i have been having thoughts similar to what Sean expressed in this article:

https://seandietrich.com/candy-coating-things/

This is true for all my friends who spit venom at the other side of the argument without pause. Old folks, who will do nothing about it but rage are worse than the others because they aren’t going to change it.

So why not appreciate what we have?

Thanks, Sean.

i was scanning the news headlines yesterday, as usual skipping any of the bad news, pretty much of all of it, and reading a paragraph or two when i actually found an item of interest.

The headline caught my eye: “US Open commentators better shut up.” The columnist who wrote the text is Phil Mushnick of the New York Post. i need to meet him as he not only expressed my disdain of golf commentators, but all sports commentators.

https://nypost.com/2021/06/19/us-open-golf-commentators-should-shut-up/

Mushnick’s column was particularly appropriate as i watched 12 innings of Vanderbilt scrapping and clawing their way to a 7-6 win over Arizona. It was sweet. It was long, five hours long. But boy, was it sweet.

Except for two things that caused me to turn off the sound repeatedly. The commentators and the play-by-play announcer just couldn’t shut up, just like Mushnick’s golf announcers. They couldn’t wait to point out how a player had screwed things up, how the coaches made bad decisions, how the umpires missed calls even though replay showed the umps got it right. And boy, can they just wax non-stop about a play or something totally unrelated to the play of the game.

And then there’s this Vandy fan who has been around for years. i guess some fans like it because they respond to his whistling, his shrill continually annoying, disruptive whistling. He reminds me of that rainbow hair guy that used to stand behind the tee boxes on televised golf with his sign that read John 3:16. There are places for whistling and signs, but not during a sports event.

Between the announcers and the whistler, my sound will be muted for the U.S. Open in San Diego today and Vandy’s next CWS game Tuesday.

Thanks, Dave.

i won’t elaborate. i have done enough of that. He would not be pleased by too much adoration. As i said in my post about my son-in-law earlier, he liked this poem i wrote about him.

That’s enough.

Hands

when most folks meet him,
they notice steel blue eyes and agility; his gaze, gait and movements
belie the ninety-five years;
but
those folks should look at his hands: Durer, if he saw them,
would want to paint them.

his hands are marked from
tire irons, jacks, wrenches, sledges, micrometers on carburetors, axles, brake drums, distributors, starting in ’34 at twelve dollars a week.
He has used those hands to
repair the cars and
our hearts;

his hands pitched tents,
made the bulldozers run
in war
in the steaming, screaming sweat of Bougainville, New Guinea, the Philippines.

his hands have nicks and scratches turned into scars with
the passage of time:
a map of history, the human kind.

veins and arteries stand out
on the back of his hands,
pumping life;
tales are etched from
grease and oil and grime,
cleansed with gasoline and goop and lava soap;

they are hands of labor, hands of hard times, hands of hope,
hands of kindness, caring.

his hands own wisdom,
passing it to those who know him with a pat, a caress, a handshake.

his hands tell the story
so well.

i have written a lot about my father.

He was a good man. i respected and loved him. He reciprocated love and respect for every human being he met. i will post the poem about him that he not only liked but after reading it for the first time, he asked, “How did you know all of those things about me?”

But this is about another father in my life: the father of my grandson.

i never stop being amazed at how lucky i am to have Jason Gander as a son-in-law. When he married my daughter Blythe, i made my toast at the reception and noted their love for each other was similar to the love of one of the most incredible marriages that i knew: my parents, Blythe’s grandparents. i was not wrong. The two relationships are different in many ways but very much alike in the most important ways of love, understanding each other, and patience.

But that’s not the reason for this post on Father’s Day. Jason is undoubtedly the best father grandson Sam could have. i don’t gush about a lot of things. There’s Maureen, who occasionally produces that gush of feeling about our love. There’s that gush of love and happiness when either two of my daughters do something spectacular, which is often. And of course, anytime i hear from or get information about Samuel James Jewell Gander — and it is appropriate to point out today the “James Jewell” in his name is for my father, not me: perfect — i gush all over myself at what a terrific young man Sam is. i called him the unifier of a nuclear family when he was born, and he still is.

Jason, you are amazing.

…oh, and thanks.

Happy Father’s Day.

i knew this guy when we were both little. 

i was a bit older, not much. He didn’t seem interested in the things that interested me. Football, baseball, basketball, and finally girls occupied my mind. School, church, and other activities were just requirements i had to work around.

Really, the only thing i knew about this other guy was he was really a nice guy.

We are older now. 

I have wandered from home. He stayed and made home a better place.

He has continued to make it a better place, and even though he’s retiring as the Associate Minister of the Lebanon First United Methodist Church Sunday today, i’m pretty sure he’ll keep making home, and everywhere else he happens to land, a better place.

For those who may not know, my roots include the Methodist Church. My great grandfather, Joseph Webster was a Circuit Rider in Middle Tennessee and became a bishop in the church. He was the minister for my mother and father’s wedding. My brother Joe is a retired minister of the Methodist Church. He served his Lord in New England where he still resides today. He was the minister for my marriage to Maureen. My sister Martha and her husband, Todd Duff, are mainstays in the Signal Crest Methodist Church on Signal Mountain, Tennessee. She is in the choir and plays in the bell choir. 

Every corner of my life until i left home for the Navy in 1967 had some association with the Lebanon United Methodist Church. We attended Sunday School, the Sunday Service back when there was only one at 11:00, the Sunday evening Methodist Youth Fellowship, and the Sunday Night Service where the Men’s Choir sang gospels, and the Wednesday night service until it went away sometime when i was in elementary school.

Throughout my association with Lebanon FUMC, there has been a rock who was always there. We grew up together there. He has helped me and my family through many difficult and sometimes sad times. i relied on him in many matters, not just those that were church related. When back home for a visit, i went by to see him and while waiting, noticed the plaque with brass name tags for the deceased members of that men’s choir (Unfortunately, the men’s choir went away with the changing times). There were several members who had passed away not included on that plaque. This guy fixed it.

That’s the way he is. He never took charge to put his name on an accomplishment. He wanted to help me (and others) in getting to the right place, do the right thing.

i am a bit sad i will not be there for Bucky Hesson’s retirement. I’m pretty sure i won’t be missed because i know there are a passel of folks who will be who feel the same as i do about Bucky.

Bucky, i don’t think i could ever adequately describe how blessed i feel to have had you at our church. Back when my mother passed away nine months after my father passed away (both times, you were a rock for my family and me), i wrote a column about how the fabric of back home, Lebanon, was a little more frayed. Well, the fabric will be stressed a bit more after your retirement. It is a beautiful cloth with many colors, many stitches holding it together. i’m sure the frabic will remain beautiful, perhaps even a bit more beautiful because of the aging, changing process. You have added to that beauty.

Thank  you for your service to the Lord, our family, the church, and the community back home. You will be missed.