1965 Mustang Convertible

In 1969, I drove a 1965 maroon Ford Mustang 289 four barrel hypo convertible. Of course, the car quickly became an extension of myself and seemed to help shape the way I viewed the world. More than a powerful motor and a unique style, the Mustang became my magic carpet to adventure and exploration. Most everyone loved to ride in the machine, top down, muffler bubbling, and eight track stereo blaring. I was lucky enough to purchase the car from my uncle, who had bought it wrecked and rebuilt it, so I guess you could say it was also an affordable status symbol. Driving the Mustang made me feel like a jet pilot free of the bounds of earth. As an eighteen year old, I passionately cleaned it and constantly maintained it to assure me a classic ride every time I turned the key. When other muscle car owners of SS 396's, GTO's, or Camaros pulled aside, I found it hard not to let them see how quick my Mustang could run. The car ran as much on testosterone as gas in those days, but I was careful never to be too reckless. The thrill was in the drive, not just in the speed. My Mustang and I took great care of each other. A few years later, I traded my Mustang for a Chevelle, a great car too; however, after my Mustang years, I never got that same passionate feeling driving other automobiles. I traded because of that human desire that the "grass is always greener." A lesson hard learned when possessing a young mind. Memories of my Mustang live on and provide me with colorful images of friends and good times. I wonder if the car exists today as an operational vehicle or as pieces of rust long disfunctional. I guess I long to see it as I knew it in 1969: a beautiful American classic. It breaks my heart to think my car has ceased to exist. In fact, I think a little part of me died when I sold the car, a part of my youthful freedom. It's really ashamed great cars aren't like diamonds, always sparkling in their original design and easily kept and maintained. Somehow the reality of both objects seems unfair--the automobile is so much more functional than the diamond and yet not nearly as durable. Maybe that's why I continue to like my Mustang so much. Like a departed friend, my Mustang left me with many pleasant memories after its demise. All friendships do end and we take pieces of our relationships formed within these friendships to our grave. But, oh, man, just to drop the top and tromp on that gas pedal one more time!

My Life Changing Moment

Do you remember one thing someone told you that became a defining moment in your personal life? Something that first appeared insignificant, then later became tremendously important in making you what you are today? Not instantaneously realized as important words such as wedding vows or lover's promises, but "out of the blue" communications that stuck with you and made you realize something about the rest of your life. The positive effect of these defining moments only became noticeable after the passage of time and the formulation of new perspectives concerning their worth. I am pleased to say that I have had such life-altering experiences. I want to share one with you. Throughout grade school and high school, I liked my English classes and English instructors. All of them had a great deal to do with my decision to pursue an English Education major. For example, two high school instructors, Mrs. Peebles and Mrs. Romanello, provided me an excellent background in grammar, mechanics, and writing. Each became an inspiration for my later aspirations, but I am not writing about these ladies today. Instead, my inspiring moment came during my senior year in Mrs. Distel's class, when, by the way, I had no idea of what I wanted to do with my life or career. The draft was on in '69 and the war was raging in Vietnam as I drew number 104. If I let fate run its course, I would be drafted after graduation. While my football coach had written numerous letters to colleges in efforts to obtain scholarships, I declined their offers. I had tracked college prep for four years, and I was expected to enter post-secondary ed after high school graduation. I felt guilty knowing that many of my friends would not get a college deferment and soon be drafted, but my guilt subsided when I told myself that if college proved to be a bust, I would drop out and soon be drafted anyway. Then, one day in senior English, Mrs. Distel handed back a theme she had graded. I don't have any recollection of the subject of my paper, nor any recollection of the grade I had received for my work. In fact, I read her comments, yet I didn't think about the paper at the time and stuck it in my notebook where somehow it disappeared, probably unceremoniously thrown away with other year-end locker trash, never to be seen again. But I do remember one small, rather vague comment on this paper. At the time I first read this comment, I didn't feel especially wonderful. My job was to write the paper and her job was to grade the paper--enough said. However, years later as I advanced through college and found it time to declare a major, I very distinctly remembered Mrs. Distel's words. She had written this comment on my theme: "You have a spark of greatness in you." I have never forgotten these kind words and this compliment that helped change my life. I still don't know exactly what she was referring to concerning my writing, but the tone and timing of the message were impeccable. Mrs. Distel was challenging me to use some talent she felt she had witnessed. She had drawn me out and effectively affirmed my commitment to become a writer and an English instructor. She knew how to make me look within and think for myself. She, in a few words, had given me the most wonderful gift, and I had nearly walked away from receiving its benefit. A little moment in life, a comment or even words unspoken, can have amazing effects. I am sure you have similar accounts of trivial, but life-changing communications. I would love to collect these and share them in future posts. Please, send me your recollections. I am eager to learn about your good fortunes (or bad, for that matter).

Reflections on a "Blue Pony"

"Blue Pony" (Julie Miller)

There's a picture on the wall Taken back when I was small You are standing next to me I loved you the most of all

We would watch the winters thaw You would sing and I would draw animals and things for you In colors that you never saw

And my Blue Pony's gonna take me for a ride Down to where we used to go An I'll see your smile and touch your face And my heart will overflow Now the years have washed our times away Like footprints in the rain And the house is gone With the days we shared But our love will still remain

Tinkie Tunes(ASCAP)/Martha Road(ASCAP)

Buddy and Julie Miller are masters of music and remembrance. If you haven't heard their recordings, do yourself a favor and check them out, all of them. You will find a variety of musical influences represented in their albums with an intensity you cannot ignore. "Blue Pony" from the album of the same name is a powerful lyric that underscores love with simple, yet powerful imagery. The haunting song skillfully blends reminiscence with never-ending devotion unraveged by the forces of time. Julie's blue pony becomes the metaphorical vehicle that transports her to the childhood of her past. Beautifully written, beautifully sung, beautifully recorded.

I feel an immediate connection with the Millers' style and graceful production from early albums to the more recent "The Universal United House of Prayer." Treasures yet unknown to many, Buddy and Julie continue to make great music that deserves utmost attention. American music is alive and well through the Millers. In a time when many fall victim to saying, "All that stuff sounds the same," allow yourself to sample their unique, haunting music. I truly believe you will find your time well spent.

Living in the Past

I am not pleased with many parts of my past. I realize I am bound by time and space, so I have found it impossible to change ugly past circumstances. And, I do not want to relive or confront old mistakes after I feel I have overcome them and filed them away as potentially positive learning experiences. Indeed, a little hardening of my heart to prevent further investigations has made me more cynical about some things. I do carry these scabs of regret though, but I have softened my heart to other concerns I deem important. Maybe the trade-offs are to satisfy me; still, they do occur. I have forced my memory to forget many struggles by suppressing bad memories and the suppression has dulled my senses to some issues. If someone really wants to hurt another person, he can effectively scape away at a scab of the healing heart, open the old wound, and let it flow anew as degradation releases the fresh blood of sorrow and regret. This new probe into an old mistake may cause the past injury to remain open and fester until it infects the spirit and destroys any hope of recovery. Words can and do hurt, and some words should never be repeated. To use words as weapons of destruction is very effective, especially when these words carry explosive connotations from past engagements. Often, these conversations become war zones full of foreseen dangers and hidden traps. How many casualties of such conflicts have littered the battlegrounds? True, I cannot forget the unsavory parts of my past and I carry their scars, but I expect those closest to me to forgive me as I have them. In addition, I truly hope my friends can respect me and refrain from browbeating me with my past when new conflicts inevitably occur. At 58, I am definitely still a work in progress, some would say a rather flawed one at that. When I can't look beyond someone's past, I re-examine the fair share of the damage I have inflicted upon them, look and pray for answers, and try to make a decision about the future of our relationship. If the indiscretions are insurmountable, I hope to at least be honest, tell my friend my feelings, and part on good terms. Ideally, we both forget about our shared painful memories and continue to live meaningful lives, scarred but newly forgiven. The bottom line for me is that the past is gone, paved over for the better. Winston Churchill put it this way: "If we open a quarrel between past and present, we shall find that we have lost the future." The future is all we really have to enjoy anyway. Many times, redemption lies just around the corner. If we keep walking, we may step a new direction and find what we need.

Mysterious Unknown

Writing blog entries sets me free, free to experiment with words and delve deeper into my ideas. I have always liked to write. Capturing print on a page releases energy and leads my unconscious mind into places I have never explored: as I begin a draft, writing is a journey of some familiarity, but as I continue writing, I never know what new adventures my words will allow me to explore. I most like to begin the process of discovery with some kernel of truth, at least truth as it appears to me. Yet, I never know where the sentences will stop or exactly what I want them to say until I keep the flow going and fluency opens doors of discovery. I merely put one word down, followed by another, another, etc. until I've had enough. Critical revision of writing is another story. Just let me say the more polishing, editing, and critiquing the piece receives, the better it becomes. Today, I thought I might explore my fascination with the unknown. Why am I often attracted to exploring subjects that involve speculation and mystery? My curiosity with subjects such as death, heaven, hell, and the universe often spills over into conversation with friends and family. I find my concepts of the unknown frequently altered by these conversations, my readings, and the media. I claim no expertise in such matters, just an extreme interest and a desire to investigate that which is unexplainable or difficult to comprehend. Do I wonder about the unknown because I feel my comprehension will somehow matter to the course of human events? Do I expect personally to gain something when I become more knowledgeable? I don't think so. I think I am curious about the unknown because I need to be curious. I need to think in order to satisfy my tiny mind that mysteries still and always will exist. To me, living without them and living without examining them would seem impossible in itself. I am able to justify these mysteries as beautiful, real parts of our world. I know many things, but those things I don't know excite my expectations and translate meaning often in music, art, dreams, and nature. So, I relate the huge mysteries to little mysteries I can more readily experience and comprehend-- a poem, a song, a picture, a beautiful sunset. I definitely don't need or expect concrete answers to burning mysteries. Though, I do need to consider these things to enjoy a satisfying life, not a gray existence. Today's scientific principles will be the discarded refuge of the future. Yet, the future will still hide its mysteries from the human mind. Albert Einstein or a newborn child, what rank on the intelligence scale unlocks more meaning of real truth or of real science, for that matter? If you think like me, no human can or will unravel God's mysterious creation. It remains for us merely to wonder and marvel about such matters. But, could our imaginations make all the difference to spirits hungry for something beyond explanation? Open yours and see the difference it can make.

Most men don't care for....

The following is a list of things I believe most guys don't care to do. This is an offering to womankind that may help with narrowing the gap between the sexes. Most men don't like: 1. Shaving--Maybe because we have an innate desire to appear a little more beastly. We do it out of necessity or so our faces don't itch. 2. A man giving them a massage--Let this go unexplained (But my image could be distasteful). 3. Making small talk at parties--Eat, drink, and be merry. Talk when comfortable with close companions. Make new friends who show interest. 4. Fast Dancing--Personally, I don't know why this is, but I used to be this way in high school. Now, I just fast dance and convince myself no man really is supposed to look good or sexy dancing. Besides, this is as close as some guys will get to babes. "Slow dance, Mam?" Answer, "No, thank you." 5. Extended periods of waiting to go somewhere--Fifteen minutes tops and we're on the road. 6. Tofu, granola bars, or health food--We're omnivores (mainly carnivores) so if it's health food, disguise it under some meat and potatoes. 7. Drinking sweet, umbrella dressed drinks--Beer or simple mixtures, Jack and Coke, because alcohol is not dessert, it's social lubrication. 8. Playing hard to get, stuck up diva--We just don't have that much patience and usually know we are going to be rejected, so just say "no" and we walk. 9. Having a woman telling us we can't drive--Cars + Guys = Love Affair. Easy equation so don't bruise our egos. 10. Women who act too tough--"Me, Tarzan. You, Jane." We want to protect the things we love. 11. Other guys who have to mouth off or constantly brag--Quiet toughness allowed-shows without intimidation. 12. Holding long grudges--Apologies accepted, move on, guys become better friends after a fight. 13. Lack of spontaneity--Surprise and unexpected behaviors can add to mystery and thrill. 14. Making all the decisions--Boring too quickly. 15. Overactive public displays of affection--A little phony? Charley Rich sings, "Behind Closed Doors." 16. Trendy restaurants and coffee houses--Large portions and down home atmosphere needed. McDonald's coffee will do- yeh, a lot of us are cheap. 17. Shopping with women--Men know what they want, get it, and get out. Women prefer to look at everything in every store. Just shoot us, O.K.? 18. Weepy love songs--Nothing wrong with a good love song but a steady diet of girls dejected and rejected makes pitiful company. Rock and Roll. 19. To have to pass "inspection"--We know you're going to find our faults, so don't think a snap judgment is necessarily a good judgment. Hey, we're nervous. 20. Assuming men only want one thing--We can be just as complex as women. Excuse many for the selfishness of some. Most of us have no idea of "how to pick you up." Lots of lonely men out there want to talk, hold hands, and dance. Feel free to add to or comment on the list. Disagreements and agreements are welcomed.

Just Let Me Make You Happy

Who would dare argue that Americans hold dear the privileges afforded by the Declaration of Independence, especially the phrase largely borrowed from John Locke: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." The words, probably penned by Thomas Jefferson ring with freedom and truth. But, twentieth century English physicist C. P. Snow would have us consider his words: "The pursuit of happiness is a most ridiculous phrase; if you pursue happiness, you'll never find it." Though ironic in tone, Snow's quote gives us insight into that all-elusive American dream of obtaining contentment. To merely "pursue" happiness does not denote its possession. For example, when the police are in a hot pursuit of criminals, the criminals are yet to be caught and detained. Only when the police capture the lawbreakers does pursuit end and arrest occur that allows justice to reign supreme. It seems everyone is in hot pursuit of happiness these days. How many of us have actually attained this fortunate feeling as a permanent state of being? Signs are everywhere that many people just are not very happy, yet they value happiness akin to love, health, and liberty. Maybe "pursuit" is the only guarantee given in our Declaration for very good reasons. Can you imagine a nation full of citizens being forever happy about whatever in the world makes each of them truly happy? Chaos, disorder, and hedonism would surely increase as these self-centered individuals gain control. I think it's quite natural to take heart in the chase of those things that give us happiness, full well knowing many of them lie just beyond our reach. After all, as a certain object of happiness becomes commonplace, won't other yearnings emerge? Witness the sports players or movie actors who possess all the money they could possibly need and who still find they lack contentment. A full-time, blissful state of happiness seems like a worthwhile goal, but I think it may be more of a dream for most of us. I catch most of mine in bursts and flurries and attempt to duplicate circumstances conducive to prolonging my happy feelings. If I meet someone who appears a little too happy, either I send up a red flag or I pay close attention to the cause of their continual joy. Without pursuit and even failure to attain bliss, we couldn't experience the blues and the lessons provided by certain unhappy events. Our perfect lives, though seemingly fulfilled, would lack emotional maturity, the ability to deal with life's misfortunes. So, I think another question begs an honest answer in degrees of approval or disapproval. This question seems so trite, "Are you really happy?" To what extent and in what portion of our lives does this popular question deserve an answer? Maybe, the better question is, "Are you really happy about _____? Fill in a specific answer. I hope everyone is happy, at least happy in knowing that struggling and enjoying are both essential parts of a real existence.

Have a Little Faith

At times, I find myself losing faith in our society. With economic uncertainty and questionable morality and exploitation of the young and extreme violence drowning our lives in never-ending torrents, I strive to keep my head above the flood of problems. I choose to ignore many of the bad news stories in the media because they tend to depress me when I ingest them. I know my ignorance prevents me from becoming a vibrant part of the solution; however, I often choose this road, telling myself that somehow maintaining distance will assure the strength of my own basic positive convictions. I guess I tend to "pick and choose" my fights with society by supporting issues I perceive closest to home, those issues most likely to affect my loved ones. Yes, I admit this approach is selfish and not very scholarly. Still, I feel as if I am not so much giving up on reform, but I am trying to find some speck of goodness in the darkness while depending on wiser heads to prevail. Sometimes, I do feel like an ostrich sticking his head in the sand. Above all, I try to let my faith support me, a faith that our societal problems can be alleviated by God working through those educated and dedicated to work with these concerns. Gandhi wrote, "You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty." Gandhi reminds us that the vast "ocean" of humanity is clean. Negativity may breed negativity but the overwhelming sea of human beings seeks goodness. An individual can change the world when given great support from his followers. Every day numerous people effect positive outcomes with their good work. It seems to me these individuals are the people we all must uplift and help with our own talents to insure the ocean of humanity remains uncontaminated by the waste of those who wish to litter it with false ideals. One of my favorite quotes of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. reminds us: "Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice. Justice at its best is love correcting everything that stands against love." I believe these lines with the faith that love will prevail and assure justice in the end, no matter what the prevailing difficulties may be.

Another face in the crowd

Have you every considered what makes a person stand out from the crowd? For some, the answer is an outstanding physical attribute, a great personality trait, an instantly identifiable attitude, or a hint of an inner strength of character. Honestly, some would prefer to blend in with their crowd, staying safely concealed within the boundaries defined by their common associations. Still, most prefer to be unique people with definite talents that lend to solid, outstanding character. Many work a lifetime to enrich such an image. To think of one's own singular most accepted attribute is sobering. This characteristic seems to be less evident to an individual because of complex feelings and desires to be pretty good at all things. Yet, other people form instant and lasting impressions of acquaintances in a very short time. Remember the high school superlative choices? Think about how many of these choices turned into miscalculations. How about the divorce rate? Millions of people misjudge their first (second? third?) choice of a life mate. Humans do consciously change throughout the years and society is full of people with less than lifelong convictions. And, of course, some change is merely inevitable due to time. But, today, how do others see us? Would it change us to know the answer to this question? I'm not sure, but I have a hunch most of us have carefully shaped a formidable landmark to signal an outstanding attribute to others. Sometimes, this prominent feature is a fraud. Vanity allows many of us to believe solely in ourselves and to perpetrate this hoax upon others. More positively, others find a basic truth within and attempt to portray their real selves to their fellow human beings. These people strive to refine their image into something lasting and beautiful. I must admit I am attracted to all kinds who seem to honestly know themselves, their limitations and strengths. Moreover, I do have a special affection for those who don't exhibit a staunch singularity of behavior but who project some lighthearted mystery. Their image is confident, not arrogant, with a ear open to others because they realize the value of an open mind. How do I stand out from the crowd? I can only hope my ability to communicate is strong and my ability to understand others is equally sufficient. I want to be counted among the honest. And, I would be happy to know I have helped someone in need. That's a pretty big picture, and I hope it possesses clarity and little distortion.

Gotta have it....

Do you just have to have more? The hottest, the biggest, the best? Do you feel as if your status and position are jeapardized without your well-deserved entitlements? Do you need the bling, the bomb, and the luxurious? To a certain extent, we are all guilty of wanting everything all the time. Society leads us to believe we are somehow underprivileged unless we treat ourselves and our families to the best of everything. And, today this view seems to be gaining favor. True, the rich afford their fabulous dwellings and expensive toys with money, real currency. Many more of us, however, find our debts mounting because we use credit to get what we want, not necessarily to get what we really need. We become consumed with spending to keep up and to find more pleasure. Money has become the master of nearly every struggling family, and as slaves to money, we let money extend its control into every facit of our lives- our leisure activities, our friendships, and our marriages. To a certain extent, money has always ruled the individual in our capitalistic society. I don't want that system to change, and I certainly admire those who have worked hard for their monetary rewards. I admire many of my rich, disciplined, hard-working friends, but I also value my poorer, struggling friends who live within their means without the burning desire to have it all. The word "satisfied" applies to many of these people. Throughout my life, I believe I have learned more about the true substance of life from those with a perspective that earthly possessions do not have to be extravagant to be valuable. These people have found peace and happiness without much money. They often treasure simple pleasures, and they find ways to celebrate their existence in simple, inexpensive ways. While living with less, they experience more- more freedom, more joy, and more love than similar poor people strapped with debt and money worship. Now, I know society demands us to spend more all the time. Even to keep a child in fashionable clothes and popular activities costs to the extreme. Yet, can we take away a little societal pressure from these things? Is there value in teaching respect for the affordable? I'll let you answer that hypothetical. Desire is inevitable, even necessary, but not uncontrollable. Restraint is certainly not an easy virtue to learn and much, much harder to live. Still, I think it's about time to restrain the overpowering desire for money that controls the best things in life. I guess that rules me out for the sprawling mansion on the hill, the gigantic yacht, and the sleek new Porsche.

This Redneck thing...

The term "red neck" is controversial to say the least. Origins of this word lead to the condition of poor Southern farmers' red, leathery necks developed as a result of toiling in hot, sunny fields to positive identification of union coal miners who wore red neckerchiefs as symbols that they were pro-union. Historically speaking, these etymologies seem to suggest no negativity. Personally, though a lifetime Appalachian resident and potential redneck, I don't care for the redneck label. I don't want to be considered a redneck by others and I don't use the term to describe my friends and neighbor hill folk. Why? I believe the word smacks of negative connotations to most: images of poor, ignorant, racist Whites with missing teeth and inbred brain cells. Yes, we all laugh at redneck jokes; after all, the old saying goes, "If we can't laugh at ourselves, then who can we laugh at." But, the act of merely labeling somebody as a redneck, cracker, hillbilly, or any other potentially embarrassing term seems inconsiderate and judgmental. I am not a fan of wrapping an individual into a potentially harmful box. Don't think that I am not proud of my Appalachian heritage. I am. I, however, am not proud of anyone defending every part of any one view, belief, or life style to the point of exclusion of tolerance and respect for others. I think cultural pride must be based on decency and positive contributions, not traits of ridicule and outright shame. If you believe you are a redneck, then I assume you take from your experience an understanding that your affiliation with "redneckism" makes you a better person. To me, that is fine because you have that right as an individual to construct your own connotations and life style. From my perspective though, the act of calling anybody else anything so potentially misinterpreted is dangerous. It may not be that big a deal, but my experience says, "Don't use the term." What is implied in being a redneck is where I sense a problem. Rebel flags, the Springer show, "wife-beater" tee shirts, mouths with missing teeth, beer gut men, Daisy Dukes, rusty cars in the backyard, barefoot and pregnant women, and people with a sixth grade education. These all suggest image and connotation to us. Do you think your understandings of these phrases would match the hopes and anticipations of our ancestors'? I believe our Appalachian kin would cringe at what many today consider redneck ways. Instead, they would expect us to dignify our cultures by remembering and practicing the best parts of their inheritance. No, please don't call me a "redneck." Call me "Frank." And, I promise to return the favor.

I'd be better off...

Do you ever find yourself dwelling on all the things you wished you would have done differently? I sometimes do. Caught in this cycle, my mind regurgitates painful memories of past mistakes and misfortunes. Nothing is accomplished by thinking about how I could have bettered these bygone pieces of my life; however, I go over details about them time and again until I exhaust my mental capabilities. Worry drains me of energy and joy. Reliving certain events is strictly self-imposed torture. It serves little purpose to even attempt to heal the scars my problems have left. I guess when I dredge up ugly details, I think some introspective recontact will magically change the past and make everything better. How dumb I am to think negatively when I realize positive thinking involves walking away from those things I cannot change and, at best, learning from my mistakes. The philosopher and poet Omar Khayyam wrote: "The moving finger writes, and having written moves on. Nor all thy piety nor all thy wit, can cancel half a line of it." When viewed in relation to a person's past, the quote speaks volumes. Nothing can reverse that which has already occurred: A painful lesson learned through the experience of living an imperfect life. The Serenity Prayer also offers peace to the troubled mind.

Serenity Prayer:

God give me the "grace" to accept things I cannot change.

Give me the "courage" to change the things I can change.

And the "wisdom" to know the difference.

I may (and probably will) fall victim to worrying about the past again, but I do know God offers me comfort and forgiveness for everything I have messed up. So, now when I "drop the ball," I tell myself I will catch the next pass and run it to the end zone.

You did what?

Many people these days are in love with material possessions and themselves. It's common to see them share openly these loves with thousands on the net. Providing information of the like is not necessarily all bad, but many space dwellers are being viewed by others as mere glam, plastic products of their electronic environments. It's interesting viewing such profiles, yet I am amazed by predominant attitudes held by lots of my fellow internet users. Profiles sometimes reveal anger, resentment, and downright conceit as attractive attributes. Do I really care to know the following? 1. You want me to see your new "tat." 2. You want other bitches to beware. 3. You want any people jealous of you to hate you. 4. You think no one can "touch" your talents and looks. 5. You are a wicked attraction or a tremendous danger to enemies. 6. You are sexually attracted to this or that. 7. You care about yourself more than any other person. 8. You encourage or participate in illegal activities. How about a "shout out" for the meek? Portraying more than T&A or Gangsta attributes, a beautiful, gracious person can use the same space to exhibit a talented, intelligent mind. Just as pretty or internally tough as the diva or the thug, this person can positively influence the readers. Whatever happened to a softer approach? Indeed, many may be craving to see more innocence and common sense than glitter, glamour, shock and false ideals. How refreshing to read about real people who care about other people, not promote themselves or slander others. The titles "lady" and "gentleman" would be appropriate for the real worthy beautiful people. Granted, Madison Avenue and the media has splattered us with images and messages full of the love of money, power, and raw sex. And true, some of us have bought the idea that pleasure and possessions are the keys to happiness in our lives. There seems to be the conception today that any means available to getting these keys is acceptable-- the drug, the gun, the belittlement of competition. But, how about the people who still believe in earning their positions through work and respect? They exude a silent confidence I find irresistible. Most truly beautiful, successful people don't need to announce themselves as kings and queens of their domains. Nor do they need to surround themselves with opulence nor dress themselves in revealing clothes nor make claims about their incredible prowess. Instead, they merely spread their love and beauty when they show care and respect to all people. This transforms them from being slaves to trends, peer pressure, and fashion into being unique, attractive human beings. Isn't this really the aim of our lives?

Breakfast Serial

Today I ate breakfast with a group of four or five other retired teachers from my building: a little ritual we started a few years ago and have continued every other Friday throughout the years. Being a breakfast member is very simple. We just show up at Bob Evans, sit at our accustomed table, and eat and talk about everything from old times to new ailments. We share a lot of information while shoveling eggs and pancakes, and we usually laugh and joke quite a bit. This fellowship has become one of the most important events of my ever-shrinking social calendar. I must say I really enjoy such a simple pleasure because these meetings have really solidified our bonds of friendship. The Romeo (Retired Old Men Eating Out) Club has allowed each member both to keep touch with one another and to blow off a little hot air about various subjects. We keep tabs on whose missing a breakfast and try to inquire about unexpected absences. Just as important, our breakfast meetings have become fairly long, leisurely, relaxed affirmations of growing older and enjoying the benefits of aging. The table takes the place of the parlor of old (the only difference, the meal usually runs at least ten dollars) as we run the gamut of politics to reminisces of our teaching careers. One hour most often turns into two. It occurred to me that beginning a day with food, friends, and conversation is very worthwhile. It's ashamed we all can't take the time each day to do so. Little pleasures mean so much to me these days. Maybe I'm showing my age, but I believe face-to-face meetings offer a lot more than electronic or snail mail conversations. Still, it's nice to be living in a time in which a person can use many means to communicate thoughts, both trivial and important. So, I hope to keep writing with, meeting with, and communicating with my friends. Class, let's summarize. Food+Friends+Conversation x repetition = Common Respect. Try your own little group some morning; it's a great way to get a positive start on the day.

My Obsession With Rock

When I attended grade school, we were bussed to the high school for performances of the junior and senior class plays. That was indeed a rare artistic treat for us, but, even more importantly for me, high school students would perform music between acts of the play. During my seventh grade year, a couple of students played Everly Brothers tunes, and, I'll never forget them doing "Carousel" by the Hollies. I was knocked out and knew immediately that I wanted more and more rock music in my life. Soon, I began spending all my allowance on rock records and guitar lessons. A musical addiction was born, fueled by popular bands like the Beatles, Stones, and Young Rascals. Excited, I just couldn't get enough of my favorite songs and musicians. When my class became sophomores, we started a band and played music for school dances, and, of course, between acts of the class plays. We had no idea if we were very good, but we thought we could play a reasonable rendition of any popular tune as did many others in my small Ohio town. Money from performance allowed the band to buy better equipment, and we soon started attending real, nationally touring rock concerts. The Dick Clark Caravan of Stars brought many of our heroes to our hometown- Jackie DeShannon, Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, and Peter and Gordon to name a few. My first two big out-of-town rock road trips were to see Jimi Hendrix in Cincinnati and the Doors in Columbus. After that, music became my passion: yes performing a little, but record collecting and DJing much more. I had found a lifelong friend in my music, one that remains with me to this day. So what did this obsession do for me besides take my money? I believe I learned a lot about cultural identity, compassion, tolerance, diversity, and beauty through my musical indulgence. In the '60's and 70's songs were being written about every social and political situation. I took it all in and became a student of popular culture. Now, I realize many would say drugs and sex go hand in hand with popular music. And, I would have to agree; however, life is about choices and I believe the individual who dotes on negativity will find just that kind of ugliness in the music he consciously chooses. I like many songs about these subjects myself, as long as they do not encourage misbehavior or downright depravity. How can I like "Mother's Little Helper" by the Rolling Stones or "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye? A drug song and a sex song? I think no subject should be taboo for the artist, and I depend on the consumer to consider the lyrical and musical quality of his purchase. The owner of the song is free to use the music as he/she pleases within certain governmental restraints, but I don't believe minors should be left alone to open a modern "Pandora's Box" of modern music without proper warning and without competent adult supervision. In the same respect, I, personally detest music which glamorizes suicide, death, and hatred. Quality is not that hard to judge, and, yes, Mom and Dad, you can find obscene lyrics and objectionable content information before you buy. Look for it- books, internet, record stores. For me music is beautiful and alluring. All kinds- Big Band, Vocal Standards, Rhythm and Blues, Blues, Classic Rock, Jazz, Country, Popular, Alternative, Folk, World, Spoken Word, Comedy. I can spend hours scanning all the racks in a single record (cd) store. I have learned the necessity of tracing favorite songs to artists, writers, labels, and producers. Music provides invaluable history lessons, expecially lessons in American identity: Cincinnati King Records, Detroit Motown Records, Memphis Stax and Sun Records, Chicago Chess Records, Muscle Shoals and New York Atlantic Records, New Orleans Specialty Records to name a few. Vibrant, seminal songs can put you knee deep in a Southern Swamp or walking through a big city ghetto. I beg youth to journey musical trails and find original renditions of everything. How enriching! Music is very functional for the body and soul. When applied as needed, it lubricates the human form and emotions. Therefore, I need to hear many different types, styles, and rhythms in my song collection. Is this a Blues day or a Rock day? Trial and error with practice makes perfect when dealing with selection matters. Soon, I usually find a groove that fits and I let the music take me. Yes, I believe I do surrender when conditions are right. My goal is to get in the middle of the rhythm and stay there until healed. Sam Cooke wrote, "I'm gonna stay here until it heals my soul, and it might take all night long." Inuendo maybe, but much more.... My biggest concern is hearing my music collection as close to recorded perfect as possible, no extra gimmicks, equalization, or add-ons. I want the studio's product to sound exactly as the engineers, producers, and artists intended. Since I don't have thousands of dollars to spend on my system, I rely on the best quality equipment and recordings I can afford. I know when the sounds of an album are special, and few ever experience true audiophile heaven. These days many recordings are produced very loud with a lot of compression. I like to hear something new in my recordings each time I play them- depth, presence, vocal and instrumental delivery. I've spent lots of money on music since my grade school days, and I still love to find treasures that put magic back into my ears. Maybe I am a dinosaur musically speaking, but I hope to listen until the end. Maybe you could share some recordings I must hear before then. I would be glad to let you know some of my favorites in a future entry. Until then, let the muse take you where you want to go.

Some Soulfood

I'm guilty of wondering about infinity and its relationship to my soul. I believe in both- I am quite certain the universe is infinite and I am positive my soul exists. But, doesn't it make me think about the absolute awesomeness of these realities? Parallel universes and the possibility of existing in dimensions unseen by humans- wow! The thought of my soul(s) exploring new worlds is both exciting and rather unnerving. I trust in God, and only in God, to understand these things, but as an inquisitive person, I just have to wonder about them at times. My belief in the power of the Supreme Being is solid. Still, I think there is infinite knowledge about God's universe that we humans don't know and never will. Faith has to be the key to deliverance while we live and breathe on planet earth. I firmly believe in life after death, and I exercise my faith in God's promise. I'm just exploring the makeup of the soul. This term is so undefinable. We are just matter or stardust to scientists and our particular matter occupies a one of a kind DNA. Yet, my eternal soul rests within the framework of my ever-aging, temporary body. I feel through my soul the concerns that effect me most. My soul has experiences unique to me which are impossible to relate to anyone else. Even my closest family and closest friends cannot thoroughly dissect my soul through their questions and their concerns. I think my brain does a pretty good job of answering the inquiring person, but my soul has a valve that opens only to a precious few. And even when that valve is open, my soul finds it very hard to ooze out what it really knows. Actually, I don't have to answer for most matters of the soul because, as far as my soul is concerned, it cannot expect total comprehension. Yes, some people can read my soul better than others. I guess we can learn about each other when we try. A strong soul does remain pretty stubborn though unless it believes the risk is worth taking. Someone once said, "The eyes are the windows into the soul." Maybe this is because the soul most needs to see the things that may become part of its makeup. Certain sights make my soul ache and soar and love and rejoice. Almost automatically, my eyes feed my soul and seem to let me evaluate each new experience I go through and approve or deny each new person I meet. I often instantly trust my soul to comprehend my feelings, still knowing each further look will modify its picture. An older soul is much more cautious about judgments. It respects the solitary nature of others innermost beliefs and fear of exposure. There must be more to soul growth than sight recognition though. I have let all my senses help me develop my soul at different times. A touch, a sound, a taste, even a smell have evoked important soul reactions. A baby's skin, a blues recording, a bite of chocolate, an aroma of bread baking. My soul takes all of these sensual experiences into its developing world. The sense reaction then becomes more than itself when my soul deems it most necessary, and my soul, unlike my mind, never forgets what it internalizes. My soul seems unwilling to forget any small detail of acquired senses and emotions. These soulful experiences evoke others and so on. For example, I can remember the mixed smell of chlorine and water and the concession stand and tanning oils as I entered Dreamland Pool. And this leads to swim dances and high dives and girlfriends and muscle cars. My soul imprinted pleasant memories in something other than brain cells. Almost poetically, the pool became a part of my being. I also believe some people possess more soul than others. Could it be some soul power helps displace mental power. I don't say this to downgrade intelligence. I just have met some very soulful people who remain memorable not because of their braininess, but because of their charisma of soul. Something about these people exudes confidence and draws me closer. Their actions, words, and mannerisms pull similar feelings from within me. My soul communes with theirs almost without question. I don't think a book or a course can necessarily help people establish powerful souls. So much of who they have become is unspoken and not on the surface. Something deep within them (their strong souls?) seems to guide their lives. And, these soulful people never try to impress me but almost magically, they nearly always do. Scratches in souls need to heal and, as most know, the deeper the cut, the slower the healing. Yet, the older soul has many marks, or battle scars, that remain after major conflicts. These scars are both sore reminders and grateful medals of a unique journey. As I said before, the soul may not tell others of its exact state; however, if we look and listen carefully, we often experience a leak of someone's lifeblood. And still, the soul remains "on fire" for its beliefs and convictions. Losing the fire most likely means losing existence, whether a person is nine or ninety. My soul still seeks truth and longs for many things to keep it alive and free. Light, dark, and a lot of gray exist there. Where will it go when its frame is rusted beyond repair? I'm not certain but I am certain it will still be seeking, seeking something new to help better itself and make it stronger.