COCOON

It must be 40 years old but the movie Cocoon is still interesting for me. Years ago I thought it was a nice romantic story made up of elderly people. that by the magic of a swimming pool near their property, were transformed into vibrant, more healthy and athletic group of men and women. It was a good but unbelievable exercise in the mysticism of the Hollywood scenarios. As I watched this time, now at an age quite different than the first exposure, it takes on an entirely more spiritual theme. Now it tells of this group who are offered the opportunity to leave Earth and go to a planet called Anterian (There is a large star called Antares) There, they will lead productive lives and never be ill or tired but they will be unable to return to see their loved ones. The temptation of a more vibrant, healthier life that permits them to live forever is intriguing but as with tears rolling down my cheeks (Not a unusual experience), the idea has great deal of truth and significance. I believe that I will, one day, during my next phase, be able to live the life as expressed in the movie. I think I will have a life in the eternities and yes it holds a great appeal for me but at the same time I will leave behind all those that I love. I now must weigh the certainty of seeing again, Louise, my parents and many others that have preceded me. This conflict was such that I was in tears. I have too many here that are always in my thoughts and are the ones I love. Can I leave them knowing I will never again visit them or see them unless the possibility exists that they may be seen through my spiritual eyes. But then again the tremendous thoughts of those I will again be with is too much for this persons emotional capabilities. I have reached an age wherein this story has an expression so very different from that of years ago. Equating one age with the other while quite impossible, nevertheless gives me much food for thought. When I reach a conclusion I may write another chapter but I also may reach the end of this book of life A conundrum at best. I may have to watch the movie again to see if I can come up with an answer.

THE JANITOR

In Colorado there is a magnificent organization called the Air Force Academy. It was formed shortly after WW 2 and for many years now it has been the training ground for those thousands of young men and women who are the guardians of the skies above us -- The Army Air Force. They sit at the controls of a multi-tonned aircraft and are there to protect us from our enemies. They are the graduates of that Academy.

In the halls of that organization shuffles an elderly man, head down, wearing nondescript clothing and rarely smiling or even acknowledging the many officers that briskly walk around him, hurrying to their classes and ignoring that invisible man that keeps the walls, the halls, the latrines and in general anything that needs to be maintained, in a clean, orderly manner. He is the Janitor of this vast community and his work is beyond reproach. Everywhere you look, if you take the time, is evidence of his effort to do his duty as he understands it.

No one pays any attention to him or has any appreciation for his work. After all he is the Janitor and practically hidden from their view. He just quietly goes about his duty, never complaining or even noticing those around him. One day in one of the stories told in a paper that circulates through similar industries an article is noticed by one of the young officers. It is a story of a William Anderson who had been awarded the Medal of Honor during WW2 for extreme heroism in the face of an enemy that had resulted in the single handed destruction of 3 machine gun emplacements, using only his rifle and hand grenades. What a great story!!

But wait. Isn’t that the name of the Janitor here in these buildings? Could it be? Nah! He is almost pitiful as he shuffles around, with his head down, never, looking at us, shabbily dressed with his cap askew. “Excuse me but by any chance are you the William Anderson that is the winner of the Medal of Honor?” The Janitor looks embarrassed. As he nods, his head looks off into the distance as though he doesn’t want to be noticed. But the word gets around and those that had hurried past him are now calling out “Hi Mr. Anderson, Hi Bill”.

There is a difference in the demeanor of not only those that are calling out to him in recognition of his courage, bravery and strength of duty, but Bill is beginning to straighten up, to look ahead and to appear to improve his appearance. He is not just a guy that keeps our toilets clean, he is a Medal of Honor winner and is one of only 6 men such as he, still alive from WW2 and while before he was only an in house employee, he is now a valued member of this huge community. How wonderful to finally receive some notice from these young men and women who will one day, possibly, be faced with the same challenge--to rise to the height necessary to courageously defeat an enemy threatening to destroy us. That enemy may wear different faces--the man down the street, the one running for office, the one already in office or the man at whom we have laughed. Who are the enemies of today ?

May we live with the hope that out from amidst these many enemies, there will, once again, arise a person to meet them head on-- one who, with magnificent courage, without concern for his own life, but with a duty to carry out. And in the turbulence of the world in which we now live, will there be another Janitor?

DON'T GO THERE

It all began on or about December 3, 2009. IT was the fateful day in which I embarked on a couple of family matters that needed to be addressed. I am the Grand Father. Notice I separated the title to polish my own buttons although some of that may be wishful thinking. Nevertheless, in this instance I did feel, not an obligation but more of a necessity, to visit Las Vegas with a continuing stop in Minneapolis. Why? My beautiful granddaughter, Tatum, Chris and Gina’s child, was to be baptized. Now a child of eight sounds a bit odd for a baptism but in the LDS church we believe that age eight is an age where a child should know the difference between right and wrong. Thus, a baptism was to take place and Grampa wanted to be there to show his love and support for the occasion.

I arrived in the teeming city of Las Vegas and believe me the airport was in full teem with people of all description walking about. Chris met me there and as I walked into the garage it was definitely colder than was Arizona and I was wearing only a sport coat. But the car was close at hand and I was soon removed from the weather and arrived at Chris’ home several minutes later. I found that this weather was only the beginning and I quickly got into my warm-up suit and was fairly comfortable. As I said, it was only the beginning and 5 days passed with the baptism the highlight of my stay in the Sin City and the weather becoming increasingly colder.

I had a cold when I arrived and carried it with me to Minneapolis where I was greeted by my son saying “Dad you are walking into a mad house“. Wondering what that meant, I looked at him quizzically and he explained “The house is a mess. Victoria is at the hospital with Dalton who has a ruptured appendix and Dillon is walking around in a daze not having adjusted to no longer being a missionary“. And now you know the reason I went on to Minneapolis --to greet and show grandfather’s support to a young man who had given two years to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Again for those not familiar with our faith, young men and sometimes young women will give of themselves to act in the name of our Savior visiting amongst the unwashed and trying to convert them to the true faith. (Pardon a little tongue in cheek here).

By the way, the arrival of a snow storm was being shouted across the airwaves and for once, it proved to be factual. Snow was falling and by morning 5 inches of beautiful white snow coated the world. You can have it. Get me back to Arizona, a land I have grown to love. You can have greenery, water, and lush landscapes. Give me the warmth of the desert and I am happy. But not here in the North country, I began to become colder and colder. My nose was a stream and my cough resembled a barking dog--not a terrier but a full blown Danish Wolf Hound. Rudolph and his red appendage had nothing on me. Santa if you need further help, give me a call.

And so it was; a week of sitting in a chair with a heavy blanket wrapped around me and all my family laughing at my discomfort. Dillon was wonderful regaling me with tales of some of the things that made his mission not only worthwhile but successful. He is a fine young man now, not a youth, whose intentions serving the Lord have been magnified and honed to a degree of skilled service with a love of the Gospel. He is scheduled to leave for Brigham Young University in Idaho where a new adventure awaits his arrival in early January. Dalton had the necessary surgery and came home a few days later and my Amanda was always on hand to take care of her ailing Grandfather.

Me? I couldn’t wait to get on the plane and head for home. I had done my grandfatherly duties and suffered the consequences but now home was next on my agenda. C’mon sunshine! My cold gradually departed, a human form emerged and I was home. It is so nice to be back where people walk around smiling in stead of shuddering. Welcome home old man. You are safe now. Enjoy it, but know that you had the pleasure of seeing a granddaughter and a grandson take continuing steps to a better, richer life. God Bless them.

Oh, by the way. If you have an opportunity to go to Minnesota for ice fishing, or snowboarding, don’t go there. Its cold!!!

John Phillips Sousa, I ain't!

Have you ever had one of those night's where sleep seems to have disappeared? Well, that was what last night was all about. I never know on the mornings which inevitably follow, whether this is a case of having indulged myself with a caffeine laden soft drink or whether I may have fallen asleep for a very short time and then awakened to realize all semblance of sleep had disappeared. So there I lay and what do I then do? Why I practised giving direction to the church mens choir group by being a most unlikely conductor for said group. Yes, I do lead them most every Sunday. I lead them in hymns of my choice for one or two verses but then get off the "stage",without any hurrahs or applause of any kind.. I managed to mentally direct those marching songs which our church has published and by whistling soundlessly melodies such as the "Thunderer" by the aforementioned Sousa and one which I learned to play in the dim, light of the past on a fife which I used to perform in a fife and drum corps. (Incidentally that word is singular and I never understood why it looks to be pronounced in the plural tense). But that is a part of my ancient history that I rather enjoyed. Returning to the songs I was humming or rather, whistling, to myself, they included "Onward Christian Soldiers",Rock of Ages, High on a Mountain Top, (All the Presbyterians must be shuddering) and I even had the temerity to try to make our National Anthem sound good in my mind. There is no song, hymn,or march, call it what you will, that I love more than the stirring tones and words of "O Say, Can You See " It brings tears to my eyes as I type this for that is the love to which my tear trigger, is least resistant. I love that music and all it stands for. Don't let a flag, a marching band or even the three that led our War back in the 1770's, pass me by. All that reminds me of the great Revolution and the ultimate war ending-battle, the fight for Fort McHenry, that was the clarion call of the war of 1812. And to sum up the lack of sleep which I suffered, I tried to lead the hymns in harmony?? Can you imagine leading music with only one voice and trying harmonize? With what or whom?? It was indeed, a hopeless task! So there you have it, my night of sleepless endeavor which lasted from about 1:30 until 4:00 at which point I realized sleep had fled my eyes and I might as well pen this reminder. It was an interesting night of music but I'm sure John Sousa lies undisturbed somewhere in the annals of the history of our country. Long may he sleep undaunted by the perplexity of what our country faces at this time but nevertheless, it is my country and my flag and long may it wave!!!

A BURBLING SCHNOOK

I began singing when I was about eleven. A previous post may have given you a more detailed description of my voice had any of you chanced upon it several months ago. During my lifetime singing I was often terrible and the other times just bad. However the reason for another foray into my musical career has to do with a change that recently made all other sounds of music go from the terrible aforementioned to a cacophony that bore no resemblance to any vocal impression that has ever emanated from my body. I just finished a choir performance for the apartment complex in which I live. The short but musical rehearsal went off without a problem and I was singing in my fluid bass voice going into the room wherein the performance would take place. It was a Christmas program and of course the traditional music was sung by the choir as well as any others that wanted to join in. Thank goodness a large number joined in singing Joy to the World loudly and with boisterous enthusiasm. But wait! What did I hear or rather heard? Suddenly a new tone emerges--from my stomach. Now I must admit, with a degree of modesty, that sometimes I sound not too bad for a man of my years but this, this is “traveling from afar” and not from the same hymn by that name. My stomach is going from bass to soprano with no stops in between. I cannot hit a note as written on the music before me. Do I change and move up with the Sopranos or the Altos or do I just open my mouth and lip sync the words. I kid you not. What did I eat that engenders those noises? The people in the choir are now looking at me strangely and you can sense them moving away. But wait, I was doing O.K. in rehearsal wasn’t I? O ye of little faith, they could care less. All they know is what they hear and you may recall I mentioned the words terrible or not bad but this was a new low it was horrible and it wasn’t low. I could live with low notes but this ran the entire range from a profoundo to a coloratura and none of it was good. Fortunately at one point the lights were all dimmed so as to allow those holding electrical candles to hold them aloft which allowed me to sneak quietly away. I probably will never attempt to sing again. Can you hear the multitudes cheering? The sounds of my stomach echoed between a burbling brook, a menacing growl or maybe a distant moose call. Thus the title: A Burbling Schnook. Fortunately Christmas is almost passed and I have an entire year to redeem myself but it will demand all my will power to ever allow a sound to pass my lips.

I DID IT

It finally happened and although it may not be tantamount to a crack in the Wailing Wall, or the arousal of a Sleeping Giant, nevertheless I finally wrote a letter to the Government and in consideration of my age all I should say is "It's about time!!" About time that I did more than sit in my own stew (Interestingmetaphore) and about time that my silent crtiicisms are no longer silent. What in the name of you know who is happening?? Is our Democracy going mad? And where does all this paper come from that permits the Washington idiots to press the money to pay for all that is taking place. It is more than we average people can comprehend. So I wrote to President Obama and gave him a piece of my mind and then I directed mail to the Representative for my district and then to the two Senators that are supposed to help prevent this idiocy from happening... I can't sit around and wait until 2012 or maybe even 2010 to go to the poll and vote my ire. When will there be enough men in the responsible offices to have sufficient steel gonads to call "ENOUGH"? Pardon my candor but I don't know how to say it in a more modified manner and expect our titled men of D.C to understand what I am saying.

I have never received the constancy of fury men AND women are telling about that which is taking place and it is bordering on anarchy. Has lunacy left the building?? I wish Elvis was back and at least we could have music to bellyache by. Its not only the Health Care Bill, it goes way beyond one bill no matter how screwed up it is ---and it is. It is not just the Democrats, although one would think there has to be men on that side of the aisle who can stand for something better than what is being passed off as logical legislation. And don't think the Republicans are coming out smelling sweetly over all this. They are bunch of milk toasts that can't stand up and act like responsible citizens and although they are in the minority they could make noise like a majority and cry CEASE if only to protect their jobs. And don't think they are safe! . Voting can go both ways and maybe we should give the Independents a shot at being the determinates of which way our country should go come election day.

A Tale of A Depression

This may be a bit longer than I like but how do I compress a childhood into a short story? I will try to show some brevity but don't anyone plan on it. This will be primarily directed at my grandchildren and may be, more importantly, at my great grandchildren. I don't know who amongst my progeny will ever read this but it is necessary that I recite my happy days as a child for anyone to read who may be curious as to what did Grampa do during the great Depression? That question might be summarily answered by another question, what depression? Oh I remember those days but every one else was living and surviving and we didn't know any better. We had food on the table--sometimes it was oatmeal. I ate a lot of peanut butter sandwiches but so what. Everyone else was in the same boat and so again I say, what depression?? I have previously talked about some of the memories of those days but here I will put in print more of what took place beginning with me being age 7.

One of the things that stands out is the delivery men that came to our door -- some every day. A milkman came every morning and left a couple of quarts of milk. (There were no gallon containers that I remember then.) It was always fun in the winter time to see the frozen cream above the top of the milk bottle. Now, it's homogenized. An ice truck would arrive every couple of days and put a block into our "ice box" to keep our food edible. Whats a refrigerator? It was childhood fun to go out to his truck in the summer time and "steal" ice chips off the floor of his vehicle. There was a bread man that brought bread and pastries almost every day and there was an old man that had a truck and as it passed by, he was shouting "Rags,paper,pipes metal" He was the original recycler and he made his living this way. Now you must also be aware that many of the delivery people that came were in horse drawn vehicles. I can remember stories of Gramma Mary running out to the street with a shovel to collect fertilizer for her garden. Really!!

You might ask how were we entertained. Well, we didn't have TV's or computers but we did listen a lot of storie son the radio. A fire can was great fun. You found a two pound coffee can, punched a few holes in the bottom and added some paper, twigs and bits of wood, lit the paper and watched the flames begin to take affect and with the can already equipped with a strong wire, we would begin to whirl it around our heads to develop the flame. We could then begin to add larger pieces of wood, some small chunks of coal from our coal furnace and then, if you could get one, you would put in a potato to cook as you were whirling. Great fun!! Marbles was another game. Just rolling them along the curb to try to hit your opponent. We also had horse chestnuts trees in Buffalo and we made up games using the chestnuts. Of course in the winter we played a lot of street hockey with sticks that were taped with black electricians tape to prevent breakage (that seldom was effective) and we had pucks that were also taped. There was skates for rollering and skates for the ice. Of course the roller skates were secured to your shoes with a key that tightened clamps to hold them on your shoes. If you lost that key, hopefully your neighbor might have one. I never had any ice skates or a bike for that matter.

Letters were mailed with a .03 stamp, ice cream cones were .05 and bread was about .12 a loaf. Halls Bakery was at the crossing of Fillmore and Main streets and a donut or other pastries could be had for about a nickle if you went to the "yesterdays" counter. I hopped on a street car with a .08 token and rode to the baseball park and sat in the bleachers for about .15. I also was placed on a train to Syracuse at age 10 with no concerns for my safety. There were almost no mortuaries. Your deceased were buried from your home and a large black wreath hung on your door denoting the death of a family menber. There were woods only a short distance where you could go, build fires and have your potato for dinner. You might even find some weed to smoke. No, thats a different weed. Baseball or football were played in the corner lots and glass or rocks or nails were prevalent and you would determine whether to slide or not depending on the surface of the field. In football you always planned your running game over the part of the field less covered with the above deterrents. My first job was at age 13 for a 10 hour week and I was paid $2.25 every 2 weeks. Later I used broken tees to play golf. Every one did!!

In short, you made up your entertainment and there was never a time when you walked by a penny without stooping down to pick it up. I still will put one in my pocket. Yes we were in the midst of a depression but as a child it was all over our heads and all our friends were as unaware as was I. The depression lasted from about 1930 until about 1939. It began to improve about 1936 but did not fully change until 1941 when the war with Japan broke out. Yes, I was a depression child and so were all my friends and yes we all survived and were quite unaware of what all the parents were going through. And yes, those were happy days and it is my contention that we were happier then than are most kids today. It is my hope that my grand kids and greats will read this and be curious enough to ask questions of me while I am still here. There could be a lot more to tell of my days as a child during the great Depression.