Hero?....You Want A Hero? HappyUP!!! Memorial Day

(A Special Post for SundayScribblings originally published 11/19/2006)


I'll give you one - and I mean that sincerely. But first, a stearn word of warning:

IF YOU WANT TO MAINTAIN YOUR EXCUSES FOR NOT DOING THE
THINGS THAT YOU SHOULD BE DOING OR FEEL LIKE
YOU CAN'T DO.....READ NO FURTHER. ALL OF THOSE EXCUSES GO
AWAY IF YOU READ ON.

After all, isn't that what real heroes are all about? - they inspire us to be more than who we are.

So, who is the hero that I will give to you? - well, "give" is a bit much because there is no way that I would give this treasure away. I will "share" this hero with you. You can draw from his power should you ever get down.

The hero? - well, let's set the stage. It's May 28, 1944. A young airman....navigator....is about to go up for his 30th bombing run. His long tour of duty is almost over. The amount of planes in the air this day...friendly and unfriendly is more than he has ever seen.

By the time they drop their payload on Germany - the B-17 is badly damaged. The entire 10 man crew is huddled up near the cockpit as it is the only spot in the plane that now has oxygen. The crew knows that they will have to ditch the plane as it is too damaged to land.

Can they just make it to the English Channel - so they can bail out over friendly ground?

"Fire...Fire..jump!" - shouts the pilot. Two airman leap from the plane as the pilot holds the craft steady for the crew. Those are the only two that get to jump as the plane explodes.

Our navigator - has never jumped from a plane before. Sure, they told him how to do it down on the ground but he has never free fallen from a plane. He only knows that, to avoid capture, he is to delay opening his parachute until the last moment.

He plummets from 17,000 feet - down to 2500 and pulls the rip chord.......but nothing happens. Frantically, he reaches into his front pack and pulls on a handful of silk. It was just enough to get the chute to respond...though, when it does, the force of the braking is so hard that it feels like our young airman has broken every bone in his body.

He hits the ground - hard. What awaits him in Germany? A bunch of farmers...with clubs and pitchforks. They aren't too thrilled with this young American flyboy that just moments before had been bombing their motherland. They begin to beat him to death....

Until a German Officer on a bicycle - rides up and restores order. He captures his prisoner. Later, the airman will be brought back to this spot....to identify the bodies of what, just moments before, had been his crew memebers.

This includes that pilot - who held that plane true to the very end so his crew could escape.

Our navigator is taken into a stalag - and he remains there in deplorable conditions until an evening in January of 1945. All of the prisoners are awoken in the middle of the night. They are rousted and told to start marching.

You see - the allied forces were getting close to liberating these prisoners. The Germans now had to move the prisoners farther into Nazi territory.

Have you ever been to Germany in January? - neither have I. It ain't the tropics. Thousands of men are thrown out into a blizzard....many with only cardboard for shoe bottoms. Freezing temperatures. No NorthFace or Patagonia outerwear. Old French greatcoats were de riguer.

Thousands of malnourished men - just putting one foot in front of the other in fresh fallen Bavarian snow. Over one third of the men laid down .....and it was the last rest they ever took. They were shot or left to die all in the name of Hitler's philosophies.

Not our airman....our navigator.....our Hero - he kept marching...marching....moving. They went in cattlecars, flea infested factories, abandoned buildings.....but always walking. He kept up for 5 months until he and the rest of the prisoners were finally liberated.

So, the next time you think that you have something tough in front of you - remember our Hero....who happens to be my father. If he can survive in those conditions, I think that I....and you....can put up with some of the minor inconveniences that we go through every day.

...and, the next time you think a hero is someone - that gets their name stitched on to a pair of basketball shoes, could you do me a favor? .......

.........Don't even come near me with that load of crap unless you want to learn about real heroes.

Don't be a Loser.....Be a Quitter

(A special post for my friends over at SundayScribblings )


Let's get the cliche' out in the open right out of the shoot today - "a quitter never wins and a winner never quits."

This fits right in my wheelhouse - to rant about "rules" that we follow that really aren't even rules. I can't even tell you to whom we attribute this quote...

...or how many times it has prevented - someone from doing something that should have been done much sooner than it did.......quitting.

Yes, you have to stick it out sometimes - but you don't have to bear it....day after day....every single time. You may have made a bad choice. The choice you made may have changed. You made the choice so you are obliged to spend some time doing critical analysis before you just "cut n run."

....but sometimes, you just need to quit - if life is a hackneyed cliche' contest and someone whips out the "quitter never wins and a winner never quits" on you, say, "let's get it on!" and match their "quitter never wins" with, "I don't throw good money after bad."

Throwing good money after bad - is exactly what it is when you stay too long at something.

There is a centuries old debate involved in this discussion - but it does not seem that the "quit" side has been fairly represented as of late. "The Art of Quitting" needs to be written......

Hmmmmmmmmm.......- perhaps I need to get to work. What a perfect project to start......and never finish.

Late

(A special post for my friends over at SundayScribblings)


"Oh God....I'm late" - when I think of this malaise that drifts upon us from time to time, I think about the state that puts most people in.
Then, I think about the HappyUP!!! concept - that I promote here.
When running late - we seem to go into a trance. All we notice are things that will now make us more late.

"Where are my keys" - "dang it, I snagged my nylons.....another red light....what is going to happen? I'm going to be in trouble, etc......"

Go there - right now. Imagine that you are late. Get that sense of chaos....a total lack of peace. Can you feel the anxiety?

What are the odds that you will notice a HappyUP!!! - during that funk.

And a funk is all it is - and a very dangerous one at that. You don't think well....drive well....function well. It is just a funk brought on, not by being late, but by yourself. Doubt me? Go back a couple of lines....you weren't late. You artificially put yourself there.

What do you do? - a couple of things to remember

First - the easiest way to run out of time is to have too much of it. How many times have you had an appointment to go to, looked at your watch, and then said, "oh, I still have a half an hour." DANGER, Will Robinson! You will go on to something else and the next thing you know it is FORTY minutes later. Be careful whenever you get yourself in this position and be vigilant to your clock if you MUST be on time.

Second - call ahead. "Sorry....I just ran out of morning. It looks like I need to push back fifteen minutes." You say fifteen minutes when you KNOW you will only run FIVE minutes late. Guess what you just did? You took being late, turned it around, and now you will run early from the time you renegotiated the agreement. NO need to stress.
"Honey, guess what.....my monthly blessing is running late" - guys, I am usually a lot of help and can dispense a lot of wisdom. When this kind of late happens, I don't know what to tell you! Go buy some cigars?

Want to experience more happiness in your life? - go here and find out what HappyUP!!! is all about. Give me 21 days and you will change your life.

Decision

(A Special Post for the good folks over at Sunday Scribblings )

Decide - to cut off all other possibilities

Do I have to?......Yes

(A special post for my friends over at Sunday Scribblings)

Nutster: "Do I have to?"

Nutster Dad: "Yes"

Nutster: "But, I don't want to"

Nutster Dad: "Son, there are many things that we don't want to do but we have to do them anyway."

...and so goes - one of the most important lessons that I ever learned in my life. I still draw upon that when something comes up that must be done when I would rather be doing something else.

"Do I have to cut the lawn this morning?" - nope! I'm going to go play golf. The lawn will still be there tomorrow. Hey, Dad taught a good lesson but an overachieving student knows how to refine the laws.

Solace

(A Special Post for my friends over at Sunday Scribblings)

What is it that compels a grown man to torture his fingers and press raw metal against other pieces of metal which are all entwined by wood?

At this juncture, it's not about becoming tomorrow's rock star. It's not about playing in front of anyone at all.

It's not about improving skills that much. It's not about showing up somewhere and trying to be flashy. By this time, he is well aware that there is always someone out there that can play faster, cleaner, or more fluidly. Actually, most people he encounters that play guitar fit one , if not all, of those categories. He tries not to compare. Comparison is the root of all dissatisfaction. By comparing, an unsaid competition begins. While competition can bring out a higher level, it also can bring out the worst in people. ...even in himself.

The solace is in the enjoyment for what it simply is. The enjoyment of that tactile feeling that is no longer pain. It's vibration...in the fingers and in the ear. It's the auditory experience as well. It's the mental imagery of thinking of where the fingers will go next and hearing the future sound before anyone else. It is striking a chord that is crying out, "where is my mate...the chord that plays perfectly right next to me?" The story begins that has no words.

As the story unfolds, he knows that the breath of God has appeared. In that, he finds solace.

Telephone

(A special post for my friends over at
SundayScribblings )

This was a significant week - it was the first week of my retirement....well, at least my first retirement. I figure if share can reserve the right to enjoy multiple retirement tours, I deserve the same thing.

Plus, I'm not even 50 yet - there's a lot for me to do out there in this world.....and a lot of people that would really appreciate the unique talents that I bring to them. I may not be able to avoid working again...even if I want to. It has only been a week and people are crying for me to come back into the industry working for my competitors.

I had an interesting thing happen this week - involving the telephone. Over the 20+ years of being a hard charging business person, my golf game fell into extreme disrepair. I used to play competitively and had acquired a degree of talent. Over the last few years, it would have been hard to know that unless I told you.

One of the things I am going to work on - in my retirement is to see how quickly I can get my game back to the level it once was. I am a lot older so that is a negative....BUT the technology of today has me hitting the ball a lot farther than I used to.

I played a round during the week this week - and I had an epiphany. Even though I had a lot of Paid Time Off while working, I rarely played during the week. When I did, I would put my cell phone on "stun" mode. I would check during the round to see who was calling and try to ascertain whether they needed a call right back. For the first time in forever, I played the other day and didn't look at my phone at all.

I also didn't finish the round - and rush to see the calls that I had missed and all of the e-mails that I was now behind on because I was "playing hookey."

It was an EXTREMELY liberating feeling

My first cell phone - was a transportable model. If you remember, these were about the size of a phonebook. They had a full size handpiece. I remember taking that to the golf course and throwing it into the cart. I got such a ration of crap that day, "leave the office at the office," or, "tell the commanding officer we need more ammunition out here on the front line, sergeant."

As technology made the portable phone smaller, almost all of the people that I have played golf with in past year's - operate in a similar fashion to how I did. They are constantly checking for messages. Sometimes they take a call and delay the rest of us. Perhaps the cell phone has allowed them to get out on the golf course more
than they would have in the past.....

....but are they really THERE - on the golf course fully enjoying what the setting and the game can provide? Even if they are on the weekend taking personal calls, are they present?

Which takes me a step deeper - where else do we take our cell phones and iPods and Blackberry's? Do they allow us to be more mobile?....or do they dilute the experiences that we can have "in the now" that take a little bit of more than casual attention to notice. Does the technology create a degree of mindlessness?

And, because I am a thinker - I have to go to the next step. Take away the cell phone, the iPOD, the Blackberry. Would it make any difference? Would the void be filled with boredom or wonder for you?

Jan 12 - Is It a New Year?

(Note: to my friends at SundayScribblings , this is the correct link for this week's topic. I didn't mean to post twice)

How did you feel on New Year's Day? - forget about the public or private resolutions....

For most - those have already been forgotten. They were "head" decisions.

Think back - to that place where, if you got some quiet time, you secretly said to yourself, "this is the year where things are going to be different."

And you kind of sort of believed it - perhaps things weren't so rushed in the post-Christmas time.


You saw the change in lifestyle possible - and advantageous. You even may have started living it. The holidays are a fascinating time. Sure, they can be busy with parties and year end deadlines. But, there usually is some lull that we all find....some of us more than others. It is a time for reflection...

..and maybe therein lies the key - that time of reflection tells you that you may or may not be in a bad spot. You just know that it isn't optimal. You focus on how it is that you got there. Then, it hits you that there may be a slightly better place. You start to embrace it a little bit....

...Before you know it - "LIFE" as you know it steps up, defends itself, and gets in the way. You don't have the ability to push it aside and drive to that other place.

...and, you are right - you don't. In that frame of reference and time, you don't have the time to change. Maybe, just maybe, you have the time and power to reflect once again. The reflection may not be a power that lets you advance against the enemy. The reflection just gives you a foothold to say, "Life, I know you are trying to push against me and keep me in a certain spot. You can push but I am not giving in. I am going to stand right here. While I stand here, I am going to be gathering my troops. When the troops get a little stronger and the direction becomes a bit more clear, you WILL be pushed to the side."

Base camp....footholds....inches gained and retained - these are to be appreciated. It's nice to score a touchdown with a long bomb instantly. It's flashy. It's easy. It involves some luck. Most touchdowns are won by gaining a few yards...and then a few more. Then, you are stopped and have to punt. You stop the enemy. They punt back but you gained a few yards in the exchange. Your field position improves. You have a new base of operations.

It's only Jan 12 - if you wanted to change and nothing has, that's OK. Just don't give in and get beaten back to that place of dissatisfaction....

...or the conversation won't happen again for 11.75 months.

Money and Happiness

(A special post for my friends at SundayScribblings )



I graduated from college with a degree in business in 1981. Interest rates and the cost of money was high. It's funny that I had just gotten through my studies and had no idea what high interest rates meant in the real world. In this case, it meant the employment market was a little bit tight.

This was fine because I hadn't yet decided what to do with my life. Over the course of my college time, I had spent some college breaks helping out my brother. He was a contractor and I would do some work off and on to make a few extra dollars. It was basic grunt work but I appreciated it. It was around the time of my completion of my formal education that he was starting to build a new house on speculation. I had never been on a project from the beginning to end so I was hired on as the laborer. It was here that I would begin a 6 year career in the construction industry. It seems strange to call it an industry. I did about everything. I dug ditches, poured concrete, painted, framed, roofed, etc. They never let me touch the wiring. I think it had something to do with a contractors warranty that future inhabitants would not get fried. This is exactly what would have happened if my electrician skills matched my carpentry skills.

No, I never "got it" when it came to the trades. Still, my brother took care of me and I was able to make a subsistence living between him and other contractors that I knew. I did this for 6 years. At the end, I was in great shape and had an excellent tan. Try framing houses in a Sacramento summer when there are 35 days over a 100 degrees and you start being darkly complected.

I lived in a duplex. Two of my high school buddies had graduated from college and this was their first pad since obtaining real jobs.

When they moved in, they said, "hey, dude, move in with us."

"It only has two bedrooms and, while I love you guys, I don't love either of you enough to sleep with."

Shortly after that, I was sleeping on a day bed in the dining room with my dresser out in the garage. I paid the guys $75 a month for rent. Little did I know, they would have let me stay for free because I had brought a refrigerator and a couch into the equation. Sometimes it was a stretch but I always made the rent.

I think fondly back to those days of being 28 years old and broke. I went into the mortgage business. I learned the craft. I struggled like many do when they begin to build a practice. I ended up almost $3000 in debt. I remember worrying about money. I remember asking myself if I was happy. I never could quite answer the question. I was having a good time. I had my friends.

It's twenty years later now. Debt is far behind me. I have done better financially than I would have imagined back then. I study the subject of "Happiness" now because I never have been able to answer that question, "Am I happy?"

I have come to land at a spot that tells me that isn't a question that any of us should really answer. Are we good judges of ourselves? Should we judge anyone....including ourselves?

Perhaps a better question is, "am I happier now that I have money than when I didn't?"

I honestly would have to answer, "No. I was fine then. I am fine now." I don't concern myself with having enough money to pay the rent. Instead, I concern myself about having enough money to retire. By most standards, people would say that I am doing well. Yet, I could live another 50 years....the US economy could have a recession...a depression....gas could be $5 a gallon....these wars we get in cost a pretty penny....the Democrats could tax the heck out of me. I could go on forever. It is for this reason that I don't.

I have spent 21 years in the mortgage business. I see people behind the facade. I see the bank accounts, the income, the credit reports, the divorces, and the illnesses. From a subjective viewpoint, I can't equate money as a predictor of how happy the people seem to be.

We all have heard it since we were children. The scientists have now studied the wealthy versus people that make a living and have now proven it. I have now lived it. Money does not buy happiness. I am about as happy now as I have always been. It's my nature. I see Donald Trump on numerous shows. He doesn't seem any happier than I am. I see the contestants on The Apprentice go through an arduous process of turning on their friends so they can work for Mr Trump. I ask, "what's the prize?"

Happiness is a pursuit. It is something that must be worked at. Happiness comes from choice. My nightly HappyUP!!!'s and reflecting upon the good things that happened that day have been one of the most effective things that I have ever done to increase my level of happiness. I end every day on a note of reflection about the things that gave me moments of happiness throughout the day. I have more moments of pure happiness now than I have ever had in my life. Just today, I cracked myself up so much that my stomach hurt and tears came to my eyes. Earlier in the same day, I read a piece of a book that moved me so much that it brought tears of happiness to my eyes.

If you have the ability to make choices in how you perceive your surroundings, you have the ability to be as happy as you want to be.

Some Say That I Am Cheap

I live on common ground
Though could afford to dwell among the elite
vacations in modest quarters
Yet could enjoy extravagant villas
Some say that I am cheap

The finest cars can grace my garage
Wines of the finest vintage could tumble across lips
Young women beyond number
could pass before my threshold
All these things I am told that I should desire
Am I cheap or is it that I can't hear

Things pass
Decaying hubris to soil
Hands wither in search of lotion
Unnecessarily exposed to winter's harsh touch

I spend my money to purchase time
Time to spend alone
To conjure upon snails and window pots
The next time we meet
You will find out what they have told me
What value do you bring to me
Tell me now who is cheap

HappyUP!!! Day 244

HappyUP!!! - HOME!
Why it happened - I was gone
Why it makes me happy - Bakersfield was a hoot (OK....perhaps a stretch) but it is just good to be HOME. It's that feeling when you walk in the door.

HappyUP!!! - Herb Urban
Why it happened - I read his blogposting for SundayScribblings
Why it makes me happy - it was just dang funny.

HappyUP!!! - the girl at the airport
Why it happened - she was a hustler
Why it makes me happy - I get to the Bakersfield airport just before 6 bells this morning. I go to the ExpressJet counter. A small young woman checks my ID and gives me a boarding pass. I go up the escalator and through security. I wait about an hour for my flight. I am now handing my boarding pass to the same gal that was all the way down at the ticket counter. No big deal, you say? Hey, she was hustling which is always good to see but read on, Ms Skeptic. I find my assigned seat. I wait for the passengers to board. The cabin door closes and the plane begins to back away from the gate. I look out the window and see the person holding the orange glow sticks directing the pilot.....it's the same girl! What? Is there only one plane out of Bakersfield that day? I make a comment about it to another passenger and he says, "yeah, I noticed the same thing.....they wouldn't let her lift my luggage down at the front counter....she's pregnant!"

Hi, my name is........

(A special post for my friends at SundayScribblings)


"Have another Nutter Butter peanut butter sandwich cookie" - I would say I was first addressed that way 37 years ago.

....and I still get addressed that way occasionally today.

Imagine the torment that a young lad like myself had to go through. I was never a very large guy. I am 5'7" now and don't have short man's complex. The combination of those two things means that no one ever got their nose punched for the relentless taunting.

I learned to outwit the witless. After hearing that phrase for the millionth time, I took to acting totally surprised and would go into an astonished, "Oh my God! NOOOObody has ever said that before. You are SOOOO creative. Why aren't you on the tonight show. That's an Absolute riot!" ....and I wouldn't stop. You have to hear me go on and on. By the time I was done, the person wished that they never had been "so creative."

Beyond the Nutter Butter comes the pronunciation. Now, come on. Look at it. Nut...ter. It is pronounced just like it looks.

Think about a 15 year old boy sitting in his high school class as the teacher takes role:

"Nash"............"here"
"Nelson"........."here"
"Newter" (a way too frequent mispronunciation of my fine name)........"what the hell do you put on your toast? Boo-ter? .....here". Of course, the "here" now had to have a voice inflection up an octave from the statement that preceded it.

Even today.....I still have people pronounce "Nutter" as "Newter." I'm not being sensitive when I say, "I DON'T GET IT!" Look at the darn word.....Nut...ter

No, a young man at a delicate age does not want his name confused with having no testicles during roll call with all of his peers present.

Of course, later on, there was the jokester asking about my dating life, "hey....did ya?"
"Did I what?"...I replied
"Nutter?"
Oh my....I wouldn't have even included that but we are doing the full name thing here.
People will often ask me if I am related to a certain Nutter. I often say, "No." They reply, "I thought you would be. It's an uncommon name." I then say, "tell that to the 35 million people in the UK alone that had that name in 1996." Another snappy one is, "well Mr Brownose, it's only the 185th or 285th most popular surname in the United States."

Where does the name come from? The name means nut merchant. Some say it is a derivative of "Naughter" which was a cow farmer way back when. I only know that it appears that the first Nutters in America seemed to land back in Virginia. They leeched inward and one strain went through the top of the United States. The other strain seemed to meander through the South. The ones in the South were known for their horse thievery. While I am not sure which strain from which I hail, why do I have this suspicion that I know? I don't think it has anything do with me liking grits either.

Another thing that Nutter means is a person lacking sanity. It's a British term. "Look at that guy over there. He is such a Nutter." Why do you suppose that fact actually makes me laugh and causes me to love my name even more?

On Writing

(A special post for my friends over at SundayScribblings )

What is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of writing? Pain. OK, that's not it. The first thing that comes to mind is that I really could be a writer. The second thing that comes to mind is pain.

My blog and my journal are mostly thoughts that I put down on paper or on-line. When I think of writing, I think of the craft of writing. You must create a flow that engages the reader and do it in a flat medium. The closest that I come to writing is when I am crafting a speech. Even there, I am working in vocal inflection, gestures, and facial changes that embellish the communication. The thought of working those things into written form of any length makes me think of the old "1% inspiration, 99% perspiration," and, to be honest, it is not something that I have ever been able to sit down and do.

Yet, in the back of my mind, I feel like it really is something that I should do. If the should becomes a must, the sweating will begin.

The End

(A special post for my friends at SundayScribblings )

"The End"

Once it's over, it's over. You look forward. There are factors that lead to endings. Sometimes we forget what they are and were over time. But there was usually a good reason to make the turns that we did. It may escape us but it is something to honor. We may retain some fond memories. We may be scared of looking forward but this is the direction that we will live. We have to spend our time there. We are better for the experience we gained so there is no need or room for regret. Everything really does happen for a reason. If we are lucky, very lucky, we are left with an honorable friendship.

People ask me, "Nutster, do you have any regrets?"

I say that there are some things that I wish may have turned out differently. The events that have happened have led me to be the person that I have become. I am the one that I must love today. I do. Who can have regrets for endings that lead to that?

The End

That Sinking Feeling

(A special post for my friends over at SundayScribblings)

Travelling, especially business travelling, can put one out of synch especially if you do it like I do it. I travel some but not enough to call myself a pro by any means. There is nothing wrong with getting out of your routine once in awhile. I believe it is highly desirable.

(My lost baby and my lead singer laying it down)

Last week, I hit the road early on a Thursday morning to drive to a business event. It was about a 5 hour drive to the coast. The business event was more fun than work so it was something to look forward to. The catch was that on Monday I had to be about 2 hours inland from the

coast. Once I would get to that destination, it would still put me 5 hours from home. It made no sense to me to drive all the way home on Friday night just to get up on Monday, work a few hours, and then make virtually the same 5 hour drive back. So, it was a weekend at the coast.

Then, my boss invited me to play golf with him at his club on Sunday afternoon. This would take me away from the coast a little earlier than I had planned. I decided that, since I was leaving the coast early, I might as well make it real early. I decided to tee it up at a great golf course on the coast, play the round, and then travel over the two hours to my boss's club for another round of golf.

I started to load up the vehicle at about 5:30 in the morning. It was still dark outside. The small hotel lot had been full the night before and I had to park across the street. I grabbed a light handful of things and went to my car. Upon reaching my rental vehicle, I set everything down so I could open the door. I loaded my few things and backed the car up so I could bring it to the front of the hotel. This would allow an easier loading of the second group of items.

I went to my hotel room. I made a sweep around the room like a detective to make sure nothing was forgotten. Satisfied nothing had been left behind, I exited and started the traveller's waddle down the hallway with a wheeled suitcase in tow and a bag or two over my shoulder.

I stopped and said, "some detective you are. Do you have your guitar anywhere in your midst, Nutster?"

What a dork! I got out the magnetic card, made a few swipes, and the door popped open. I went to where my guitar had been but no longer was.

And I got that sinking feeling.

"Uh oh. That first load to the car. I had my guitar in my hand. When I backed up, I remember hearing a strange little kind of noise."

The traveller's waddle now became a comical jog. I flew through the lobby and tossed my items into the Xterra. I fired the 4x4 up and screamed across the dark parking lot readying myself for the ultimate horror that I had run over one of my precious babies, my Taylor CE614 guitar. As I got to the empty parking stall that had been mine, I stopped the car and shined my lights on the darkened spot expecting to see my guitar in a crumpled mess.

But there was nothing.

My poor guitar had laid there in the dark for only 15 minutes in the predawn hours but it was now gone. Resigned to the fact that I would never see it again, I only ache for closure and to know it's condition.

I hope my baby lived and it's sturdy case protected it from my early morning brain fade. I long that whoever picked it up can put it to better use than the clumsy hands that had held it previously.

Moral of the story: watch your children. It only takes a few moments of negligence for them to be gone.

(Don't feel too sad, however. While I lost my child just a week ago, I am gleefully dashing from guitar store to guitar store in search of adopting an upgrade! While the loss was sad, we mustn't dwell in the past!!!! Plus, today is my birthday so I get a new UPGRADED toy!!!!)

Goosebumps

(A special post for my friends over at Sunday Scribblings ).


I have actually felt a goose before. It was a fairly healthy goose as far as I could tell. I didn't feel one bump on this goose. Why, then, is it that I get goosebumps when I am cold?

That is about the only time that I get goosebumps. Perhaps I have encountered them while scared but I don't recall. "She gives me goosebumps," is not a thing that guys will say much. If they do, I haven't said it lately which may be a reflection on the women that I have met lately. I guess I should hang out in other places than the bus station, soup kitchen line, and the women's recover center!

It is August here in Sacramento. Goosebumps are a good 4 to 5 months away. Unless, of course, I meet someone that "takes my breath away", "makes my heart go pitter patter", or "turns my knees to jello". Wait! Not one of those is a skin condition.

Goosebumps? See you in January.

No Second Chance

(A special post for the good folks over at SundayScribblings)


Wishes of second chances
Product of regret
why nourish a plant
that produces such bitter fruit

Mistakes get made
but nothing aggregious ever should
if something so important
Mindlessness self absorption fertilizes


Why look back
For reason but to learn
Why do over
when you can start again

Regret serves no purpose
Peel and eat that fruit if you want
I will be planting again
as a wiser gardener

HappyUP!!! - Oceans

(A special guest post for the folks at SundayScribblings written in the HappyUP!!! style that you are accustomed to. Remember...only a couple of more days until we reach Day 100)

HappyUP!!! - oceans

Why it happened - I have been to the ocean. It is hard to say many times but I can't say few either. They are relative terms. I have not gone enough. I haven't gone so much that it is second nature. Every time I go it thrills me.

Why it makes me happy - there is usually a breeze and a coolness where I go. It is also stark and craggy as opposed to the beautiful beaches that I vacation too. I love the place where land meets sea. The sea itself? I have been on a couple of cruises but that is just a hotel on water. I am sure it is nothing like being in a smaller craft. While I am sure that could thrill some, it holds no wanderlust for me. The waves make me happy. My uncle, who lives by the ocean, once said, "I go down there everyday. It is never the same to me from one day to the next." If it is that way to him considering his constant visits, it is not even close to being the same when I go. Perhaps that is the attraction.

When I think of the ocean, I think of life. It is sometimes calm and sometimes tumultuous. It is water and water is life. I can never compete with the depths of the ocean. It's breadth is similarly beyond comprehension. The ocean is a mystery. I look forward to the next time I step into it.

Wings

(A special guest post for the fine people over at SundayScribblings )

Something opens our wings
Something makes boredom and hurt disappear
Someone fills the cup in front of us
We taste only sacredness
-Robert Bly, Anam Cara

Picked up this gem - from Fabulous Friendship Festival . I have meant to read some Bly. I must confess that snippets are all that I have ever consumed.

I've thought about picking up Iron John - but that one looks like a tome that would take some brain power. A vacation may be good for that.

In the meantime - thanks, Susan, for being who you are and writing the new book. I am sure it will continue to provide blog fodder as friendship, particularly friendship with yourself, is what HappyUP!!! is all about.

Grounded

(A special post for SundayScribblings)


May 28, 1944. A young American navigator was going up for his 30th bombing run over Germany. With his long tour of duty nearly complete, he gives this account:

"We were attacked by fighters of all kinds. In all of the missions, we had not encountered as many aircraft. Some of them, I didn't even recognize. When we finally got to our target, we opened the bomb doors and they disappeared as they had been shot off. We dropped our payload and decided to try to limp back home fully knowing that we would eventually have to abandon the craft due to the extent of the damage it had sustained.

We were flying over a complete cloud deck that day. We finally saw one small clearing. It was right over the German city of Liepzig. Seeing through the clouds enabled us to steer clear of it. A lone, crippled B-17 would have been easy fodder for the anti-aircraft guns protecting the town."

The plane dropped to 18,000 from 24,000 feet. The rear of the plane was so badly damaged that the entire crew had to huddle together in the front. It was the only place where oxygen was available.

At 17,000 feet, our young navigator and the tailgunner bailed out at the instruction of the pilot. The 8 remaining crew members were exploded out of the plane seconds later. The pilot and two others perished at that moment.

"As instructed, I made a free fall from 17,000 to 2000 feet so to go unnoticed. My first attempt at opening my chute failed. I reached into the pack and pulled out a handful of silk. When the chute opened, I thought every bone in my body had been broken."

Though his desperate tug had worked in getting the chute to deploy, he was still carrying excessive speed. The airman slammed to the earth. He was severely shaken but now grounded. His welcoming committee to the German Motherland were a vigilante mob of angry farmers armed with shovels, pitchforks, and fists. They weren't too keen about this young flyboy who, just minutes earlier, had been bent on destructing the Third Reich.

"I was being beaten up rather severely when a German guard on a bicycle took charge and captured me."

Off he went to the POW Stalag where he would spend the next 8 months. It was 11 pm on January 25, 1945 when he would next walk out of those gates. Unfortunately, it was not a walk to freedom. With the liberating forces moving in closer, the Germans rousted the 2800 prisoners in the middle of a fierce blizzard and sub-freezing temperatures and marched them farther inland. There was no Patagonia. No Northface Outerwear. Old French Army greatcoats were de riguer.

2800 men were just picking up one foot and putting it in front of the other and planting it in the fresh Bavarian snow amidst the silence of the night. 800 stopped to rest. It would be the last respite they would take as they either died of exhaustion or were shot by the German guards.

Our 1st Lieutenant would live in deplorable conditions as the prisoners were aimlessly marched for months to come around Germany. Flea ridden abandoned factories. Cattle cars on trains jam packed with prisoners of war so tightly that no one could move during the ride. He would finally be liberated in May of 1945. There was no heroes welcome waiting for him when he finally came home. Only a surgeon's scalpel to remove a frost-bitten toe. Because he waited to have the surgery done by a private doctor, there would not even be a Purple Heart to hold on to over the years. Finally, over a half century later, the medal was awarded.

A break in the clouds. Being one of two men that jumped out of the plane before it exploded. Manually opening a parachute at low altitude after it had failed to open (it was the only time he ever parachuted...all training was theoretical on the ground). Surviving the impact of the late opening free fall . A German officer patrolling the countryside on a bicycle. The will to survive a march of death. If any one of these things had failed to happen, you would not be reading these words today.

The brave 1st Lieutenant was my father. I must be one of the luckiest men on this earth just to get a chance to be here because, as you can see, logic would say that I shouldn't be in attendance.

Today, at the age of 86, he lays in a VA rehabilitation center recovering from radiation treatment on his cancer. He'll be gone within the year per the doctors. The hope we have is that he gets through the radiation well enough to be brought home. There, he can be surrounded with the grounding that family can provide during the hospice period. We won't know that for another week or two.

Death comes to us all. Our family has reconciled with that. The thought of a man so brave withering away in the confines of a VA Center 90 miles away is unbearable at this time. No need to give it any more thought than that.

If you have a prayer in you, please utilize it to help get Lt Colonel Nutter back home . He was part of the fight for freedom that so many enjoy today. We all owe him, and the others that served, gratitude but prayer is what is needed at this time.

Secret Identity

(A special contribution to the weekly blog, SundayScribblings)


Masquerade
Paper faces on parade
Masquerade
Hide your face so the world can never find you

-Masquerade, Phantom of the Opera

I enjoy a good play. I always have though I don't go as often as I should. I still remember going to see Phantom of the Opera in San Francisco. It was on it's last year of a run that must have spanned close to a decade. This was the only play that I have actually seen that was the big city production in the big city theater. Yes, I have seen a few that roll through Sacramento...the travelling show. Those are great but there is something different about a show in a long venue. The stars are long tenured. The production has grounding. Well, who am I to judge? I have only gone to the one but, instinctively, I think I get the whole "Broadway Theater" concept without having been.

I still remember how moving this production was. This probably was 8 years ago now. I still remember being in the lobby afterward making my way to the exit. I was numb. What was it about the storyline that got to me? It was all summed up in the chorus to one of the many outstanding songs that came out of this musical. Perhaps it has something to do with the number of years that I have worked in the lending industry. I actually have gotten a look "behind the mask" of a lot of people over the years as I assisted them. Getting a loan is one place where it is difficult to hide who you are. The credit report tells the story.

Maybe it goes further than that. Was the play about hiding who you are from yourself? I have had the privilege of getting a lot of high level coaching in the position that I am in. Between that and my thinking nature, I have been led to some interesting "layers of the onion" that had been put on. The coats of protection that we have accumulated can be like a room that is repainted without ever being stripped. Yet, there are a couple of layers of paint that have hung on beneath that may have served us once but they no longer do. So, there can be a tendency to just "slap on another coat."

Can you identify the coats that have been layered on? If so, which ones are from the original construction? Can you get down to the "bare wood" and rebuild but, this time, with many years as an experienced painter? It takes some elbow grease to chip away to get there.

....or does the Masquerade just continue and the Secret Identity remain hidden forever?