DAY

Sitting on my front porch and listening to the groan of several power lawn mowers piercing the prevailing tranquility in my neighborhood this past Sunday afternoon, I was reminded of how much times have changed and a story I wrote on the subject about 10 years ago, some of which is revisited in the following post.

When I was a young fellow I found myself in a real bind. I had started to play organized baseball and games were scheduled on virtually every Sunday, May to September. The problem was that in those days recreational activities of any kind on The Lord's Day were very much frowned on, in fact if you were a practicing Christian it was considered a sin.

The Lord's Day Alliance, formed by Presbyterians, Methodists, and Congregationalists in 1888 to protect the sacredness of Sunday in Canada, was still a force to be reckoned with in the 1940s and '50s. 

I well remember that there was a 12-midnight curfew for Saturday dances and that in some communities with flood-lit playing fields no extra inning of a tied baseball game could start 10 minutes before the bewitching hour of 12:00 a.m. (It actually happened to me in Thorold one Saturday night  when I was manager of St. Thomas Empires vying for provincial Intermediate "A" honors in 1969. With the score tied going into the 11th inning, the game was suspended and rescheduled to be played all over again on neutral grounds in Simcoe the following weekend.)

 

In fact, any public activity that disturbed the peace of a quiet, restful Sunday was frowned on. Sunday evening band concerts on the market square in my hometown were an exception in summer months.

My mother and father were staunch Presbyterians and it was only because of illness that I would miss attending Sunday School and the worship services that followed. At 16 years of age I even became a Sunday School teacher, so my formative years were firmly entrenched in Church and Christian beliefs and practices.

So it was with the half-hearted approval of my mother (my father had passed away) and struggling with pangs of guilt on one hand and a burning passion for the game of baseball on the other, that I began to venture onto the playing field with mixed emotions on Sabbath afternoons; after attending church worship services in the morning, of course. Looking back, I always felt that I did not play my best on Sundays and if I had a bad game, or committed an error in the field, I was convinced that it was a penalty  for playing baseball on the biblical "day of rest."

Boy, have times changed in the intervening 70 years. What pained and compromised me as a young athlete, families do not give a second thought today. When you think of Sunday today, one of two things likely come to mind. Perhaps you think of going to church with your family. However, there are other activities that captivate a huge percentage of North Americans -- golf, fishing, hunting, football and baseball, to name only a few of the weekend distractions. In fact, there is a real argument to be made that sports in general are better at bringing people together than church ever was.

It is really not surprising people feel this way. When you go to a football or baseball game, for instance, suddenly you are best friends with tens of thousands of other people in the stadium. These people don’t care about your gender, sexual orientation, race, or religion. All they care about is that you are supporting the same team. It is a bond that can last for life. It sounds silly, but it’s amazing the extent to which mutual support for a team can draw people together. It used to be that way with church attendance.

Today, more people than ever before are choosing not to attend church services. Maybe they simply don’t enjoy it. Possibly too, there are increasing numbers who have never been exposed to religious life as children or others who have not been accepted into a church because of their lifestyle. There are a lot of different lifestyles that certain denominations have trouble with. One of the most common is the refusal to accept members of the Gay community or views on contraception and abortion. Many religions teach that homosexuality, condoms, and abortions are sins, and that can be ostracizing to some. Thankfully, however, there are increasing religious denominations accepting people for who they are.

Watching and playing games on Sunday afternoons can be a great escape. Whether you are watching from home, physically at the game or participating in a recreational activity, it is a wonderful way to forget about the everyday stresses of life, including work, health, and personal relationships. Going to church does not necessarily do that for many current generation individuals. 

Two of the most widely watched television events on Sundays are baseball's World Series and football's Super Bowl. Even those who do not care about sports attend World Series and Super Bowl parties in homes, even if it’s just an excuse to get together with friends.

Companies spend millions of dollars just to get a 30-second commercial that will air during these major sports extraveganzas. In fact, it is now expected that the commercials you see during the game will be the best you see all year. Why do advertisers put so much money and energy into these commercials? Because they know they have a larger audience now than they will at any other time in the year. 

Even though churches are left competing with sports for attention on Sundays, they still have a unique and necessary role to play in addressing the world-wide needs of an increasingly desperate society; and for the most part they do it in a very low-key way, unacknowleged by main stream media. There are many people who are committed to their faith, including those who will put their beloved sport on hold to attend a religious service and still get home in time for the game-opening pitch or kick off. And that is a good thing, or an acceptable compromise by today's relaxed standards.

Personally, I do not attend church services anymore, but it has nothing to do with acceptance or a preference for sports...It goes much deeper than that and I might write about it some day, when I'm ready.

In retrospect, I am still in that moral bind of my youth. It has just taken on a different perspective. 

Old teachings and morals of formative days die hard! Perhaps that is the way it should be.

CLIMATE CRISIS IS A HUMAN CRICIS

Drought. Heat waves. Rising sea levels. Flooding. Severe storms. These are among the impacts of the climate crisis that are causing people to flee their homes and livelihoods all over the world.

The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees estimates that, on average, 20 million people are displaced by extreme weather events each year. It is estimated that, by 2050, the number of people who will be displaced by climate-related disasters will top 200 million.

The climate crisis poses an increasing threat to vulnerable populations around the world, and the effects are distributed very unevenly across the planet. Indigenous people and those in the global south -- having contributed the least to global warming -- are among the most vulnerable to its effects. As a result, church organizations (yes, we still have churches) with world-wide mission outreach programs, have called for the transfer of resources from affluent nations to low-income countries, in addition to debt cancellation in reparation for the irreversible loss and damage that has resulted from a warming climate.

Wealthy countries’ use of fossil fuels for much longer periods (e.g., since the Industrial revolution) confers an ethical responsibility to support countries that are least able to adapt and endorses the principles of a “just transition,” the implementation of actions and policies to lower carbon emissions and counter climate change while also taking significant steps to support workers and families in the industries and communities affected.

Admitedly, all so much easier said than done at a time when our governments are challenged and stretched in so many directions, many equally at the crisis stage.

God help us help others in dire need at this crucial and troubling period in our history where aid and humanitarianism has serious cost implications that have to be absorbed by the more advantaged.

GOT A SOFT SPOT FOR RABBITS? HERE'S A STORY FOR YOU!

Unique rabbit rescue hotel and terrace. ~~ Saugeen Times Photo

I re-produce the following story, not only for the edification of my committed wild life advocate granddaughter Alyssa Chaplin (see photo to the right) but because it qualifies as my good news contribution for the month on Wrights Lane. Alyssa, who is bound to be green with envy, has been sheltering rabbits in the limited confines of her rental premises in Guelph for the better part of 10 years. In fact she has mothered one pair, Isabel and Sergei, for eight years. She later added Mel and Bud to the brood, all of whom are compatible with the family dog, budgie and other occasional wildlife rescues, i.e. a pigeon not long ago.

Now, for the aforementioned story about a bunny heaven that has been created near me in rural Bruce County. There are no cages and the rabbits have free reign in what amounts to a bunny playground and condo living.

Just image, two insulated and heated buildings that the bunnies can enter and leave at any time. Their playground has everything a bunny could want … walkways, areas to explore and play in, fresh water for drinking, large trees that provide shade and all enclosed and protected against predators. Staycation terraces are everywhere.

This bunny paradise was started by Ruth Shannon five years ago on a wooded lot that once belonged to her grandparents and where she used to spend summers as a child.

Ruth Shannon and her
cuddle bunnies.

Shannon says that animals have always been a big part of her life. From dogs, cats, rabbits, guinea pigs all the way to mice, she has had a passion for rescuing. Before domestic rabbits, she also rehabilitated many wild animals, from deer, raccoons, squirrels and chipmunks to birds.

“I could never have done this without the support of my family and, especially, my husband. We have rezoned the property, obtained permits and built structures to house many rabbits and have official NON PROFIT status,” she told Saugeen Times editor Sandy Lindsay recently. “Unfortunately, the need to rescue domestic rabbits now and in the future remains a necessity. We receive many requests and drop offs for a variety of bunnies on a regular basis and recently had two, one from Allenford and another from Guelph.”

Shannon explained facts about rabbits that perhaps many do not realize. “They are very social animals and are easily ‘litter-trained’ like cats. I have two who live in our home and who have free run with the dog. They are incredibly smart and loving.”

“We recently received two females and unknowingly they were expecting. Rabbits can have two to four kits and the mother will make her nest out of rabbit fur that she pulls from her mate or any other handy rabbit. The fur or hair is very insulating for warmth as the babies are born with no hair covering. A female also has two uteruses which means they can have a double litter. Also, their teeth constantly grow so that, like a cat or dog’s claws, they have to be clipped.

Shannon also takes some of them to schools where they are considered therapy support and, most recently, a long-term care facility in Walkerton has requested the same service for residents. “To hold and nuzzle a soft creature like these can be very calming and, at the same time, uplifting.”

“Their primary diet is all about nutritional needs,” explained Shannon. “We get hay from farmers but they also have to have greens such as Spring Mix, Romaine lettuce, cilantro and parsley … dried cranberries are the ultimate treat for them. We were getting a large part of the greens from a local Port Elgin grocer when items reached their ‘after date’. Unfortunately, their corporate office stopped it as it was considered a liability. Now, I guess it just goes into the landfill. Thankfully, however, Giant Tiger in Port Elgin stepped in and makes a monthly donation in product.”

The rabbits are fed twice a day and their water is constantly refreshed. “It is costing approximately $56 a day to care for them and, along with veterinary costs such as spay and neuturing, it works out to almost $32,000 a year. We invite families to come out with their children and learn about these sweet creatures and have the chance to hold them and appreciate what nature has given us. All we ask is that, if they are able, to give a donation to help with the costs of food and medical care.”

Rabbit House Rescue helps domestic rabbits in need through sheltering, adoption, education, spay/neuter, and community outreach. “We aim to promote and provide the resources, education, and programs. We will provide care, comfort, and compassion to rabbits in need as we seek to strengthen the human/rabbit bond,” says Shannon.

Currently, the sanctuary is caring for 58 bunnies that are separated into groups depending on age, gender, spay/neutered, and compatibility.

“The playground is their happy place where they are able to run, dig, hide, tunnel and basically frolic,” adds Shannon. “Adoption is our main goal but many come to us and are not suitable for adoption, so they will live their lives out in the sanctuary being free to choose where they go and are never caged. We are very selective when it comes to adoption as we want to know that they are going to a forever-home where they’ll be loved.”

ADVICE FROM A WASHED UP OLD PLAYER: COME DOWN FROM THE STANDS, GET INTO THE GAME WHILE YOU CAN

With the season in full swing, I find myself once again wishing that my favorite baseball team would recruit that perfect player. You know, the one who performs at every position beautifully and rarely strikes out or commits an error. The problem is, how can they get that individual to put down the hot dog and beer long enough to come down from the bleachers and play?

As we journey through life as self-declared good Christian people, what does it take to get us to put down whatever it is that we’re consuming and come down from the stands, euphemistically speaking? As we journey through life, what does it take to transform us from mere spectators to active participants eager to get in the game?

The onus is on very capable present and upcoming generations.

We live in a brave new world of artificial intelligence where machines increasingly assist us in most aspects of life. You may have heard of the artificial intelligence (AI) program ChatGPT and, with it, tried it to research a topic or write a note. But did you know from the same company there is another system called DALL-E that can create “realistic images and art” from a brief description? If you are unfamiliar with this program, try asking DALL-E to draw something like “a snail driving a racecar in the style of Picasso,” and I think you’ll be amazed at the result. 

The implications of these programs raise so many hopes and, simultaneously, so many concerns. For example, hope that AI will one day find a cure for certain cancers – and concern that without the proper safeguards, we could lose control of this amazing technology.

Because of our creative and technological mastery, unlike the laboring people in the time of Jesus Christ, we are not required to carry heavy burdens on our backs for extended periods. Still, there are times when we feel weary and find life burdensome...of no value to man nor beast. 

No machine can live our lives for us; no machine can spare us from the emotional stress, the spiritual conflict to which all human beings are subject. 

The pathetic part of it all is that some of us are at a stage in life when we have nothing left to offer to the game -- materially, physically or ministerially -- even if we did decide to come down from the stands, for perhaps one last attempt to be the player we once were...or thought ourselves capable of being in better days.

It hurts to walk up to the plate when it is next to impossible to run the bases. No apologies in recognizing when you find yourself with two out in the bottom of the ninth inning and your body incapable of getting up from the dugout bench. Time to call on a pinch hitter!

We are relegated to sitting on the sidelines savoring our hard-earned hot dogs and pop, watching the game being played out, for better or worse, by generations of our own making.

Indeed and ideally, let the young bucks of today come down from the stands, if they have the inclination to make a contribution and necessary courage of their convictions. Some will, some won't!

It is those willing to get in the game who will make a difference in the outcome.

None of which need stop old has-beens from watching with interest as others play the game we once had so much enthusiasm for. For me it has become a source of occasional encouragement, changing ground rules and style of play notwithstanding.

It is kind of a relief to know that I will have absolutely no impact on the final score...and no one expects me to have...now at my age and decrepitude.

Realistically speaking!

THE WILBER CONNECTION: Okay now, pull up a chair and I will tell you a story about an old major league baseball scorebook given to me by a kind neighbor lady in 1954.

In appreciaction of good neighbor lady
Florence Myers, gone but not forgotten

When growing up in the town of Dresden there were three or four dear ladies who took me under their grandmotherly wings. It was just the way it used to be in small towns during the l940s and '50s. A kid did not have to be a relative to be the lucky recipient of love and affection from a kind matronly heart with a cookie treat to share.

One of those dear souls was a Sydenham Street neighbor, Florence Myers, the widow of Dresden industrialist Frank Myers. Childless, they owned a winter home in St. Petersburg, Florida. She always sent me post cards during her stays in Florida, but she topped it all the spring of 1954.

Knowing of my passion for the game of baseball, Florence saved for me a souvenir scorebook she purchased while attending a Florida Grapefruit League exhibition baseball game between Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees at Al Lang Field in St. Petersburg (a baseball toss from the Myers' home). Making the scorebook even more special was the fact that Florence had managed to get autographs from three Boston players, catchers Del Wilber (highlighted for a reason to be explained later) and Sammy White, in addition to outfielder/firstbaseman Bob Broone. Still in mint condition, the scorebook remains a prized item in my sports memorabilia file and list of fond memories from days gone by.

But wait! That's only half of the story...Now, turn the clock calendar ahead some 70 years.

A couple of months ago I was approached by a publisher's agent familiar with my work on Wrights Lane, asking me if I might be interested in a new book written by a chap by the name of Robert Wilber.

"Wilber", there's that name surfacing again after so many years.  Could there possibly be a connection to the Major League baseball player Del Wilber whose signature is so prominently displayed at the top of the front cover of that 1954 scorebook given to me by good old Florence Myers?

I responded affirmatively to the agent's request and within hours I was hearing directly from "Bob" Wilber himself offering me a review copy of his book "How Far? A Tale of Determination, DNA and Drama." We exchanged pleasantries and briefly shared our coincidentally similar backgrounds in media and public relations.

And yes, you guessed it. Bob is indeed the son of Del Wilber a jouneyman catcher with St. Louis Cardinals, Philadelphia Phillies and Boston Red Sox (1946-54) who also served professionally as minor league manger and coach for may years before retiring from the game.

Del spent perhaps five of his prime baseball years in the American military, signing up for service during WW2 in 1942. He attained the rank of captain with the Army Air Force and was discharged Feb., 1946. He made his major league debut with the Cardinals in April of that year.

It was only natural that Wilber's young son Bob would grow up with aspirations of following in his dad's footsteps, as did older brother Del Jr.  

"In the Wilber family, my father was always traveling thanks to his lifelong employment in baseball. My childhood was filled with annual trips to Spring Training (either on a train or in the family car) or towns where he was managing or coaching (dad's MLB playing career was over by the time I was born, so I never got to experience that"), Bob explains in a blog site he established a year ago.

Bob Wilber, How Far?

To his credit, young Wilber earned a full scholarship from Southern Illinois University-Edwardsville and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Broadcast Journalism. He then went on to play several seasons of minor league baseball in the Detroit Tigers and the Oakland A’s farm systems. When his playing days were over, he spent time as a regional scouting supervisor for the Toronto Blue Jays.

Thanks to his mother Taffy Wilber, a broadcast celebrity in her own right, Bob also grew up with a talent for writing, and ended up journeying through the world of international sports marketing before he became a senior executive for three professional indoor soccer franchises. An interest in NHRA drag racing led to his 22 years as a public relations representative and team manager for professional racers. He published his autobiography Bats, Balls, & Burnouts in 2017.

"How Far?" is his first work of fiction bringing to life a "surfer dude" baseball player from Southern California and an over-achieving hockey player from Minnesota, both aiming for greatness but unaware of the pitfalls ahead of them. It is a cleverly creative story that is just as much about life as it is about sports, written in distinct first-person voices of the two main star-crossed characters. "There's a lot of me in each one of them," author Bob adds.

Once I have done reading justice to all 560 pages of small print, no less, (really two stories in one) I may attempt to publish a formal review of How Far? For the moment though, I will not go That Far. Meantime, it may be better if my readers simply obtain their own copy of How Far? Publisher: Outskirts Press

ISBN-10: 1977250394

ISBN-13: 978-1977250391

Available from Amazon.com

So there you have it...a small and coincidental world coming together after 70 years by means of a story within a story, within a story. 

I only wish there was some way I could tell Florence Myers all about it. She's been gone now for at least 50 years and I never got to sufficiently tell her how much I appreciated the thoughtfulness she bestowed on that shy kid from across the street who was never without his right hand stuffed into a weather-beaten baseball glove.

Such is life!

*NOTE FROM DICK: I found it interesting to discover that brothers Bob and Del Wilber Jr. have established "The Perfect Game Foundation" in honor of their parents. Through the non-profit foundation they facilitate internships for young men and women who want to get a foothold in the business of sports.

ABOUT PENNIES FROM HEAVEN AND ANGELIC MESSAGES

A long time ago
A million years BC
The best things in life
Were absolutely free

But no one appreciated
A sky that was always blue
And no one congratulated
A moon that was always new

So it was planned that they would vanish now and then
And you must pay before you get them back again
That's what storms were made for
And you shouldn't be afraid for

Every time it rains, it rains
Pennies from heaven
Don't you know each cloud contains
Pennies from heaven

You'll find your fortune falling
All over town
Be sure that your umbrella is upside down
Trade them for a package of sunshine and flowers

If you want the things you love
You must have showers
So when you hear it thunder
Don't run under a tree
There'll be pennies from heaven for you and me

It may be a good thing that pennies no longer exist to add to the bulk of loose change currency in circulation today. In a way, it is kind of sad though that some rich history and good old-fashioned sagedom has fallen by the wayside along with the loss of the vintage copper coinage so common in pocket books and purses little more than a century ago.

Admittedly of minimal value in my time, we still "saved our pennies" for a rainy day because they "added up". How often we heard the expression "a penny saved is a penny earned." We also considered it a stroke of luck when we found a penny and fervently believed that "When it rained, it always rained pennies from heaven."

We placed a lot of stock in priceless lyrics of the song "Pennies From Heaven" as they came over the radio air waves in the form of the rich baritone voice of crooner Bing Crosby (lyrics reproduced above to add impitus to this bit of nostalgia on Wrights Lane). 

To my way of thinking, nothing captured a valued life lesson better than those words written by Johnny Burke and Arthur Johnston for the 1936 movie by the same name. Pennies, representing a gift from Heaven accompanying rain that washed away all troubles, trials and tribulation.

Pennies from heaven came to mind the other day as I sipped a coffee at my neighborhood Tim Hortons. A Penny, not in the original form, but in a flash of devine white light.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

As an old-school kid, discovering a penny from heaven always meant that angels were trying to redirect my thoughts in a way that would enable me to discover my worth at a time when I perhaps needed it most.

In essence, if I sensed a feeling of despiration, pennies from heaven let me know that the clouds would soon dissipate and the sun would start shining again, so I should keep going. Kind of like sentiments expressed in the aforementioned Pennies From Heaven song.

Because they represented an energy purified, pennies from heaven were frequently referred to as circles of good luck. During their time in circulation, all coins make their way through many hands, serving as a strong reminder that we all connect in different ways and that people who are no longer physically here are still present in our hearts and memory.

Consider too that the beautiful meaning of eternal life is much like a timeless coin. It behooves us to always remember to leave our stamp here on earth while we have the time, for we are a part of a vast and intricate universal system. Nothing wrong in thinking that Angels give us our own little piece of heaven right here on earth.

Angels, if considered in the proper context, have a type of energy that restores a sense of fullness within us when we feel down. When life seems too much of a struggle and when things get very difficult.

All of which leads me back to my experience in the coffee shop the other day. It was really a day like all others in my life lately as years mount, health wanes and faculties deminish, all contributing to bouts of depressive worthliness and uselessness.

When you struggle with the impression that you are just putting in time and taking up space to no good avail, you pretty well accept that life as you formerly knew it is gone, never to be repeated. As disappointing and as debilitating as the reality of it all may be, I have come to grips with most of it as an inevitable phasing-out process imposed on a worn out old man who finds himself of no earthly value to anyone or anything.

On this particular occasion as I sat in customary solitude, however, I experienced a flash of white light that cast an unexplainable glow on my surroundings, bringing with it a whole new realm of love and light. I was immediately engulfed in a positive aura that enabled a sense of compassion and oneness for the individuals around me...And the world in general. I was overcome with the impulse to run around hugging everyone within my purview.

"Is this really happening?" I asked myself, half hoping that time would slow down for a moment and allow me to take it all in.

Yea, for the first time in a long time, I saw clearly then...literally and figuratively.

I no longer felt lonely or useless and was overwhelmed with the spiritual responsibity to keep the special moment alive. If only I could have bottled it or otherwise contained it. My challenge now is to apply that momentary clarity to the rest of my life.

Regardless, I have accepted that fleeting moment as an equivalent of the oldtime penny from heaven on an otherwise rainy day and I intend to save it for when I need it again for reinforcement, as I most assuredly will.

Indeed, we can tune into our angel's energetic qualities and welcome a whole new realm of love and light into our life, simply by paying attention to signs like this that are sent our way. When we do, we are more able to channel life's difficulties with a positive aura.

We do well to remember that life consists of what we put into it, even to the bitter end.

"So when you hear it thunder
Don't run under a tree
There'll be pennies from heaven for you and me."

STORY OF ICONIC JAZZ ERA BIG BAND LEADER ERNIE FIELDS: ENTRENCHED RACIAL PREJUDICES DID NOT HOLD HIM BACK

Ad for upcoming book launch in Tulsa

As publisher of this Wrights Lane site I get dozens of media op solicitations each week involving worthy new publications coming off the press...far more than I could ever hope to accomodate even if I had the time and inclination as an occasional book reviewer. Every once in a while, however, one new book catches my attention because it involves a story that my audience might otherwise have missed. Such has been the case with a personal approach to me by prominent American author and broadcaster Carmen Fields who will soon launch a book about her role model father Ernie Fields, a talented musician and big band leader in the 1940's. I'll let Carmen take it from here, in her own words, as only a proud daughter could.

My father, the late Ernie Fields, was a big band leader. He was on the ground level of the swing era in the infancy of jazz, which was on its way to becoming America’s original music. But that magical time of the late 1920s into the 1940s with its stage shows and ballroom dances, had a dark side. The exhilaration was sometimes stained by encounters with prejudice and racism.

My father’s very first foray outside his Tulsa, OK base into a Texas oil boom town, brought his first encounter with racist rage. One of the band members walked into their lodging house while a white officer was questioning people there. Quite unexpectedly, my father said, the ranger slapped the band member, “practically knocked him down.” He reportedly then said, “Don’t be coming in here when you see that I’m busy.”

 Ernie Fields, trombonist

That late 1920s incident, though startling, did not deter my father’s quest for the “big time” with his fledgling music organization. He returned to Longview, Texas where a December 15, 1931 article in the Longview News Journal promoted an upcoming engagement noting, the Fields orchestra was “one of the best ever to play in East Texas.”

 

He would go on from there to augment his small group into 17 pieces, purchase a bus for traveling sound the country—west coast, along the eastern seaboard and of course, the often-dangerous deep south. His travels and triumphs are detailed in my newly-released memoir, “Going Back to T-Town: The Ernie Fields Territory Big Band.” (OUPress.com) Neither racism nor the hardships of the Great Depression deterred his career, known now as the last great territory big band. By the late 1930s his group caught the eye of talent scout John Hammond.

 

After Hammond heard the band, first in Tulsa, then in Wichita with promoter Willard Alexander, Fields was signed, and off to New York City for performance at the Apollo Theater and other east coast venues and recording sessions on the historic Vocalian label. Although the recordings met with modest popularity, the next decades brought ups and downs. He often recalled many “close calls” over the years, but blessedly no harsh consequences. The stories he told were without rancor or bitterness—only from time to time, an occasional touch of annoyance at the inconveniences.

 

One such close call came in Lee County, Florida, known, he said, as one of southwest Florida’s “bad places” for Blacks. His bus broke down and while he waited at a nearby service station, trouble arrived. At the stop, “You couldn’t hardly call it a town,” he said, “maybe four or five stores” a white man dad described as “so dirty he was nearly black as me,” arrived. The redneck insisted no Blacks were allowed in the town, and the bus would have to be moved to the other side of the town line, a telephone pole a few yards away. “I work with people on the railroad,” the bumpkin said, “but we just don’t allow them in our town.” The band members hustled out of the bus, with the vocalist, Melvin Moore, proclaiming, “You heard what the honky said, we don’t want to be in this town if he don’t want us in his town!” He reminded his colleagues, “Twelve men can move a house. Let’s move out of this town.” All the band members scampered out to help push. They pushed the bus down the road past the telephone pole that marked the town line.

 

By his own account, the best days for the Ernie Fields organization were the mid-forties, when Dad thought his band was “tightest” in musicianship and instrumental arrangements. But, indeed, it was also dangerous travel for Blacks, never knowing when an unspoken or unwritten rule might be broken and violence resulting. He often recalled the challenge of traveling with a white musician, long before Benny Goodman integrated his band.

 

In piecing together the saga of his career for the book, I was struck over and over again by his leadership. His organization was an important training ground for hundreds of musicians who cycled through. Some of the names jazz enthusiasts might recognize, like Freddie Green, Harold “Geezil” Minerve(a), Leroy Cooper and Yusef Lateef. Others are less prominent like Rene Hall, Al Duncan, Melvin Moore, and Booker Ervin. Countless others are obscure; some forming their own combos or groups that did not travel, or became school teachers, preachers, bus drivers, porters, postal workers—you name it!

 

Modest fame would find my father in the early 1960s when his rock and roll version of the old Glen Miller recording “In the Mood” took off. By this time, he was in his mid-50s when the trades dubbed him a “new talent.” The national television appearances and other recognition, including a gold record for one million record sales, brought the fame he craved. Ernie Fields loved every minute of it!

 

The fame he enjoyed was not just a testament to musicality. It was an affirmation of his resolve in the face of obstacles. Yes, the obstacles included firmly entrenched racial prejudice, but it also included the ever-evolving music tastes of the public.

 

But as Father’s Day approaches there is something else striking about Ernie Fields that comes to my mind—that is his integrity. Many a deal was made on a firm handshake and a steady gaze in the eye. Those were the bygone days when one’s word really meant something. His integrity meant trust and assistance from western music legend Bob Wills and pioneering promoter Jim Halsey. Such reputations for ethics were not always the case. That reputation would hold my brother, multi-instrumentalist Ernie Fields Jr. in good stead. As he took over our father’s organization and began traveling, our dad said he was “proud that I had made the reputation that there wasn’t anywhere that he (Jr.) went where he was ashamed to say that he was my son, and a lot of those promoters down south all east and west, [said] your dad played for me.”

 

I’m proud to share the Ernie Fields story with the world.

NOTE FROM DICK: Carmen Fields is an Emmy Award–winning broadcast news journalist who currently produces and hosts the public affairs program Higher Ground on WHDH-TV, Boston. A former Boston Globe reporter, she also co-anchored WGBH’s Ten O’Clock News from 1987 to 1991 and wrote the script for the American Experience documentary “Goin’ Back to T-Town” (1993). 

THE HINDSIGHT IN BEING A BETTER VERSON OF MYSELF

I could have been better at a lot of things in the past 85 years of my life -- a better son to my mother, a better than the below-average-student I was in school, a better employee in my first job(s), a better husband, a better father; a better worker in every aspect of chosen career paths, a better communicator, writer and minister of good in later years, a better friend in what few relationships I've had -- better at a lot of other things too numerous to mention!

I've been too-often guilty of the fall-back reasoning that at the time I was doing the best with what I had.

The only trouble was that I tried to do too much with very little know-how or capability, for the most part going through the paces and hoping that equated to the acceptable norm, or good enough. In essance, I guess I didn't know any better, a slow learner, blissful in my ignorance...yet a good enough pretender to squeeze by.

An insular and awkardly methodical kid from the sticks, so to speak, and with so much to experience, I was easily distracted and wanted a taste of it all while I could get it. Often spreading myself dangerously thin in the process and unable to prioritize. I was in a hurry, to get where I do not know. Ironically, I now have all the time in the world...and nothing on which to spend it.

Experience has been my best (pardon the pun) teacher, however. I readily accept that there is absolutely nothing I can do about any of it now. I have come to grips with my limitations and have learned to not beat myself up over them. 

I am also thankful for the way things have turned out in my life, in spite of the odds and myself in particular. Certainly, my fate could have been a lot worse.

In this regard, I harken to the lyrical sentiments: "We all could have done better but it is good to keep in mind that we may also have done worse."

In the twilight of this lifetime I survive now by putting my best foot forward if and when I can, as limited as it may be. Sometimes that is good enough...other times it is not. There are times when my writing on Wrights Lane falls short of the intended objective but there is also the odd occasion when my literary efforts have mission-accomplished impact.

But it still all remains the best I have to offer at this juncture in time. No excuses.

I am who I am and what I am. I don't think I would change now, even if I was miraculously born again and time permited.

No apologies at this late date!

Most certainly though, I could have been a much better guy capable of doing a lot better with many things in life. If only I knew then what I think I know now. 

Do you catch my drift?

COPING WITH FALLING ROCKS IN LIFE: NOT TO WORRY

Rocks that I have collected stabilize a ramp leading up to my front porch.
They also help discourage Chipmunks looking for place to nest. ~~ Photo by Deb

I have a thing for rocks! In fact, I collect them -- all shapes and sizes -- but primarily those of five-pin bowling ball proportions, due to the ease of handling, I guess. They can be found as outline edging for my gardens and lawn. They are also great for plugging cracks and crevices around the foundation of my 100-year-old house...There's always room for one more.

When I spot an interesting stone or rock along the wayside, I struggle with an internal debate...Will I pick it up or not? I simply cannot help but conjure images of the steadfast, the eternal, and the permanent while considering these powerful, but familiar ancient objects of nature.

Place rock and stone in the same context and their symbolism invokes appreciation for their beauty, their majesty, or their tranquility. Then, too, consider the awe-inspiring fact that they are almost as old as the world itself.

Of course, there is also a hazzardous side to rocks. They are solid, unforgiving and heavy. They can do a lot of damage if and when they fall on you, all of which brings me to the purpose of this Wrights Lane offering -- worrying about things you cannot control (as promised in the post immediately below this one).

Allow me to elaborate by asking a leading question: Have you ever driven along highways in the mountains or on roads bounded by high rock formations where "Beware of falling rock" signs are posted?

As an interesting aside, the question was once posed: "Should those signs really warn drivers about 'fallen rocks'?" Both are no doubt equally as hazzardous, but if you're like me you will be pondering that question long after you have read this post.

No doubt there is an unavoidable hazzard involved when driving through rocky or mountainous regions. Your rate of speed has nothing to do with it, nor the way you handle your car, nor the condition of your tires. The potential for falling/fallen rocks is based on past history and it is the chance we take when moving forward.

If, per chance, a huge rock did break loose and come crashing down on your car, what good would worrying about it in advance do? It would not have held the rock in place; neither would it have jarred it loose.

It is typical of those troubles in life which no caution can avoid. The general insurance industry labels such incidences as "Acts of God." This is not fatalism, but a recognition that God is the universal creator, having made certain natural laws that govern inanimate things.

When considering the rocks that are certain to fall in our lives, we should understand that there is nothing we can do to stop them. Can you, by worrying, keep something unpleasant from happening? Do you soften the blow, ease the burden or lessen the pain?

Of course not, but you stand a good chance of reducing your ability to cope with it.

A good deal of the strain and tension of modern life is due to our unwillingness to accept situations that are beyond our control. We must be realists as well as idealists.

For certain, rocks will fall. We just don't know when. Worring about it, fearing it, does not help.

When troubles come, when the rocks do fall, it will not help to reject faith altogether and fling away in revolt from all that you once believed. Where else would you go? To what else would you cling?

What would you substitute for the Christian faith that most of us have grown up in and some of us still pay homage to?

We are not left comfortless, but we have to be in dire need of comfort to know the truth. It is in times of calamity, in days and nights of sorrow and trouble that the presence, sufficiency and sympathy of the Holy Spirit grow very sure and wonderful.

And when rocks fall, not to worry needlessly. What you are experiencing is an "Act of God" that is beyond you.

I handle all the rocks in my life with respect, care and foreboding.

DON'T WORRY, BE HAPPY...HAVE A NAP!

Here's one for you...

What should be our attitude toward troubles that we can do nothing about?

I dare say that the most common attitude is one of worrying about things over which we have no control. In fact this is a widespread transgression marking our inconsistency as human beings.

Generally, people have never fully realized just how destructive worry can be. It truly plays havoc with one's life. It ruins digestion and causes stomach ulcers. It interferes with sleep and forces us to face another day unrested and irritable. Trust me, I've learned the hard way.

Anxiety and tension, which are twins in the worrying scenario, bring on heart disease, high blood pressure and nervous disorders.

Ask any doctor, and he will tell you that the patient who is apprehensive retards his/her own recuperation.

Hard work, even overwork, never killed anyone. It is not the amount of work we do, or have to do, that takes its toll on us. It is the strain or tension caused by our anxiety over the work that does the damage.

We would live longer, and do more and better work, if we could bring ourselves to adopt the philosophy of an old farmer I once read about, who said:

"When I works, I works hard;

   When I sets, I sets loose;

      When I worries, I goes to sleep."

Would that sleep would overtake us all when we begin to worry.

Common sense tells us that we are wise to accept what we cannot help and make adjustments as are necessary...then to get on with the rest of our lives.

I intend to expand on this subject in Wrights Lane posts that follow.

THOUGHTS ON MOTIVES IN DEALING WITH BROKEN WORLD

This compelling epitaph is engraved on the tombstone of poet Robert Frost: "I had a lover's quarrel with the world." Frost himself chose that. What it means is that he had a lover's quarrel with God. And, whether we realize it or not, the same is true of us all.

We quarrel with the world and God because of the evil we encounter in our lives. Why is there so much war and hatred? Why so much sickness and sorrow? Why so much anxiety and insecurity? Why so much loneliness and emptiness? Why death? Why did God make such an imperfect world? (Truthfully, it is not the world that is not perfect...It is the peole who live in it who make it imperfect.)

We lament that the world is not perfect, forgetting that if it were, there might not be a place for our loved ones or us in it. We all fall short of perfection. It was into this world that we were called. It was in this world that our loved ones were called. Consequently, whenever we quarrel with God's world, let's be sure it's a lover's quarrel. Let's never forget to love this world because it is a gift of Grace; it is a gift from God.

And from a related school of thought...with a twist

If it seems like most of the headlines these days are grim (87 percent of news reporting was about bad issues, according to one source), it’s because there is simply too much bad news to report.

What is a person to do when growing weary of reading about and watching war atrocities, lethal tornadoes, floods, strikes, protests and murders?

Dr. Pieter Noomen, a fellow blogger, wrote about a far more peaceful approach to life’s realities, using words he believed were given to him by what he called a Presence, a higher being or the Real Reality. He believed we have better options.

"What you hope, the way you think or how you behave, is it all in pleasant harmony? If so, you function in accordance with the rhythm and design of the whole universe,” he wrote. “Full peace or perfection is impossible on earth, but not a desiring or working on it! From your deepest within, insight may surface about how your life should be lived.”

Dr. Noomen worked as a psychotherapist and staff member at a Los Angeles church, completed doctoral studies in theology and pastoral psychology at the Free University of Amsterdam, and became senior minister of three Protestant churches. He died in 2019, but his writings remain available to everyone on his website.

He asked these questions: "Can one human being who lives in peace and with inner harmony make a difference? For that matter, will anything change because someone does believe these words? Most things on earth are fractured. Are you able to heal, or why should you bother? Do you need to be involved politically or be an activist for justice debunking phoniness? Should you fight, donate money, speak up, vote or volunteer to protest brokenness? Asking yourself questions like these can lead to exploring your personal motives.”

And he added: “Politics can be corrupt, religion divisive and science erring: what'll you stand for? What's your goal, vision, pride or intention?”

All good questions to ask of ourselves when we engage in personal inventory of where we stand in life from time to time.