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- Easter…once more
I did not take photos. It seemed out of place to me.
But i did walk up to the top of my hill, watched the sun rise over the eastward mountains. Then, i turned around and looked out to the Pacific horizon. The sea was a dark gray. The rising sun infused the sky with a blue that would become intense azure. The white and thinly gray wisps of marine layer clouds would vanish soon.
It was cool.
i considered what the Pacific meant, and what it might have meant to Magellan as he crossed it hundreds of years ago. Peace hung in the air around me as i paused and bowed my head.
Memories flooded my thoughts. Lebanon, Tennessee. 1950s, probably actually 1950, because i was six in my memory. If so, it was April 9th. The pastors of many of the city’s churches stood on the steps of the now razed McFadden Auditorium. The metal chairs, i remember them as white, were neatly aligned in rows on the grass. The sun shone brightly. It was 7:00 a.m. CST, not sunrise. Yet it was still cold. My mother was dressed in her finest pink suit with a pillbox hat, much like the other women there. My father was in a suit and tie, hatless, also like the other men filling the seats. i was in my easter suit, i remember seersucker, with shorts, white socks and white shoes. The shorts are strikingly clear in my mind because my exposed thighs felt as if they were frozen onto the cold metal of the chair’s seat.
Above all, i remember feeling his presence, this guy who was born a half-century shy of two thousand years before. Peace. Yes, peace was there, more felt than the sermons, the prayers, or the hymns in that small city, seventy-six years ago. It did not matter my mother was pinching my bottom in a effort to stop wriggling atop the cold of the chair. i felt his presence there.
It was there this morning. Peace.
i shall not go into religion, quote the bible, or wonderful words of great philosophers. My brother Joe is the man for that, and if you haven’t read some his stuff, you should. He can move you.
i’ll just note that amidst the rantings of war and money and hate and fear, i stood on that hill this morning with the rising sun at my back, looked out over the Pacific and felt peace as it should be. It matters not, i think, what you believe in your religion or denial of religion. If you pause, you can feel him. You can feel peace.
Thank you, Jesus.
- Jacob’s Law
To err is human; to blame it on someone else is even more human.
- Two Poems (sic) and a Whine
Preface Whine:
The two poems included here have been bouncing around in my head in one form or another for about six months. Two nights ago as i was attempting to go to sleep, they came front and center into my sleepy brain almost in their entirety. They are in keeping with my being a curmudgeon.
The first one, “Titans” is not, not specifically about Trump, although he certainly fits this mold from my perspective. It is more a comment on many, if not all of our political, corporate, and military leaders, not just in our country, again from my perspective. With our leaders today, we need less ego and more humanity. Period.
Titans
titans roar,
but
it’s all inflated ego,
bluster;
titans kill,
but
only kill those who are not in their class,
perceived in a lower caste,
better, more human folks;
titans scream
but
always down,
never up;
titans manipulate their followers
to believe
lies;
titans don’t have a clue
as to what they are doing
except to make themselves
feel more powerful
and
that is a lie to themselves.Sins
i loved my sins;
i pursued them with perverse abandon,
“but,”
as Wayon Jennings intoned,
“i’ve never intentionally hurt anyone;”
now,
my sins are verboten:
the phalanx of do-gooders along with the medical cadre
poke me, measure me, smell my urine (or something),
take my blood, check my stability, hah,
dictating i shouldn’t drink
or cuss,
or look at women who are not my own
even if there is no intention of evil on my part,
or
eat anything i like to eat
or
go where i want to go
or
run with the wind
or
sail the seas
or
slalom down a brilliant white trail,
or
dive for a line drive at shortstop,
or
swing a bat driving the ball
down the left field line for a double
or worse,
not allow me to put on my pads
and
tackle the runner cutting through the line,
hitting his gut with my shoulder,
driving him into the ground:
oh, what a glorious feeling
gone.Post Script Whine: After watching for several years, i have determined that folks who back into parking spaces rather than going in forward as designed, are afraid to back out slowly and carefully because they are bad drivers. And most of them prove that when they block traffic while backing, turning, going forward, and turning again, taking inordinate time while blocking the traffic lanes for those who are good drivers and park in spaces going forward.
- Shirley’s Law
Most people deserve each other.
- Big Day
We met just shy of two weeks before her thirty-first birthday. Today, she turns seventy-five. She is very beautiful at seventy-five, and her beauty is deep in many ways. As i have noted many times, i am a very lucky, lucky man.
The story below of how we met Monday, March 15, 1982 has been repeated her annually for several years. This year, we will celebrate with events that occupied most of our relationship during the first year after meeting: we dined out.
In March 1982. i was the Weapons Officer of the USS Okinawa (LPH 3) home ported in San Diego. The Weapons Officer billet was titled “First Lieutenant” on other amphibious helicopter carriers. Regardless, it meant i was charge in pretty much everything not aviation, engineering, operations, or supply related.
One of those responsibilities was being in charge of the quarterdeck where all visitors entered the ship. From previous regimes, we had a large red torah that spanned the entrance into the helicopter deck below the flight deck. It was impressive, but Captain Dave Rogers called me to his cabin one afternoon. “Jim, I want our quarterdeck to be the best quarterdeck on the base. I want it to be the most impressive and known to be the best by everyone home ported here.”
I, of course, replied, “Aye, Aye, Sir!”
i discussed how we could make the quarterdeck renowned across the waterfront with my division officers and Boatswain Warrant Officer 4 (CWO4) Ellis. The Bosun had a bit of a beer gut. He was married to a wonderful Filipino woman who created a lovely macramé lanyard for the boatswain pipe the bosun gave me when i was transferred. She was about 4’8″ and almost that wide. Great lady, just a bit wide.
My team came up with the idea of a sitting area next to the quarterdeck. At the time, when guests or visitors came aboard, they had to wait for the watch to contact whomever they were there to see. That sailor or officer would have to come to the quarterdeck to escort the visitor. Often, the time it took to get to the quarterdeck was lengthy. The visitor had to stand around in a very industrial setting until his escort arrived.
So we decided we could create a sitting area with panels, some chairs, maybe a sofa, and hang framed photographs about the Oki on the walls. That way, the visitor wouldn’t have to stand around in the working bay of the helicopter deck. Great idea.
We had to decide where and how to get panels. Since the Bosun and his first class were going to make a supply run Friday, the next day, i asked them to check out panels while they were on their run. Liberty call was early and the Bosun and his first class left around 1300. They were dressed in their standard liberty civies. The Bosun had on Levis with a blue tee shirt with his thick black hair combed back as much as it could to resemble a ducktail. His first class had on his biker’s jeans, white tee shirt with a leather jacket and a silver chain dangling down from the jeans. He had straw blond hair also combed back and the gap of a missing tooth was the final touch. They left for their mission.
Around 1800, i had a bunch of paperwork to work through and continued after liberty call. The bosun came into the office with several boxes of toilet paper (i never understood why he didn’t get it through supply).
“i didn’t think you would be coming back to the ship, Bosun,” i remarked.
“Well, i didn’t want to keep this stuff at home over the weekend,” he replied.
“Did you find any panels?”
“Well sir, we went to Dixieline (a local lumber and home center). They didn’t have them, but they told us to go to Parron-Hall.”
“Parron-Hall?” i puzzled.
“Yes sir. They’re an office furniture place downtown across from the county admin building. We went there, but that place was way too classy for us. They had desks in the showroom worth more than my house.
“So, you are gonna have to go down there and see about them panels.”
Aww, come on, Bosun, i have a lot on my plate.”
“No sir, you are gonna have to go down there. It’s on Ash Street.”
Then he added, ” You know sir, the woman who waited on us was really pretty. i noticed she didn’t have a ring on her finger. i’m pretty sure she’s single.
“And she’s way too skinny for me.”
Epilogue
Midday on the next Monday, i drove down to Parron-Hall Office Materials. i asked the receptionist to see the person who had given her business card to Bosun. i stood at the entrance to the showroom. Maureen came walking across the show room with the sun shining in the window behind her (think Glenn Close in “The Natural,” only prettier). She claims i had my piss cutter on my head. That, of course, is not correct: i am a country boy from Lebanon, Tennessee raised correctly by my parents, Army ROTC at Castle Heights, a Naval career, and, by the way, an officer and a gentleman. My hat was off.
We had numerous discussions about the panels, which required about four or five “business” lunches over the five or six weeks for the panels to arrive. When the deal was done, i asked for that date to see John Lee Hooker at the Belly Up Tavern and added a request to see Doc Watson at the venue on the following Monday. We attended several events over the summer including sailing with JD in the “Fly a Kite” race where we became (or at least JD became) a legend. We went out to dinner too many times to count.
Then, on July 30, 1983, we were married in her father’s backyard.
TA DA, and now she is a beautiful 75 and i am older.
Happy Birthday, Maureen.