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.

CLAP YOUR HANDS: THINK ABOUT IT!

Hand clapping may be the most common sound we humans make without using our vocal cords. Surprisingly, according to researchers, the clap of an individual has less to do with one's opinion of a performance and is instead motivated by a feeling of belonging as we applaud with others. 

As far back as the 6th century BC, it was customary for audiences to clap in approval of their leaders, a concession made when there were too many people to greet individually. And this is the genesis for our modern-day custom of applause -- to express a unified form of admiration for a speech or performance.

With that bit of history out of the way, let's turn our attention to that all-important question: At a concert, should you clap on the first and third beat or the second and fourth? And the answer is, "It depends." Of course, you should clap "how you feel," but beats two and four work best for many forms of music, including Rock, Pop, R&B, Hip Hop, Jazz, Dance, and Gospel. And if you pay close attention to the spirit of a performance, when the clapping is off beat, you'll know it. 

Part of the joy of watching a talented group of musicians is tuning in to the spirit and feeling the music deep within. When you move from a passive ticket holder to an active participant, you can't help but join in!

I share a lot of music on my Facebook profile because it often expresses what I cannot. It may be due to my advanced age and increasing emotional sensitivities, but I am similarly impacted by what I hear on line or in media broadcasts these days. More and more I feel the beat and the joy flowing from the meaningful, lyrical words offered by soulful presenters utilizing God's special gift of talent to them.

I fear, however, that we are often "offbeat" in our spiritual life experience. We have the words but not the rhythm: not enough soul or enthusiasm flowing into it. Consequently, not enough joy -- contagious joy -- flows out of it. 

Think about it. Are you a passive listener, just a little offbeat?

   👀 LOOKING FOR A PARTICULAR RECENT POST?

-- Palm Sunday

-- Do it now!

-- Vimy Ridge Anniversary

-- Accountability

-- Be good to your body

-- Civility and Relationships

-- +1,537 MORE: JUST KEEP SCROLLING.

FOR THOSE WHO DIDN'T KNOW: 102nd. ANNIVERSARY OF THE HISTORIC BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE

CANADIAN MEMORIAL AT VIMY RIDGE

Sunday, April 9, was the 102nd anniversary of the beginning of The Battle of Vimy Ridge during WW2 and, in Southampton, flags were at half mast in recognition of the historic battle. 

Vimy Ridge was a sacrifice of immeasurable loss on all sides and for countless Canadians, both on the battle grounds and home front. Intense fighting raged from April 9th to 12th, 1917 at the beginning of the Battle of Arras.

Historians attribute the success of the Canadian Corps to technical and tactical innovation, meticulous planning, powerful artillery support and extensive training, as well as the German 6th Army’s failure to properly apply the new German defensive doctrine. The battle was the first occasion when all four divisions of the Canadian Expeditionary Force fought together and it was made a symbol of Canadian national achievement and sacrifice.

Vimy Ridge itself is an escarpment 8 km (5.0 mi) northeast of Arras on the western edge of the Douai Plain. The ridge rises gradually on its western side and drops more quickly on the eastern side. At approximately 7 km (4.3 mi) in length and culminating at an elevation of 145 m (476 ft.) or 60 m (200 ft.) above the Douai Plains, the ridge provides a natural unobstructed view for tens of kilometres in all directions.

The ridge fell under German control in October 1914 during the Race to the Sea as the Franco-British and German forces continually attempted to outflank each other through northeastern France. The French Tenth Army attempted to dislodge the Germans from the region during the Second Battle of Artois in May 1915 by attacking their positions at Vimy Ridge and Notre Dame de Lorette. The French 1st Moroccan Division managed to briefly capture the height of the ridge but was unable to hold it owing to a lack of reinforcements.

It was the first instance in which all four Canadian divisions, made up of troops drawn from all parts of the country, fought as a cohesive formation. The image of national unity and achievement is what, according to one of many recent patriotic narratives, initially gave the battle importance for Canada. 

The historical reality of the battle has been reworked and reinterpreted in a conscious attempt to give purpose and meaning to an event that came to symbolize Canada’s coming of age as a nation.

The French made another attempt during the Third Battle of Artois in September 1915 but only captured the village of Souchez at the western base of the ridge. The Vimy sector calmed following the offensive with both sides taking a largely live and let live approach. In all, the French suffered approximately 150,000 casualties in their attempts to gain control of Vimy Ridge and surrounding territory.

The Canadian Corps was to capture the German-held high ground of Vimy Ridge to protect the First Army and the Third Army farther south from German enfilade fire. Supported by a creeping barrage, the Canadian Corps captured most of the ridge during the first day of the attack. The village of Thélus fell during the second day, as did the crest of the ridge, once the Canadian Corps overran a salient against considerable German resistance. The final objective, a fortified knoll located outside the village of Givenchy-en-Gohelle, fell to the Canadians on 12 April. The 6th Army then retreated to the Oppy–Méricourt line.

By nightfall on 12 April 1917, the Canadian Corps was in firm control of the ridge. The corps suffered 10,602 casualties: 3,598 killed and 7,004 wounded. The German 6th Army suffered an unknown number of casualties with approximately 4,000 men becoming prisoners of war. Four members of the Canadian Corps received the Victoria Cross, the highest military decoration awarded to British and Commonwealth forces for valour, for their actions during the battle.

Today, the Canadian National Vimy Memorial is Canada’s largest and principal overseas war memorial. Located on the highest point of the Vimy Ridge, the memorial is dedicated to the commemoration of the Battle of Vimy Ridge and Canadian Expeditionary Force members killed during the First World War. It serves as the place of commemoration for Canadian soldiers killed in France during the First World War.

France granted Canada perpetual use of a section of land at Vimy Ridge in 1922 for the purpose of a battlefield park and memorial. A 100-hectare (250-acre) portion of the former battlefield is preserved as part of the memorial park that surrounds the monument.

The grounds of the site are still honeycombed with wartime tunnels, trenches, craters and unexploded munitions and are largely closed off for public safety. A section of preserved trenches and a portion of a tunnel have been made accessible to site visitors.

PALM SUNDAY: LET US JOIN THE WELCOMING, PALM BRANCH WAVING CROWD OF BIBLICAL TIMES

DO YOU REMEMBER? Palm Sunday is a Christian celebration that marks the beginning of the Holy Week leading to Easter Sunday. It commemorates Jesus' triumphant entrance into Jerusalem, when people laid down palms and branches in front of him as a sign of honor.

In his Palm Sunday sermon, my friend Rev. Randy Benson reflects with a degree of remorse on Easter church services of the not-too-distant past and the absence of children in today's pews. I take the liberty of reproducing extracts from that sermon because he has taken words right out of my mouth, albeit it more eloquently.

"Now…well, we have to raise the age of childhood to 70+ in order to have children (in church). And, we all sing with a bit of sorrow and the anger of lament in our voices as we miss the joyful noise of all those children banging and clanging in a well-attended service," he exclaimed with a typical hint of humor coupled with obvious sadness.

"Things Christian have fallen so far off the map in our culture that it’s a rare kid, even counting those 70-and-under, who could answer if you stopped them on the street and asked 'What’s Palm Sunday?'"

"If we want to know why the church is in the shape it is, one way to find out is to give a good, honest ear to those who have left the church in droves these last several decades, and trying to understand their reasons for doing so. Doing so we will realize that it is because the church has been and continues to be too much like that religious establishment in Jesus’ day that coveted power over people rather than actually loving God with all its heart, soul, mind, and strength and its neighbour as itself. 

"We have been too much like that institution with our judgementalism and exclusion of vulnerable people while not inventorying our own “sins”. We have not only colluded with corrupt political powers whom we should have held accountable, but we have also sought governmental power for ourselves and abused it. We’ve been warring. We’ve blamed the poor. We’ve been racist. We’ve been misogynist(ic).  

"We’ve stood by while children died in educational institutions run by us. If you ask people out on the streets why they don’t come to church, if they know what church is they will tell you what I just said and more.

"It was that religious establishment by means of coopting the power of government that crucified Jesus who was God come to be with and among them…with and among them manifesting the power of the reign of God. But, they were too corrupted by power to know their own God so it was not among them but rather amidst all “those people”, the outcasts whom those religious authorities had deemed to be not allowed in the presence of God, that “God with us” manifested the Kingdom."

In concluding, Randy reminded congregants that the same thing happens today. "Instead of our owning up and admitting our own weaknesses and blatant failures and thus truly becoming a part of the ragtag crowd of outcasts needing Jesus to save us now, we’ve let ourselves be an establishment that cruelly insulates itself against the outcasts among whom we will find Jesus. 

"Maybe the best thing we can do this Palm Sunday is to welcome Him in as He comes to cleanse our Temple, welcome his crowd of outcasts realizing we each are one of them. Let’s put our pride and fear aside and humbly join the joyful chorus, 'Save us, now, Jesus. Now'.”

Thanks to Rev. Randy for those heart-felt, honest words!

NOTE: Rev. Randy Benson serves a four-church Presbyterian co-op ministry (Chatsworth, Dornock, Chesley and Southampton) representative of no more than 100 active members combined. He knows whereof he speaks.

CIVILITY IS ALL ABOUT HOW WE FORMULATE AND PRESENT OUR POLITICAL OPINIONS AND IDEAS AS EQUALS

Several Wrights Lane posts ago I alluded to the fact that increasing lack of civility in politics today and misplaced emphasis on accountability is a major contributor to the simultaneous growth of public distrust and unrest in our civic institutions. In this post I take another kick at the can.

Despite multiple pleas for civility in North American society, little is said about what civility really means. People are inclined to define the term in their own way, and no one believes in the possibility that their definition has uncivil undertones. 

But if we believe that our country needs to recover the virtue of civility in our midst, it behooves us to better define it.

Civility cannot be the demand to always remain calm in debate. It is generally good to keep one’s cool, of course. However when engaging in political disagreement, our  opinions typically reflect deeply held values and commitments about justice and we react accordingly. 

We tend to regard those who disagree with us about such matters as not merely on the other side of the issue, but on the wrong side. We should expect disagreements about important matters to get heated.

Civility might be better understood as the avoidance of undue hostility and gratuitous animosity in political debate. This could be something as simple as calling out inflated rhetoric. 

This idea acknowledges that heated debates can be appropriate within reason. It allows for some degree of antagonism, while at the same time prohibiting unnecessary vitriol. In a sense, this makes civility a matter of judging whether our subject’s behaviour calls for an escalation of hostility. The problem is that, when it comes to evaluating the behaviour of our opponents, we are remarkably poor judges.

Assessment of political behaviour tightly tracks our partisan allegiances. We cut our allies slack while holding our opponents to very high standards. When our allies engage in objectionable behaviour, we excuse them. But when members of the opposition engage in the same behaviour, we condemn them. 

In one experiment, when partisans were told of an ally stealing an opposing candidate’s campaign signs off neighbourhood lawns, they chalked it up to political integrity. But when those same partisans were told that an opponent had stolen their signs, they condemned the act as undemocratic. Go figure!

We over-ascribe hostility, dishonesty and untrustworthiness to our political opponents. Consequently, we will almost always see fit to escalate hostility when interacting with our opposition. When civility is understood as the avoidance of unnecessary rancour, it fails.

In his recently published book "Sustaining Democracy" Vanderbuilt University Professor of Philosophy W. Alton Jones says that civility isn’t really about how we conduct disagreements with political opponents. "Instead, civility has to do with how people formulate their own political ideas. We are uncivil when our political opinions do not take due account of the perspectives, priorities and concerns of our fellow citizens."

To better understand this idea, consider that in a democratic society citizens share political power as political equals. As democratic citizens, we have the responsibility to act in ways that respect the equality of our fellow citizens, even when we disagree with their politics. "In my view, one way to respect their equality is to give due consideration to their values and preferences," Professor Jones adds.

Of course, this does not require that we water down our own political commitments -- or always try to meet opponents halfway. It calls only for a sincere attempt to consider their perspectives when devising our own. People are civil when they can explain political opinions to political opponents in ways that are responsive to their rival ideas, that is the essence of what I have been trying convey on Wrights Lane.

Here is a suggested simple three-part test to help arrive at civility in an ideal world:

-- Take one of your strongest political views, and then try to figure out what your smartest partisan opponent might say about it.

-- Identify a political idea that is key to your opponent and then develop a lucid argument that supports it.

-- Identify a major policy favoured by the other side that you could regard as permissible for government — despite your opposition.

If you struggle to perform those tasks, that means you have a feeble grasp on the range of responsible political opinion.

When we cannot even imagine a cogent political perspective that stands in opposition to our own, we can’t engage civilly with our fellow citizens.

Sadly, this is a concept that some in our society today fail to grasp...and probably never will. It has become far too easy to write off opposition views as simply false news.

LIKE FLOWERS RELATIONSHIPS NEED NURTURING

At the beginning of a relationship, nothing is more fascinating for two people than learning about each other and negotiating the give-and-take of getting along. Long-term relationships can grow deeper and more intimate, but without some active attention, they can also deteriorate, as people repeat the same behaviors and anticipate the same reactions from their mates.

I'm a pretty insular person, but I have always found it easy to fall in love with love, almost an idealistic craving. But there can be devastating ramifications if a relationship is built solely on fantasized expectations.

Don't be fooled kids!

I've had the good fortune of a couple of bonafide love-at-first-sight relationships in my life, each one teaching me something. Alas, in retrospect, almost too little too late for my liking.

Granted, experience is the best teacher but why are we Homo Sapiens so slow at times to realize the obvious?

Relationships are a lot like plants. You need to make sure there’s space for the roots to grow. That there’s enough water to nourish the plant, but not too much so the plant drowns, and that the plant gets the right amount of sunlight during the day. But if you fuss with the plant too much, you’re going to end up killing it -- despite your good intentions.

The same counts for relationships. They need room to grow. They need nourishment and warmth. But they also need you to back off and not fuss about making it perfect all the time. Sure, if there is a major problem you might need to do some work, but for the most part relationships flourish when they’re just left to grow naturally.

If you like feeling in control it might be difficult for you to let go of controlling your relationship and your partner. But look at it this way...Do you really want to force your relationship? Do you want to squash it into a box and wrap it up all pretty? Or do you want it to grow bigger and more beautiful than you ever imagined?

When we try to micro-manage our relationships what we’re actually doing is stuffing them into a musty old shoe box and then covering that with pretty wrapping paper. But if you stuff a plant into a shoe box, what do you think is going to happen? It’s going to whither and die. That’s why it is so important to let go of the need to be in control all the time - because what you’re really doing is smothering your own happiness.

The more you try to fit some imaginary mold of what a relationship should be like, the less room you leave for the relationship to grow and bloom by itself. You might think that relationships need to be tilted a certain way (i.e emphasis on sexual gratification) to be “good”. But that’s not true.

Again, when you look at plants you’ll soon notice that none of them are perfect. They’re all flawed in one way or another. But even though they’re not perfect, they’re still beautiful. They still grow in their own unique way and bloom when the season is right.

A relationship is exactly like that. It might not look “perfect” from the outside. It might feel awkward and weird from the inside. But if you allow it to grow and flourish you’ll soon find that it grows and expands into something beautiful. You don’t have to force it to look and feel beautiful. All you need to do is give it room to grow, and water and sunlight to flourish. Of course you can prune it if you see it growing in a bad direction, but try to remember that if you cut off too much the plant is going to die.

In other words, allow your relationship to grow as naturally as possible. That’s the bet way to get the relationship you really want. 

You might think you need to control every aspect of it, but you don’t. All you need to do at this point is to feed the relationship and give it room to take root and bloom into something amazing. 

Let go of your idea of what a perfect relationship is supposed to be like and become more comfortable with the way your relationship is expanding, growing and taking shape at its own pace. 

The more you nourish the good parts of a relationship, the stronger it will grow and keep blooming to your heart's delight.

If only I had it to do all over again. Oh, the roses I would smell!

But there again...Roses, like relationships, need nurturing and tender loving care.

No question about it, we reap what we sow in life.

SHARED EXPERIENCES ON LIVING WITH COLON CANCER

The colon is also called the large intestine. The ileum (last part of the small intestine) connects to the cecum (first part of the colon) in the lower right abdomen. The rest of the colon is divided into four parts:

• The ascending colon travels up the right side of the abdomen.
• The transverse colon runs across the abdomen.
• The descending colon travels down the left abdomen.
• The sigmoid colon is a short curving of the colon, just before the rectum.

What follows is a story about a young man 30 years of age. While there is 55 years between the two of us, his story could well be mine too...We both live with stage 4 colorectal cancer.

Brendan Menapace leaving
treatment centre.

It is an intrusive, worrisome, messy, at-first sickening way to live out one's life. We become self-conscious and prefer to withdraw from society whenever possible. Clothing hides a lot...Too bad the same cannot be said for a permeating odor that is a dead giveaway in close encounter situations. The last thing we want to do is talk about it...But someone has to.

Colon cancer, it seems, is no respecter of age.

“I just turned 29, so I didn’t really think colon cancer,” the now 30-year-old  Brendan Menapace told TODAY.com. “All the symptoms really got worse, so I knew something was wrong, and I needed to find an answer.” After testing, Menapace learned of the devastating results.

“It was definitely surprising,” he says. “It hit me pretty hard.”

In the summer of 2021, Menapace experienced pelvic pain, constipation, bloating and fatigue.

“I would eat and then pretty much immediately, felt drowsy and wanted to lay down,” he says. “I felt terrible.” He also noticed blood in his stool and couldn’t sit for more than an hour and a half, which he noticed while driving his car.  

“In retrospect, it was pretty much the textbook things they say to look out for,” he says.

He visited a doctor who sent him for a colonoscopy in early October 2021. As soon as Menapace gained consciousness in the recovery room, he knew it was bad. “They told me there was a plan in place pretty much immediately.”

Two weeks after his test, he started chemotherapy from the end of October until January. Then he underwent 20 radiation sessions to his pelvis until March.

“From there, basically things had shrunk enough that surgery was viable,” he explains. “But chemo and radiation take a toll on your body, so I was in pretty rough shape.”

In May, doctors surgically removed his rectum, part of his colon and lymph nodes, and he received a temporary ileostomy bag as his colon recovered. In July, doctors reversed his ileostomy, and by October, a PET scan showed no evidence of disease.

“Until you hit that five-year mark, you’re not considered cured or cancer-free,” Menapace acknowledged. “Because of the way it spread, it wasn’t as simple as just cutting out the tumor or declaring me cancer-free.”

A recently published report from the American Cancer Society shows that the rates of colon cancer in young people are increasing. The reason for the increase remains a mystery.

Current screening recommendations for colon cancer are, starting at 45, people need to undergo a colonoscopy every 10 years. With colonoscopies doctors can detect precancerous polyps and remove them before they become cancer. 

The key for now is education and that’s not just educating people that are younger, but educating their health care providers that if someone comes in with blood in their stool or some of the symptoms, they might need to move screening for colorectal cancer higher on the differential.

Finding colon cancer earlier often means surgery alone can remove it. As it metastisizes, it becomes more difficult to treat. Once it spreads to the liver, the chance of it being curable is much lower.

Brendan Menapace experienced neuropathy when he underwent chemotherapy but is lucky that it stopped after treatment ended.

“It has been a huge learning curve and just the trauma to my colon and lower digestive system — things are never going to be the same,” he says. “There’s a new normal that I’m working toward and that takes a lot of work in its own right. I have to be careful eating.”

He returned to work and exercise, resuming as much of a "normal life" as he can.

“When I leave the house, I have to know where a bathroom is. It’s something in the back of my head, and I have to think about something that I never had to before,” he says. “It’s hard to fathom the idea of something being different forever.”

With the help of his partner, friends, family and therapy, Menapace is trying to grapple with the changes he faces due to cancer. He encourages others to talk about their symptoms with their doctors, no matter how strange it might feel.

“You’re trained not to talk about your poop. You’re trained not to talk about your butt. This is not what you talk about in polite society. At first, I would rely on euphemisms and be kind of fake and make jokes,” he says. “But if you’re not frank in explaining what you’re going through, you’re not going to paint the right picture for your care team. You’re not going to get the right care...and your friends will never understand.

UPDATE FROM DICK: At least Brendan's cancer was detected in the early stages and he has recovered sufficiently to resume reasonably normal activities, albeit a mere shadow of his former self. I keep my fingers crossed for him.

Unfortunately for me, following an emergency ileostomy December 19, 2019, daily chemotherapy treatments combined with radiation for a six-week period and a subsequent colonostomy when it was determined that complete reversal was not advisable at my advanced age; I ended up with permanent need for an ostomy bag attached to my stomach and a living hell for the rest of my days.

Two new cancer tumors were detected late last year (one internal near the rectum and the other growing externally at the site of my stoma where the ostomy bag attaches) and I resumed chemotherapy treatment in January. I consulted three oncologist surgeons, all of whom deemed my tumors inoperable and mutually suggested chemo and radiation as the only means of giving me "better quality of life".

Long story made short, I have opted out of any further chemo and radiation treatments. Having been there and done that before, why should I make myself sicker all over again when my fate has already been sealed.

I really have no pain or discomfort to speak of, just the ultimate in every day worry and inconvenience associated incontinent needs. I can live with that. I've been doing it all along!

Just one imposing obstacle though...The astronomical cost of assistive devices required to keep my ostomy draining adequately -- a two-piece skin barrier, an ostomy ring barrier and a two-piece drainable pouch, being the main component parts. 

I never know how long a complete appliance application will hold up...Some times just one day, other times three or four days if I'm lucky. Conditions have to be perfect and they are not always. A single minor variance can result in a faulty and short-lived application. 

I figure that each change costs in the neighborhood of $60. I order ostomy supplies for a two-month period (see photo below) at an average cost of $650 (or close to $4000 for the year). A government assistive devices program initiative reimburses me $480 twice a year. Well received but a drop in the  bucket overall.

The tumor, growing as we speak, engulfing the stoma and impeding its ability to drain, poses an ongoing problem and in the end will undoubtedly do me in. One centimeter larger in circumference and there will not be an ostomy device on the market designed to fit over the imposing growth. That's an inevitable bridge awaiting crossing.

In the end a Go-Fund Me promotion page may eventually be an option. But over my dead body!

Shown here is a two-month supply of ostomy assistive devices at an average cost of $650.00. I also had to fork out $400 for a special tailor made belt to help minimize unavoidable leakage at the stoma attachment site.

Now you know the other side of the story!