misc. moments - one

What are misc. moments? Well, for me, they are those moments, those memories, that make up life. But unlike some memories that I can commit a good many to in writing them out, these misc. moments are simply snippets. They are the random thought that occurs now and then that causes me to say, “I remember that.”

Here is the first of a few misc. moments. I’ll share these from time to time, perhaps with a central theme, perhaps not. 

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While living in Sikeston, my friend Stephen and I would occasionally play at tennis. We’d play at the high school or some old courts at Central Park. To say we played tennis would be laughable. We just the ball back and forth to each other trying to keep it inside the doubles line. Even though we played singles, we used the doubles markings. Many times we’d hit the ball so hard and so high that it would sail over the fence. In time, that became all a part of the game. Of course, if you hit a “home run” then you had to go chance down the ball. These hits became known as “Wild Hitter Fetches.”

Kirby’s Sandwich Shop is located on N. Kings Highway just up from the corner of E. Front Street. Kirby’s makes the best hamburger and fries in the country. Of course, we all have stories of our hometown burgers are the best. But mine actually are, although there is nothing particularly fascinating about them. Saturday afternoons would usually find Stephen and I at Kirby’s. We’d order our burger and fries and a Coca-Cola. This was not Coca-Cola from a machine or a twist top plastic bottle. This was Coca-Cola in the green glass bottle. The waitress would pry the cap off and then place a hard plastic cup over the top of the bottle and bring it to our table. The plastic cup used to be clear but was now dingy from years of use and washing. Before the bottle of Coca-Cola was empty we’d lift the bottle and tip it slightly to see where the bottle was manufactured. I am sure we somehow kept track of where all our bottles came from, but I can’t remember exactly how many different places we discovered. I am sure it was a lot though. Just like I am sure that Kirby’s still makes the best burger. 

We lived for awhile in Paducah, Kentucky. It was about an hour from Sikeston. On some weekends we’d drive over. This meant that on Saturday mornings I’d wake up and run out to meet my friends Randy, Craig and Rodney. We’d search the neighborhood for bottles and return them for the deposit at the Big Star. Then we’d head down to the Malone Theater for a matinee. If was a James Bond or spy movie, or some other type of action-adventure, so much the better. We’d spend the rest of the weekend playing out the film. Playing spies was so much fun. 

I broke my first pair of glasses during a Saturday matinee at the Malone. It was required for a theater full of kids to stomp their feet whenever the film broke. One Saturday it did. So I did. Stomp that is. I stomped. The glasses fell off my lap and onto the floor. They wound up under my feet. I stomped. They broke. 

Most of the time now when you go in search of models, it is going to be of a car, a plane or a ship. Sometimes you can find model military equipment; things like Sherman and Panzer Tiger tanks of the WWII era. What you don’t see much of anymore are plastic model kits of monsters. My friend Randy had an extensive collection of these. He had the Creature from Black Lagoon, Bela Lugosi as Dracula, The Werewolf, Dr. Jekyll and Frankenstein’s Monster. He also had a Chamber of Horror Guillotine. When I was a kid I thought these were so neat. Randy’s is also where we’d usually get together to watch Dark Shadows.

Great memories from a much simpler time.

More to follow...

I Dreamed of Africa

In ’96 Gerrie and I lived in a place where we woke up every morning to the gentle sounds of bells. From the window of our little upstairs room, we could see a field and in that field were sheep. The bells were worn by some of the flock. We actually have one that we purchased in Gruyéres. Yes, the place they named the cheese for. Also out that window and just to the left we could see the French Alps.

One has to wonder at times how they can be so fortunate. Here we were in a place, attending our discipleship training school, preparing to serve as foreign missionaries, that was so beautiful and so placid. We were blessed. 

In fact, we have been blessed to be in a variety of places; some very beautiful and some that are so, well, not places you’d go if you were a tourist. We’ve experienced the shear magnitude of mountains walking through the Alps and the barrenness of a sweeping moor on visits to the southwest of England. We’ve walked along the rugged coast of the Celtic Sea and strolled along the quiet waterfront of a North Sea inlet. We’ve walked the dusty roads of Uganda and the wide sidewalks of the Champs Elysees. The streets of Central London are as familiar to us as the streets of our neighborhood. And there are many places here in the States and in Tennessee that are magnificent.

We’ve been asked, where is the most beautiful place you’ve even been? My wife would tell you Switzerland. I would answer, Zimbabwe.

We flew to Zimbabwe in late May. Looking out the window of the plane we witnessed a unique sunrise. It wasn’t the gradual blending of deep reds, through orange and yellow into light, but it had an almost layered effect. Each color seemed to painted on the horizon in its own hue eventually rising through deep blues, indigos upward into blackness. It was incredible. 

The morning in Harare was cool. We were met by our hostess and driven to the house we’d be staying in. Harare was much like other African cities I had been to, not that I have been to many. The streets were congested with traffic, both motorized and with people on foot. It was well tended in some areas and given to varying levels of depression in others. This was all economics. The more affluent an area was, and there were not many, the better kept it was. 

What was striking, what stood out, was the people. When we were in Uganda the conditions were often deplorable, especially by Western standards. But the people are marvelous. Their hospitality is unbelievable! Their spirit is unquenchable! What little they have, they offer to you. I have never before met a people so open and so giving. In contrast, the people of Harare were isolated. The whites seemed to always be skeptical and on guard. The non-whites would rarely raise their eyes to meet you. Such oppression. It was difficult for Gerrie and me.

While we were in country we had the opportunity to take a day safari on a game preserve just east of Harare. Once I left the city I entered the Africa that I dreamed of.  It is vast. It is rugged. It is raw. It is breathtaking!

I was in Africa!

Under an incredible blue sky we rode on the backs of elephants to a stand of acacia trees. Nearby stood a granite koppie. Nestled in the shade was a table with a white linen cloth set with tea and biscuits. This was our breakfast. Finishing our tea, we canoed up the lake to where an open truck waited for us. In the back of the truck we headed out onto the savannah. There we saw zebra, wildebeest, kudu, gazelle, impala, and one the most dangerous animals in Africa, the water buffalo. After a while we started up a small hill. About halfway up the hill stood covered dining area and this  was where we stopped and had lunch. Again, a wonderful setting. One that a person can only imagine. 

Our afternoon was spent seeing other areas of the savannah. At one place we stopped and I walked through the tall grass until I was nearly close enough to touch a giraffe. 

Before we headed back to the city we visited one last area of the preserve. An area  enclosed by high fencing. There were several acres enclosed. Inside were the big cats; one of which was named Brian. Brian was aged male lion. He liked to have his mane petted and when he knew that guest were near he would come over to the fence line and slam his body against it. This put his body and his mane right to the fence and there, you could just stick your fingers tips (not the whole finger, after all, he is still a lion) through the chain link and touch the mane of a lion. Brian would stand still for moment. Then he’d walk away. He’d yawn. We’d see his teeth and how large is bite was. Then he’d come back to fence, slam his body against it and we’d pet him again. This, I will never forget!

I once dreamed of Africa and I have been blessed to have visited there twice in my life. I dream of going back some day. I dream of someday riding in the back of an open truck across the  savannah and of having tea in the shade of an acacia tree. I dream of walking through the tall grasses or beside a still lake. I dream of taking a nap under a sky so blue that it defies description and of laying on my back gazing up at the Southern Cross until I fall asleep. 

These are things I dream of. 

Margins VIII

This may seem to come from an unlikely place for me, but I do like a good dose of Science Fiction from time to time. Last week found me home ill and watching (actually falling in and out of sleep) Star Trek films and old "Poirot" episodes from ITV. This line, slightly paraphrased, from Star Trek:  Insurrection touched a cord with me.

"You stop reviewing what happened yesterday and stop planning for tomorrow. Have you ever experienced a perfect moment in time? When time seemed to stop and you could almost live in that moment? A single moment in time can be a universe in itself."  

     ~ Anij (portrayed by Donna Murphy)

To Get Their Monies Worth

I have mentioned this earlier. During the 1971-72 school year I lived with my grandparents in my hometown of Sikeston, Missouri. 

My grandparents were very frugal people. They both lived through the Great Depression and they held modest positions of employment. My grandfather was a shipping and receiving clerk at Malone & Hyde and my grandmother was sales clerk at F.W. Woolworth's. They were both hard working people and they understood and appreciated the value of the things they had.

They lived in a small four room house on Matthews Avenue, just three houses down from the corner of Matthews and Pine. I spent my Freshman year at the high school just across Pine Street. I loved this house. The two bedrooms connected to a central bathroom, and if all the doors were open, you could make a complete circle in the house. As a child I could ride my small beginner bicycle inside the house. You couldn’t do that just anywhere or in any house. No, my grandparents house was special.

It was heated by a gas heating stove. There was a mat of sorts in front of the stove. During the times of year when the laundry could not be hung out to dry, a wooden drying rack would stand in front of the stove and things would be dried there. It was also a good place to stand if you needed warming up. A water kettle sat on the top of the stove letting out a light vapor to help keep the air moist. 

The house also had those special aromas that most of us can associate with our grandparents houses. For me, the most memorable aroma is mothballs. In the back bedroom, tucked into a corner, was my grandmothers “quilt box.” It was really a large cardboard box that was probably used to deliver the stove or washer, but calling it a “quilt box” just makes it sound better. But, this box stood in the corner and contained all the quilts, blankets and extra pillows that my grandparents had. And, of course, to be sure that these things are not attacked while being stored, you toss in a few mothballs to ward off any would-be attackers. Looking back to when I was kid, the “quilt box” was a favorite place for hiding during a rousing game of Hide ‘n’ Go Seek with the cousins. It wasn’t a very good place since we all used it, but it was still a favorite. 

The backyard was almost entirely given over to gardening. And when there was no longer enough room to hold all that my grandfather wanted to plant, he made an agreement to use a plot not far from the house. The backyard was used for tomatoes, squash, zucchini, pole beans and other things. The potatoes and corn that once grew there were now grown in the borrowed plot. My grandfather did most of the growing and my grandmother did most of the canning. There was a small area in their enclosed back porch where all the canned vegetables, stewed tomatoes, jellies and apple butter were kept. The potatoes were laid out on old newspaper and sprinkled with lime.

They worked hard, they lived simply, and they taught me a great deal during that year.

There is an old gospel song that had a line in it about going to church twice on Sunday and once in the middle of the week. A Calvinistic point of view to be sure, but that was life in my grandparents house. Once the morning service was finished we’d come home to a wonderful Sunday lunch. Occasionally we’d go out. One Sunday we went to the other side of town to a restaurant called Two Tony’s Smorgasbord. 

Two Tony’s was an all-you-can-eat buffet affair. I don’t remember exactly how much it cost (I found an article from 1976 that gave the price as $3.55) but I knew that however much it was, it was more than my grandparents would normally spend. All-you-can-eat affairs are like that. Having this knowledge I was determined that my grandparents were going to get their monies worth and I became a frequent visitor to the buffet line.

Bad mistake!

Overeating is something that I am no stranger to. I wish were. But I remember that Sunday in Sikeston being notable. I was way beyond full. I was miserable. Getting to the car, into the car, home, out of the car, into the house and onto the sofa were all very uncomfortable. Extremely taxing events. Add to that, I knew that being back in church that evening was a mere three to four hours away. We were all going to drive up to Scott City and visit relatives that afternoon but my grandparents gave me leave to not make that trip. I think they just really didn’t want to put up with the moans that would have come from the backseat and leaving me laid out on the sofa was the better choice. A better choice for them and for me. So they went on their way and I remained deathly still in the living room.

The afternoon passed and they returned from their visit. Eventually I was able to move about. They had a light meal before we all went back to church that evening. I may have had a glass of iced tea. Nothing more. 

Home from the Sunday evening service, they probably settled in for a little television; my grandfather sitting in his chair smoking his pipe and my grandmother in her rocker reading or crocheting. I would have gone back to my bedroom to make sure all my homework was done and probably listened to Three Dog Night on the record player. In time I would go to bed and fall asleep. But on this night I would have fallen asleep knowing that, as far as my grandparents were concerned, that today I did my part to get their monies worth.  

Margins VII

I have friend, an Englishman, who teaches with Youth With A Mission. Gerrie and I met him while we lived and worked in England. He shared something the other day from a writer named Robin Sharma. I could adopt these as my goals for now and all times.

"Risk more than is required. Learn more than is normal. Be strong. Show courage. Breathe. Excel. Love. Lead. Speak your truth. Live your values. Laugh. Cry. Innovate. Simplify. Adore mastery. Release mediocrity. Aim for genius. Stay humble. Be kinder than expected. Deliver more than is needed. Exude passion. Shatter your limits. Transcend your fears. Inspire other by your bigness. Dream big but start small. Act now. Don't stop. Change the world."

This New Year

The beginning of the year can be stressful. We wake up the first morning of January with fresh eyes. The new year is clean and crisp. The promises of a better year than the last is there for the taking. Stress enters in when we first ask the question, “can I actually do all that I hope to do?”

For me, stress comes in making resolutions. So, I tend not make them. This is not to say that I am devoid of goals. I am not. I have goals. I have things I wish to accomplish. And I suppose that making note of them is necessary. It helps to know what I have set out to do. 

So for a moment, this is what I’ll do. I’ll make my list. It is simple really. I intend:

• To continue to be active in my church
• To continue finding ways to simplify my life
• To continue exploring creativity in the form of writing, drawing and photography
• To travel back to England and visit with as many friends as possible
• To be outdoors more; hiking, camping and reviving the practice of the Sunday afternoon drive (more likely making the drive on Saturday though)
• To squeeze a few other out-of-state road trips into the year somehow

That is pretty much it. The idea of being a better husband, a better father and “papa”, a better son and brother, and a better friend; well, they are not resolutions. They are givens. Things I strive to do continually do not need to be set up or propped up as a goal. I like what Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Love what is simple and beautiful. These are the essentials.” This list of intentions and those things I already do, are those things that are simple, beautiful and essential in my life. As I step into this new year, these are the things I hold before me.

Still there is something greater. The relationship I have with God and my desire to be in communion with Him is the most important thing that I do. It is a journey that I am on with the One who created me. It is a journey of yielding to Him so that He can define who I am and what is important to my life. C.S. Lewis once noted that “The more we let God take us over, the more truly ourselves we become - because He made us. He invented us. He invented all the different people that you and I were intended to be... It is when I turn to Christ, when I give up myself to His personality, that I first begin to have a real personality of my own.”  

I have started this year by throwing off some things; getting rid of some obligations that have weighed me down and distracted me from the things I am finding more important now. So this journey is one of discovery, or perhaps rediscovery. It is going deeper with God and redefining my personality in Christ. My prayer is that in finding this deeper relationship it causes me to go deeper in other areas of life. That I’ll plumb new ways of expression and find new appreciation of the things around me. That I’ll meet each day  having my eyes open and my spirit receptive to everything. But most important is that I’ll find new levels of relationship with those closest to me. 

Perhaps this seems too heavy to begin a new year. It isn’t meant to be that. I’ll lighten up in the weeks and months to come. Still it is a truthful way to begin. The journey through a year is so much more than a checklist of things to do, places to go or things to accomplish. That is part of it yes. But the journey through a year is one that should leave us better at the end of the trail than we were as we started out. 

That is my hope and my prayer.

That is the mark.