One For the Books #71

Morning Friend,

I’m not what you’d call a “History Buff”.

I never excelled in the subject at school....too many dates to remember and too many Royals with the same name but a different number after it; Charles the Second, Isabel the fourth, Otto the EIGHTH!? etc.

It’s not a memory issue because I can remember jokes I heard as a child, but as far as what year “...did Hercules sail the Magna Carta into Boston Harbor setting off the Seven Day War?”....I haven’t a darn clue?

Creativity was never a problem; if I had to, I could “make stuff up” that would make the real story as lame as a lost homework excuse, but alas, no History teacher I ever dealt with gave points for “style” or validated a “poetic license”.

From what I understand, History – particularly Canadian – is not a Big Ticket item in the curriculum of today’s schools which seems kind of a shame.

A good number of High School respondents in a recent survey on “Canadiana” identified Sir John A. MacDonald as “that guy on the twenty?”, while several even went as far afield as crediting him with the invention of haggis.

Even as poor a student of History as I, knows good old Sir Johnny founded our nation’s largest tobacco company! ( check the name on your pack of “Green Monsters”....duhh!?!! )

I would think it valuable to know where we came from and how we got to where we are, especially in terms of planning for where we want to go and the best way to get there?

If nothing else we can a least avail ourselves of the opportunity to aspire to some of the greatness and to avoid the mistakes of our adventurous ancestors.

While I am admittedly “a tad off” when it comes to the nuts and bolts of history – the names and dates and such – I am nevertheless enthralled by the grand tales of gallantry, sacrifice and victory against seemingly impossible odds which adorn the tapestry of our Pioneer Heritage.

Just the thought of a brave and wary Lenny Riel ( no doubt pining for the fjords of his Nordic homeland) and his trusty Inuit guides forging the mighty Niagara river through the rugged untamed peaks of southeastern Manitoba in the 1500’s with electricity only in its’ infancy, is pause for reflection and awe. ( and perhaps a fact check or two?)

I often marvel at how afar afield of their beloved birthplaces must many a bold explorer stray in the course of discovery, conquest and adventure!?

To leave ones’ town, ones’ country, ones’ continent behind – to uproot from the very soil from whence ones’ life germinated and sprouted – and soar like a feathered seed in search of unbroken ground and unwritten history is the hallmark of many who heed Adventure’s siren call.

“Go West Young Man!” was such a call that spurred the taming of West; luring many unwary but determined souls on a migration of dreams into a nightmarishly alien land.

“The New World” beckoned a wave of bold humanity leaving their birthplaces an ocean behind them.

“The Call of the Wild” can be ascribed to many whose place of birth serves merely as a “starting block” in their life’s race of discovery and fulfillment.

While the world may be known geographically, contemporary explorers must still re-locate to specialized global regions far from home in search of history-making adventure.

Ahh what a sweet and blessed moment it must be for those lucky enough after many years abroad to complete the circle of their endeavor and to go home again.

To immerse again in the familiar fragrance of the Fatherland....to say – not like a practiced daily litany but like an announcement to Heaven and all of Nature within earshot – from the bottom of a tread-worn heart and jet-lagged soul.... “I’m HOME!”, is surely a moment worth etching in time.

In the course of examining my own journey I discovered two important but not necessarily historically significant things.

Firstly, I have come a “long way”; some might say a WORLD away from the drunken life I left behind. ( while it might not be earth-shattering stuff to you my friend, with the Good Lord as my guide I am making “discoveries” on a daily basis that ROCK my world and those in it! )

Secondly, I presently live across the street from the hospital where I was born.

From that blessed day in January some five decades ago, I have come....about 45 feet.

Christopher Columbo I guess I’m not.

Alexander Marilyn Bell did a lot of his work “out of the house” didn’t he?

Hello?.........

love tImMy :/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (leeward)

Brush With Life #70

Morning Friend,



Late this past Friday afternoon, two cars crashed in the intersection I was in the process of crossing; one of them actually came sliding to a smoking crumpled rest in the very spot I had been standing and watching from, seconds earlier.

Two cars coming towards each other on Westminister, one of them suddenly tries an ill-advised/badly timed/dumb? left turn at Maryland and BOOM....pretty much head-on into the other guy.

Now I can go all dramatic on you and say I seized my bike in one hand and a pregnant woman with the other and LEAPT headlong into a crusty snow bank and no uncertain fame.

But in all honesty there was no one else to “save” and because it happened in slow motion, there was no leaping required.

In fact, I’m happy to report that while both cars were certainly totaled, no one was seriously injured. ( at least until the lawyers get involved I imagine?)

“Slow motion” you ask?

That’s exactly how it all seemed really....a few seconds stre-e-etched out into a moment of pristine clarity.....

“Oh oh, those cars are going to......WHOA!.....here comes one toward me....it’s horn is blaring.....I think I should move OUT of the way......”

Despite being astride my bike holding a bag of groceries, I was able to somehow jump backwards enough that the old “Green Hornet” and I were buffeted by nothing more than smoke from the car’s exploded air bag.

Funny what goes through your mind at a time like that.

Funnier than what doesn’t anyway...

My life didn’t “flash before my eyes”, I didn’t cry out “I love you Mother!”, and I certainly did not suddenly feel an old familiar craving for a strong distilled beverage.

I was actually staring at the poor fellow dazedly shaking his head in the driver’s seat a few feet away and thinking, “Man did your Friday Night ever just Go South on you ya poor bastard!?”

I was then pondering that the guy’s horn was going to continue to blow probably until the tow truck driver or somebody cut the battery cable when a woman’s voice behind me said, “You almost got hit there”.

Had I not been in such a fog I might have cavalierly replied, “Just the facts Ma’am”....or “All in day’s work my dear”....or even “A miss is as good as a mile”, but all that came to mind was a much less classic, “Yes I did”.

At that point the acrid smoke from the exploded air bag ( I had NO idea that was how they worked? ), broke my reverie and I wondered if there wasn’t a fire starting.

Now I could “embellish” a might and tell you about smashing the side window with my fist and hauling three nuns out of an inferno to safety, but there were no passengers in either vehicle and no such heroics called for.

Laying my bike and groceries on the snow bank, I opened the driver’s door and helped the poor shaken fellow out of the car gasping and cursing and onto unsteady legs where he was soon joined by the profusely apologetic and less worse for wear driver of the other vehicle.

With help on the way, and seeing that there was hardly a need to get further involved as a “witness” to such a cut and dried mishap as this, or to further the ruination of these poor fellows’ weekend by berating them for “almost” putting a damper on mine, I grabbed my grub and the “Hornet” and moved on. ( into the sunset – cue closing theme)

Pondering... from then until now, why I didn’t at any point look heavenward and pronounce my thanks to God?

Was it because I was “dazed”?

Am I taking God’s gift of new life for granted?

Have I become ungrateful?

Did I think I was just “lucky”?

In actuality, I’ve come to learn that besides strokes of luck ( sometimes Big ones), near misses lurk at every intersection of life.

Does the Good Lord intercede at every mishap on every street corner?....I’ve heard he does if there’s a “drunk or a small child” involved!

What about an “ex-drunk” with enough wits and physical well-being about him to turn a near miss into a “field test” of his serenity and an invaluable learning experience?

Could I have been too caught up in the sudden misery of those two “poor bastards” to be offering up prayers of thanks?

Doesn’t empathy grow best in the rich soil of a grateful and humble heart?

When your first instinct becomes “others”, that seems like all the thanks God might need?

But just in case.....(whew!) Thank You Lord....again.

( cue credits)

love tImMy:/


Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( safe)

A Load of Bun(K) #69

Morning Friend,

With a blizzard tempestuously raging outside this morning and bracingly frigid temperatures in the forecast, I should have known it was too good to be true.

When one derives as much pure joy from cold, snow and ice as I do, they are often setting themselves up for a balmily bitter disappointment.

Mine came in the dratted and determined hands of my mailperson; so unstoppable is she in the face of any climatologically natured obstacle that someone should write a “creed” about her and those of her ilk? ....something about “...sleet and snow and hail...?” would do nicely I think.

Nevertheless, the source of my anguish –the letter- looked weather-beaten, well-traveled, and harmless.

The West Indies postmark verified over 3,000 miles of road-weariness, but the unmistakable logo on the envelope told a tale fraught with harm, and hardship.

It was from the Barbados University Natural Center where I have held an Associate Assistant Advocate Pseudo-Professorship for an number of years.

It seems some of my learned colleagues are also members of the Barbados Olympic Freestyle Ski Dancing Team ( a grueling sport not usually associated with Caribbean climes ), and are competing in the upcoming games.

I have been culled from my arctic reverie and “called to duty” at the Center.

OH the HUMANITY! I say, just as Winter here had started to have a nice sweet “bite” to it; the itch of the woolies beaconing like a molting mantra!

But my head is still cold from being outside for 10 seconds to get the mail so it’s “cool” enough to prevail in this instance.....the important research and invaluable humanitarian work being done at B.U.N.C. must not go unattended.

The study of Nature takes scientists into laboratories as unbelievably harsh as they are mysterious.

The sun-baked beaches, dizzying blue sea, blinding sunshine, incessant scented breezes and tropical torpor, make Barbados a “lab” suited to only the truly fanatical realm of the scientific community devoted to unlocking the secrets Mother Nature closely holds to her oft-mysterious and alluring bosom.

I am as you may already know, one such devotee.

And as such I must leave these blessed blizzard blown boundaries of my comfortable northern home and forsake them for the stench of sweat and sun block... and the malingering malaise of equatorial madness.

The ache of homesickness already tightens like a frozen knot in my sit-up-hardening stomach with the knowledge I now have but 42 sleeps....I mean DAYS of wondrous Winnipeg winter to endure....I mean LUXURIATE in!

The history of all great scientific discovery is filled with stories of selfless sacrifice and suffering....just THINK for instance of all the moldy bread that Fleming fellow must have eaten!?

While it’s not an antibiotic I’ll be seeking during my three week odyssey, I will in fact be looking for a similarly beneficial result...”ONENESS” with Nature.

And a pretty nice tan :)

love tImMy :/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (going for Gold)

Miller Time #68

Morning Friend,

One of the fine old workplace traditions the world over is the “couple of drinks after work”.

After a rough day, a tough week – and especially a “payday”, the call to “go for a brew”, ( or “Miller Time” as the famous old American beer slogan used to trumpet), can be heard like a battle cry from the factory floor all the way to the executive offices of companies large and small.

The after work drinks can be an essential part of the culture of a workplace; an excellent morale building and bond forming exercise.

In the comfy environs of a neighborhood pub or a favorite lounge, with hair down and gloves off, the stress and strain of the “grind” drains further away with each successive glass or bottle.

It’s a chance for all to blow off steam, bitch and whine, tell nasty jokes, commiserate, flirt, laugh, and ultimately....jointly solve a pressing global issue or two; usually toward the end, of the evening.

For some it’s an excuse to get drunk and avoid going home after work, but those poor souls are likely in the bar avoiding home every evening so the novelty of the exercise is lost to them as is the opportunity for spontaneous co-worker interaction.

They’re there for the drinking, irregardless of the company, and often the last to leave...unless they get cut off first.

Thankfully in today’s society, the great majority of people are “social” drinkers - according to the Canadian Encyclopedia, approximately 4% of adult drinkers in Canada are alcoholic.

Even with my vivid imagination, I have trouble perceiving what sort of anarchic maelstrom would replace civil society were those figures reversed?

“Joining us for a drink after work Bob?”

“No thanks Tim, I’ve been hammered all day! I could go for a coffee though?”

“Keep that kind of talk to yourself Bob. Coffee? It’s only Wednesday!?....you don’t have some kind of a “problem” do you?”

The carnage – were it to be “Miller Time” all the time - would be substantial.

As it is, the ruination and heartbreak wrought by even such a small percentage of problem drinkers in today’s society is far-reaching enough to have affected the life of just about everybody.

Left my own mark on a fair bit of damage to be sure.

But despite the fact that I now don’t drink, and I managed to salvage my job because of it, I still get that familiar “itch” towards the end of the work week.

Not to drink mind you, but to drink in the fomenting fellowship and charismatic camaraderie of my brothers and sisters with whom I spend a third of my week with; toiling on a daily basis.

We work alongside thousands of others in a large hospital so there is ample stress and an ongoing battle against it.

In my own particular department however, I’d noticed that for various reasons we never “went for a few after work”.

There is a broad demographic of about 50 of us who work “evenings” so the logistics themselves are not what you’d call conducive to such activity.

But just because something is difficult doesn’t make it less necessary, and YES I do think there is value in cultivating friendships with co-workers outside of the workplace, especially in circumstances like mine where the mix of cultures, values and ages is so varied.

So since my charismatic leadership abilities are bruised but yet functional, and since I’m still a “social butterfly” ( albeit a sober one), and since I’d get nothing but funny looks by asking 50 people “out for coffee”, and since statistically only 4% of my department ( me and another guy?) should be alcoholic, I took it upon myself to organize a “Few After Work” for the gang last Friday.

The crudely but enthusiastically drawn poster proclaimed “Friday Fellowship!....Come for a Couple!....11:45 til ‘an hour’....Say Farewell to a Good Man!” ( it wasn’t a “payday” Friday but it was the last day for a fine young fellow who was leaving us )

Now in my mind it was a rousing success not because it was a good turnout with laughs aplenty and enough madcap and warm heart to fill 10 beer commercials, but because of who showed up...

- the “old” veteran of the bunch

- the “oddball” guy

- the “quiet” loner

- the “rookie”

- the “hothead”

- people who I’d never seen so relaxed and animated

...and of course the “alcoholic” in the background sipping on a cola; drinking in all the good natured griping, the irreverent humor, the problem solving, the fellowship....and the fun.

But the best part of it all had to be when someone asked me why I’d go to all the trouble to organize such an event when I don’t even drink?

And instead of a mini-diatribe about; discovering the essence and joy of life without booze, giving back to others in payment for years of selfishness, celebrating the freedom of being able to say “no” to a drink, doing the Lord’s work by fostering peace and brotherhood, or bettering our work environment by promoting extra-curricular interaction, I simply said,

...“Cause it’s Miller Time!”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( happy hours)

Thank You #66b

Morning Friend,

With all the imagination I know you possess, please pretend these words are the hearty and warm embrace of a free and grateful man celebrating a *birthday today.

*it’s my “belly-button” , or “real” BIRTH-day as opposed to my

A.A. Birthday in June, in case you were wondering? As far as my “age” goes, the only information I’ll divulge on that front is that I’m more months sober than I am years old.

The reason for the “e-hug” is because if I have ever met you, spoken to you, or in some way ( cosmically or otherwise) interacted with you, than you have unwittingly become a driving force in my on-going quest to put my best foot forward and keep it there.

I am nothing else, if not a HUGELY gregarious alcoholic gentleman.

*from Merriam Webster

gre-gar-i-ous ( adjective) 1 a : tending to associate with others of one's kind : social b : marked by or indicating a liking for companionship

The “hugely gregarious DRUNKEN alcoholic gentleman act” was panned brutally.....by YOU: my acquaintances, friends and family.

An empty theater on The Grand Stage of Life echoes like an empty heart when you’re a “people person” drinking alone.

“WHY did I do it”??? the oft asked question.....

“Because as someone who is “wired” to interact with other humans; intelligently, humorously, soulfully, spiritually, playfully, creatively, intuitively, purposefully, repeatedly, compassionately, artfully, sensually, powerfully, respectfully, enthusiastically, honorably and with GREAT regularity, it HAD to be done. ....the answer.

The “act” as many will attest is as flawed as it ever was but certainly “cleaned up” at any rate, and every now and then I’ll pull off a show-stopper or garden variety crowd pleaser that’s just about worth the price of admission.

“Thank Yous” abound for this Birthday, this day, this life!

The Good Lord, my Mom and Dad, my whole family, Alcoholics Anonymous, my friends, St. Boniface Hospital......and on and on the list goes of people – and a Savior – who give me the INCENTIVE that fuels my every show!..... I mean day :)

Thank you and may God Bless you and your day friend.

Glad I could get my mitts on ya!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live (motivated)

The Magic Window #66

Morning Friend,

The bittersweet time of year that is Christmas, is nigh.

And with it comes a myriad of reasons and excuses not to be Merry – or in some cases to get drunkenly “un-Merry” until it’s all over with.

“Grinches”, come in all shapes, sizes, denominations and levels of inebriation, but share a common lament: “I can hardly wait till it’s over!”.

If you’re a staunch atheist, Jew, Muslim, or orthodox sociopath, you get a pass from me; have a Merry... couple of days off work!

If you’re a suffering alcoholic whose misery is all the more intensified by memories of Christmas before booze ruined your life, allow me to humbly suggest that the gift of sobriety could possibly be the best gift you could give to yourself, and everyone else in your life?

But that’s just me, “suggesting” out loud.

If you think it better to get loaded and rant and rail against the contradictory Joy, Peace and Happiness associated with Christmas, then by all means, “have at”.

Fortunately for you, it will soon be a done deal and you can get back to normal, everyday Hell on earth.

But if you’re like many “rushed” out people whose hustle has run out of bustle and your spirit and credit cards are neck and neck in a race to max out, I would humbly ask you to pause, and remember those who can hardly wait for Christmas to arrive; never mind “be over”!?

Children are Christmas, and Christmas is for them.

In this cold, cruel and oft-chaotic world, the window of years where “magic” still exists – where children can “believe” in Santa Claus – gets smaller all the time.

Some kids, by their burgeoning intellect and irrepressible curiosity, break the spell on their own, while others through familial dysfunction or other harsh twists of fate, aren’t “allowed” to believe in magic; Christmas or otherwise.

As one blessed with a TROVE of magical childhood memories, the very idea of a child not waking up on THE Morn without a gift from Santa is alien, abhorrent, and in this day and age, downright shameful.

Like the finest most fragile crystalline sculpture is the heart of a child; blinding is the light of joy reflected in their ecstatic faces and astonished eyes.

Exquisite is the love of a child touched by magic; precious is the innocence of fertile souls where sorrows magically disappear.

I remember my friend, when the “sleeps until Santa came” seemed like an eternity.

Now as an adult ( at least “chronologically” so), I’m like most folks who find the pre-Festive season fairly frantically fast-paced.

But I side with the kids when it comes to “wishing it was over”!?!?

Are you KIDDING me!?

I know of a young girl who is getting her Christmas present “several sleeps” early this year; a trip to Disney World! – sponsored by the Children’s Wish Foundation.

The trip had to be bumped up to last week when further treatment for brain cancer became futile and the window for her being strong enough to go had become desperately small.

Talk about your “Christmas Rush”!?

The window of this poor girl’s magical innocence and her window of life now share the same panes.

Now there are a few certainties about this knowledge and a lesson perhaps as well.

One, is that this is likely if not certainly the brave girl’s last Christmas.

And two, that neither her or anyone in her family is wishing the “wretched season” to end.

This is a family that no doubt wishes Christmas would never end; that the magic this year would include a miracle.

As have I fervently prayed since learning of this tragedy.

The lesson in “perspective” needn’t be mentioned really.

Anyone not enduring such devastating heartache as this, should be hopefully moved to keep and exalt the Children’s Season with renewed generosity and loving enthusiasm.

THROW some toys into that bin at work....drop off gifts to any media outlet in town....give to Children’s Wish or any other kids charity!

Open the magical window and keep it open as long as possible because it closes all too soon.

And keep your whining to yourself....especially that “bunk” about there being no Santa!?!

Merry Christmas!

love tImMy:)

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live (believing)

Yes? #65

Morning Friend,

It all started innocently enough, with a note, stealthily passed via a third party to my desk in grade four.

My ten-year-old imagination quickly shifted into hyper-speed as I stared at the oddly feminine flair in the writing of my name.

Was this a coded message from Mata Hari?....my secret orders from High Command? The beginnings of a Hardy Boy Mystery Adventure?....Could Frank and Joe be in peril at this very moment...their fate spelled out in this note written in what could well be the flowery scrawl of Nancy Drew?

With suddenly trembling sweaty hands, a roar in my head and a "junkie's paranoia" that the teacher was going to pounce on me at any moment, I carefully opened the note like a fragile ancient parchment that might turn to dust at any moment.

Little did I realize, that the little piece of paper unfolding in my hand might just as well have been written by Franklin W. Dixon himself, because it was the prologue to a "Hardy Boy Adventure" that has lasted a lifetime.

The note asked, "Do you like Mandy?" - and had three boxes to choose from; "YES, NO, or MAYBE?"

Now a ten-year-old boy "likes" about a gazillion things, and in naming them he'd likely run through a whole slew of nasty, slimy, grody, thunderous, flashy, explosive, cool and gnarly things before he got near mentioning a GIRL!? ( although you just might have found Ellie-Mae Clampett in the top 100?)

To be sure, Mandy was no "Ellie-Mae" nor were there ANY buxom, "critter loving" tomboys to be found amongst the female students in a grade 4 classroom. ( there was quite a tall German girl who's intellectual development was right in step with her rather early physical development, thus rendering her more obnoxious than likeable )

But Mandy was cute and funny and friendly, and even though I was new to the note-passing subterfuge of adolescent courtship and youthful infatuation, the obvious bottom line here was that she liked ME.

That note suddenly represented the end of my innocence.

The safe circle of "likes" in my life; my family, friends, hobbies and heroes, had been invaded by one of nature's most powerful entities...puppy love.

I had not invited it yet it landed on my desk like a Federal Audit Notice...."Welcome to the World of LOVE".

"Please fill out the following form carefully and truthfully."

"You will be required from this point on, to make any and all intentions with regard to matters of the heart i.e.: "Love"... clear, concise and legible."

"This is a binding contract in which your actions will be required to mirror your words."

"The love in this agreement is "conditional" upon regularly reviewed performance."

That note my friend, was the FIRST time I became aware of one of the great necessities in all "grown up" human interaction: making one's self, and one's intentions, clear.

Surely I had been "showing off" on the playground and was interested in attracting the attention of someone, but who it was, was not CLEARLY known?

Answering the note would clarify my position and alleviate the need for so many break-neck acrobatics or class-disrupting "Tim-foolery".

It would give young Mandy the courtesy and consideration of knowing "where she stands".

Whether you're a pre-teen or a Pensioner, it is essential to people who love you to know where they stand - to get a note back that says "Yes, No or Maybe".

The "note" itself can be non-specific; an unspoken wish for your well-being, an offer of help, the hand of peace, a guiding light awaiting nothing from you but a sense of your willingness.

You can say "Yes" in a hundred different ways without saying the word, just as there are hundreds of ways of showing No.

Body language, tone, demeanor, affect, color, quality, efficacy, are some of the myriad nuances of ACTION; your response to any and all notes that life slips onto your desk.

For many of my adult years the object of my affection received confirmation of my ardor on a daily basis.

From the devotion, commitment, resources, time, energy, passion, earnestness, fire, willingness and zeal that I spent on it, it was painfully obvious to all that I was in LOVE with booze. ( to the exclusion of all else)

I thought of my "sweetheart" first thing in morning, all day, and fondly before each night's passout.

We're "broken up" now ( thanks to A.A. , the Good Lord, and the fact both our parents were against a "mixed" relationship) which has left me with the delightful dilemma of where to channel all of that unused love blessedly yet in my heart.

There is so much to love about life now that one of the more difficult tasks has been where to start?

As singularly as I was in love with booze, my passions today are plentiful on the grownup playground, where "knowing where you stand" is just as monumentally important as it was in grade 4.

I won't throw a snowball at you or hang upside down on the monkey bars, but if I "like" you, you'll KNOW it.

Unlike Mandy who got a "Maybe".

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (Hardy-Boying)

...many things... #64

Morning Friend,

Since snow, and with it the Christmas Season are finally UPON us, I thought it appropriate to share MY "Festive Focus", as the "countdown" - for many of us, begins......

Christmas Is.... by tImMy

C is for the CHILD of GOD whose birth did set us free
His Holy Birth proclaims the worth of Spirituality

H reminds of HOME and HEARTH where families bind anew
Slights forgotten, heartaches trodden...respite from the blues

R is for REFLECTING on one's blessing and one's sins
Strength and health give mercy stealth, forgiveness ere begins

I INSTILLS an INNER PEACE and sweet tranquility
A mighty spirit all can feel it, the glow of Christmas glee

S is for the SONGS that SING in every person's heart
Carols ring sweet voices sing, symphonic souls embark

T feels like the warming of a special loving TOUCH
Hugs, hands shaken, blessings taken...so little meaning so much

M is for the MEMORIES that the Yuletide seems to nourish
remembrance cast from Yuletides past, forge legacies which flourish

A is for the ATMOSPHERE emerging from the Season
Strangers greeting, minds are meeting, Love rhymes, Faith is Reason

S is for the SOULFUL STATE in which I deem to fall
Be at Peace and Share God's feast, MERRY CHRISTMAS one and all!

* the aforementioned "countdown" is at 25 ( critically important) SLEEPS. Especially critical to those with concerns about their standing on the old "naughty/nice" balance sheet!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( being Good)

Lions' Den #63

Morning Friend,

Contrary perhaps to what is considered advisable, I spend a portion of my spare time in the company of people who drink alcohol regularly, and heavily.

The fact that many of them may be alcoholic is a fact not lost on one who most certainly is.

But the fact that we all share the same interest in shooting pool and shooting the bull is as inescapable as the loving clutches of a spry old Aunty.

In fact, the Sherbrooke Inn where we often congregate is one of this town's more nefarious old "Lush's Landmarks".

I've whiled and wasted many a dark day and endless night away there myself.

If I believed in such things, then the GHOSTS of my own lost spirit must yet be lurching through its' dank archways in search of 2 more draft.

Such romanticism and wonder is no longer on tap there for me, but the dour old dive still holds a familiar spell over a "regular" or two.

And since many of my old friends are mostly "regular", at least from a bar-going standpoint, I find myself once a week in "harm's way".

Now if you think my friend that this is about some kind of "whistle by the graveyard" affair where I'm flaunting mayhem and purposely risking disaster, you're being a little bit melodramatic, but the issue of advisability, does apply here.

I do get asked quite frequently, "what are you doing here?", "how do you stand being around drunks?", and my favorite, "are you SURE you're an alcoholic?", as if my healthy glow and clear countenance were incongruent with the considered model.

This is after all, a distribution point ( albeit a stinky one) for wine and spirits...it's a BAR!

It's a common room, a drinking establishment, a beverage room, a lounge, a club, a pub, THE bar.

One can easily see why it wouldn't be on the list of "advisable" places to be when one is alcoholic.

One look reveals why it's also not on the list of advisable places to impress a date?

The dilemma thus arises, and options with it.

The advisable "textbook" option is to simply stay away from anywhere that alcohol might be available, and get all new friends.

The textbook option is probably/actually responsible for keeping me drunk for a few extra years because it made sobriety sound about as appealing as low back pain.

But for many newly sober, or those still at a high risk for slips, it is the only option, and for some a life long one.

It's not hard to recommend to a burn victim, not to run into any burning buildings.

The "new friends" business is not so geographically solved, and requires not so much that they be new, so much as you are.

Many of my "new friends" are the same "old" ones.

I of course "weeded out" all of those who had been forcibly pouring booze down my throat and/or were a "bad influence".

But besides me if there's anything else new it's the friendship itself.

It's real.

Not like a textbook, but a just published tome with unfinished stories in it and chapters richly telling of love and fellowship and brotherhood and true friendship.

These are people with whom I've shared life, celebrated their young and buried their dead, and we all relish in the notion that they didn't have to bury me.

Witnesses to my darkest hours, they as I now bask in the joyous new brightness of an emerging light and daily reprieve from despair....so long as I don't "preach". ( or brag too much! )

The tradeoff is I try not to make sobriety sound so appealing and my friends in return, refrain from forcing me at gunpoint to drink.

I suppose if I was a "by the book" kind of a guy and wanted to see my friends somewhere where alcohol wasn't available, we could meet at the library.

But what the book doesn't mention is that I have friends who would smuggle a "mickey" into the library anyway, so I figure we may as well shoot some pool.

And while it may not be advisable to do so in the company of alcoholics, I do so with great vigililence and no small amount of gratitude.

Grateful, because the Good Lord has rewarded my resolve with the strength to walk fearlessly with whomever and wherever my journey takes me.

Because you're only in danger in the lion's den if you're feeding the lions.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( under advisement)

Let It Roll #62

Morning Friend,

If I knew today was my last day to live I'd put on clean underwear and my most comfortable shoes.

I’d try and “tidy the place up”.

I'd get a "decent haircut" in case my Grandmother is on "Pearly Gate Duty" today.

I'd give up smoking because surely I could last a DAY?

I'd go up to that person who I'd been meaning to chew out and give them a hug, and apologize to the person chewing me out so they'd give me one.

I sure as heck wouldn't get distortedly drunk and miss out on anything.

No matter what the weather was like, I'd be compelled to extol the virtues of our vibrant environmental variables.

I’d “smell the roses”, or at least be mindful of how they lovely they smell in comparison to what I’m smelling.

I'd dust off the best joke I knew and make as many people smile as I could.

I'd pick ONE thing from my ever-lingering "to do" list and do it WELL.

I'd go through my usual daily exercises, not for any long-term benefits obviously but for the energetic "glow" they usually provide.

(Same thing for brushing and flossing I suppose.)

NO regrets, angst or self-pity today my friend....today would definitely be a day for unrestrained and gleeful GRATITUDE.

Because truthfully, when one who is fortunate enough to live in this "Eden-esque Land of Plenty", stops and does a true Life Assessment, the enormity of one's good fortune is self-evident.

I’d throw down such a gauntlet of glee that fearful thoughts would scatter like dead leaves in a gale.

I would tell people I liked, why, and people I loved, how much.

I would absorb; the fresh air, the engaging scenery, the melodic sound, the kaleidoscopic essence of the day like a dusty sponge cast into a teeming ocean.

I'd make the most of it, that's for sure.

But what if today "might" be my last day to live?

I "might" get "ironed out" in an unforeseen traffic mishap as people do every day?

I "might" have an unbeforeseen cerebral aneurism blow up like a tire and not wake up from my afternoon nap today?

I “might” fall ill and never recover or worse; left in a weakened or debilitated state for the rest of my days?

Or I "might" live to be a hundred years, defying all odds while miraculously thwarting every sinister pitfall known to man?

It's a fine line between knowing and wondering isn't it?

The trouble with not knowing is that it makes life something of a daily gamble.

Can I put off, delay, postpone, procrastinate, or WASTE, one more day or not?

If you're the type that enjoys the perilous pace, the anxiety-laced, stomach-souring EDGE of rolling the dice with your life, you’re taking the chance that "snake-eyes" doesn't come up too suddenly; too soon, before you're ready... like today.

I was fortunate enough to get up from the “craps table” while I still had a dollar left in my pocket.

Not even enough for bus fare to church or an A.A. meeting, but I'm a cyclist with an aversion to Transit Tom anyway.

And my bets are on the fact that this blessedly wonderful gift from God, just "might" be my last day to live.

Tomorrow is an uncertainty.

Today is really the only sure bet I have today, and today is the only day I have to live to its’ fullest.

If it’s the last one then it certainly will have been a shameful thing to waste.

And if it ISN'T, then I'm a winner either way.

‘Cause my barber is on holiday :)

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....
Love as long as you live (prepared)

Try This At Home #61

Morning Friend,

Here's a little experiment I've been trying that you might find very enlightening.

I say "trying" because it involves changing one of my festering and long ingrained character defects.

And I say "one" because there are actually several which the self-discovering voice of sobriety has brought to my previously distorted attention.

"Ahh the days of wine and roses and rose-colored glasses!"

"Hmmm."

Yes my friend, it turns out that if you sober up a drunken horse thief, you're still left with a larcenous equestarian.....probably even a more effective one!?

So on this ever evolving list of reasons I'll never sing Mac Davis's "Oh Lord It's Hard To Be Humble" again, ( at least not with same drunken fervor anyway? ), was a fairly easy defect to identify because it involves communication, which in my case is pretty much akin to breathing.

Like my Dad, who'd be impossible to sway from trying to strike up a conversation at a deaf-mutes' convention, I enjoy talking with people.

Probably a great deal more than my bosses appreciate, but thankfully my gregariousness is not a hindrance to my productivity....if anything, it enhances it!

The question becomes, "if you're talking a lot, what are you finding to talk about?".

Of course with me it all starts with the "joke of the day"....( by the way, "what's the difference between the government and the mafia?....one of them is organized.” )...then it's on to sports, current events, the weather, and eventually....gossip.

As to the origin of the word....

Gossip - In merry old England, a godsib was a godparent of either sex, sib being the Anglo-Saxon word for "kinsman." When godsibs were together, particularly female ones, no doubt a fair share of idle talk occurred, and the word soon lost its d and its religious context and acquired the meaning of one with whom one chats intimately.

As to it's contemporary role as part of an organization’s or circle of friends' informational "grape vine", gossip is inevitable.

It is also as tantalizing as it is unreliable and it can be as mean-spirited as it is rampant.

My workplace being no exception, seemed the perfect place for my experiment.

I wanted to know how much NEGATIVITY I was contributing to its' rampant and tantalizingly unreliable network of gossip.

And I did so because of a promise I made to myself in the middle of a dear friend's funeral last year.

"Ginette", the tearful eulogist said, "never had a bad thing to say about ANYONE."

"THIS!", I said to myself was one of this fine lady's innumerable attributes that I could strive for.

If I had nothing "good" to say about someone, then I would change the subject, or shut up.

A "valiant promise" indeed but one which my experiment showed, I'd been breaking badly...."bad-mouthing", "insinuating", "trash-talking" "ridiculing", "nay-saying", and every other bent of "bleak blathering" you can name.

Now the beauty of a self-made promise, if you're sincere about it ( and in my case sober when making it); it's like one you broke with an angry girlfriend only this time she's on speed dial in your BRAIN.

And all the while I'm in the middle of a conversation, there's a familiar ringing in my head ( yes it DOES get quite noisy up there sometimes), that goes off whenever the old compulsion to throw my black hat into the ring arises.

And it reminds me once again that while I wasn't a horse thief in my old life, I sure did a Texas-sized heap of wallowing, reveling and relishing in my and others' misery.

It didn't take too much experimenting to discover how that defect could flourish quite nicely....how new AND improved only happens in advertising.

I got the "new" part....the "improved" comes from just trying to improve daily.....on a conversation to conversation basis.

It's actually turning out to be "fun" addressing this defect, and it's certainly something you can "try at home"!

There are some instances where finding something good to say about someone or something can be considered a great FEAT of imaginative prowess!

And sharing that "find" with positive energy, superfluous sincerity, and heartfelt flourish might well be a masterpiece of performance art!

And your experiment, a rousing success!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( hypothesizing)

Standards #60

Morning Friend,

"Doing a good job is sometimes like wetting your pants while wearing a dark suit...it gives you a warm feeling, but nobody notices !"

I have seen this quote on posters of a "'sheepish-looking" Charlie Brown so I assumed they were the words of the late great Peanuts creator, Charles M. Schulz himself.

Further research however attributes the words to a lesser-celebrated but no less prolific talent by the name of "unknown".

Ironic isn't it that the profound work itself should be like another good job running warmly down Mr. Unknown's legs as it's mistakenly credited to someone else?

I'm not sure which is worse, having your good work go unnoticed or someone else receiving the accolades for it?

The truth of the matter, ( here comes one of my "Life's Harsh My Friend"...), the truth of the matter IS, my friend... that MOST of our good works during our all too brief time on earth go completely unnoticed, and a good many ARE attributed to others - sometimes by some far less scrupulous individuals than ourselves !

In an ultra-competetive workplace this can be troublesome.

In a work environment where job security, compensation and advancement relies on good workers being identified, one could easily spend as much time ensuring they get correctly recognized for their efforts, as they spend on the work itself?

Or worse, one could spend ALL their time "sidling", "spinning" and "brown-nosing" instead of DOING anything other than taking credit for the good work of others?

On the other hand is the NON-competetive workplace like the "Union" shop where "accolades" and "bonuses" are neither sought nor given.

A "good" job requires that you show up on time and complete the basic required tasks.

You can "knock yourself out" all you want striving for excellence, doing extra, being the best, and going above and beyond, but all the "thanks" that you might get, won't buy you a cup of coffee.

So what's a poor soul to do in this "starkly cool and unfair" world where exceptional performance can go unnoticed, be stolen or is deemed unnecessary?

I would suggest that a person of high moral fibre and a strong sense of self-worth should have no trouble setting their OWN standards of job, and LIFE performance.

At the end of the day, ( unless you're sociopathic or otherwise deranged), it's YOUR face in the mirror.

IF you can face it, can you answer its' questions?

- Did I do my BEST today?

- Did I live up to my STANDARDS?

- Did I make myself PROUD?

- Can I set my standards HIGHER?

For many like myself who've found true success through a DAILY life of small, but not insignificant triumphs, the nightly ritual of self-assessment and evaluation is ALL the BONUS I require.

My "standard" is to simply do the BEST with the tools the Good Lord has given me.

I don't always get noticed.

Other people sometimes take credit for my work.

I'm not REQUIRED to go the extra mile.

But I am the setter and keeper of my own standards and they are high indeed.

I wrote a little question to myself and it's posted on my "office" door at work and on my kitchen wall which reads:

"IF I OWNED THIS COMPANY, WOULD IT BE IN MY BEST INTERESTS TO HIRE ME?"

In answering the question I'm often left with a warm feeling that doesn't require I wear a dark suit.

...or mutter "Good Grief" either.

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (acknowledged)

Anger-Shmanger #59

Morning Friend,

Before you go ahead and pop a vessel over burnt toast, bad drivers or uncooperative co-workers today, you might want to take a look at anger from a "cooler" and somewhat enlightened perspective.

Now because I'm no medical expert I've dug up some interesting facts on the physiology of anger that should be of interest, especially if you happen to be a "frequent flyer", ( as in "off the handle"?).

The following is from an article by Vijai P. Sharma, Ph.D...

"As America's number one killer, heart attacks account for nearly half of all deaths in U. S. Every year, over twice as many people die of heart attack as from all types of cancer combined. Other conditions being equal, a person given to angry outbursts and high hostility is at a higher risk of a heart attack, or even death than a person with low anger and hostility. We must remember that anger does more inward damage than can be seen by the naked eye. Anger hurts the angry more than it does the object of the anger. There is an oriental saying, that goes, "You will not be punished for your anger. You will be punished by your anger." This is a physical fact!

Let's look at the physiology of anger. During an outburst of anger, heart rate goes up to 180 beats per minute or even higher compared to the regular heart rate averaging about 80. The blood pressure too goes up, 220 to 130 or even higher, compared to normal readings of 120 to 80. Other harmful physical and chemical changes take place. Body uses up sugar extremely fast creating a sugar deficiency. As a result an angry person shakes in anger.

In the primitive order of the animal world, anger, aggression, and assault are one and the same thing. The body just knows that it is in a "fighting" mode in which it may be injured and bleeding may occur. To safeguard itself in the case of excessive bleeding, the angry person's body releases chemicals to coagulate (clot) the blood, therefore blood clots form more quickly than usual. Now a truly dangerous situation is at hand, that is, ( 1 ) bleeding has not occurred, and (2) a clot is formed which can potentially travel to any organ of the body, including, the brain or the heart.

In a fit of uncontrollable anger, in the case of a heart patient, the heart can suddenly stop due to that clot floating up to the heart and getting lodged there. In another case, heart arteries can squeeze off hard enough to choke off the supply of oxygen to the heart which can cause severe chest pains, creating the well known condition of "angina pectoris." A stroke can also occur when a person in an uncontrollable fit of anger bursts an artery in the brain. This is how anger can hurt the subject more than it does the object of the anger".

Now you're probably wondering my friend, how on such a gorgeous Autumn day with everything coming up roses in my life, why I'd choose to address such a tempestuous topic?

Well first of all it's nice to be able to write "about" anger as opposed to "writing angrily because I'm angry".

If I had to be angry to write, than I certainly wouldn't get much writing done, if any?

Besides the market is already flush with furious editorialists and curmudgeonly commentators looking to incite and infect the masses with their virulence.

MY goals are more along the lines of "shared enlightenment"...and of course a little "fun" :)

Not that there wasn't a time when I was frustrated and bitter and mad at the world. ( 1579 days ago actually !)

In those dark days, everything and everyone was against me from the weatherman to the government.

My health was failing, everyone around me were idiots and my Spiritual light was barely flickering.

And if there's a common thread to be found amongst "angry" people, ( besides the fact they usually die early from some sort of "blown gasket"), is the fact that it's ALWAYS SOMEONE ELSE'S FAULT!

You would think that in a world where one is completely perfect and blameless; mere PREY to the whims and folly of the imperfect world outside, that one would be better off and safer, staying at home and getting drunk? ( which is what I did actually. )

Strangely enough though, you reach a point in that so-called "safe" place and realize there's nobody around to get angry at, because you're alone.

The only one left to vent, rail and rant against is that bloodshot mess, staring forlornly at you in the mirror.

And if, at that moment you have the wherewithal to do an ACCOUNTING, you will realize all the previous anger has been sadly misplaced, misdirected, AND as it turns out, miss-USED.

The problem is NOT, the government, the weather, bad drivers, over-zealous police, your boss, your neighbor, bad luck, ill-will or misfortune!

The problem is YOU....being ANGRY instead of ACCOUNTABLE!

Getting angry changes nothing in life, ( except your cardiac function as Dr. Sharma told us ).

However, if the source of your anger is something that you can realistically change, and inducing such intensely powerful physiological symptoms already, then why not HARNESS that energy and put it behind a plow of RESOLVE?

You see just such an example of this in today's accompanying picture of good old Abraham "Harvesting Tomatoes in the Snow".

An unexpected "mini-storm" a week or so ago caught me with my harvesting "pants down" so to speak and I had obviously waited too long to pick the last of my tomatoes.

"#$&%(@)-WEATHER !!!!" , was my first instinctive thought of course, but from that angry energy I quickly decided that "all was not lost" and readied to conduct a "salvage mission" at first light.

The slightly soggy mission was a "sweet" success, owing in part to the hardiness of the Good Lord's tomatoes, and the calm resolve of his grateful friend!

And a few days later the #&*%$ weather turned nice enough to wear shorts again ( still ) !

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( mellow)

Ex-Tree-dinary #58

*NOTE: the following has been rated "P" by the Op/Ed Writers Society as it "may contain poetry or some form of writing laid out to look like it". (This is a public service announcement...."you're welcome"! A.S.)

Morning Friend,

I am humbled by nature.

And affected greatly by the seasons; CONTENT in Winter, EXCITED in Spring, GRATEFUL in Summer, and ....?

The FALL, used to be a severely depressing time for me, and it had nothing to do with the impending six months of local climate and terrain not unlike that found on Earth's moon. ( the dark side of it! )

No it was more a case of NOT being humbled, touched, moved or affected by nature in any way at all.

It was a case of living UN-naturally, and therefore not exalting the ever-changing, ever-beauteous seasons, but lamenting them.

Like a squirrel that had caroused all summer and not squirreled away anything for the Winter, my "nutty" existence was completely contradictory to what is considered natural behavior.

Sometimes my friend, a simple walk amongst the teeming life of the woods is a humbling reminder that I am but a tree in God's forest, and thrive best when not breaking, Nature's laws.

If I may, a little excerpt from what a little "cabin winterizing with Pop" over the weekend brought to mind whilst cavorting in the breath-taking woods of Traverse Bay!

Ex-Tree-dinary by tutall

I am yet breathless from an adventure

whereupon I walked upon

a beautiful carpet of late-fallen leaves

I heard summer summer's whispering wind

bid farewell coolly and coyly

as if to say, "See ya...later?"

The air heavy with the scent of harvest

was smoke-tinged

and wondrously familiar

In the eerie silence of the deep woods

gnarly tree limbs creaked

like an old man's bones

I saw beneath the blaze of color

that the forest's finery

had been but a mirage

The green skirt of earth's burlesque summer

lay strewn and kicked aside

by the naked trees

The once sensuous siren boughs

now hags' claws clutching

at falling beauty

In the tepid light of the low Autumn sun

the forest holds its' breath

gilded in patient bark amour

The long dark Knight of Winter is approaching

upon a hellish white steed

of icy mayhem

The trees are sentinels in stoic stances

guarding the hasty retreat

of those shelter-bound

There are casualties of fire and wind and time

and tears freely flow

nourishing the land with hope

Mighty treetops melt into the stage

as on exquisite cue

until Spring's curtain call

The long darkening shadows of Autumn

are cold empty specters

best left behind

The upturned eyes of the squinting trees

ever stare

at the life-giving sun

Never a backwards glance give they

at shadows behind

and beneath

I am yet breathless from my adventure

where I found the light of Nature

within God's sight

And the light fairly lit up my soul

and the beautiful carpet

of late-fallen leaves

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( Tree-mendously)

Ever fore #57

Morning Friend,

Here’s a “story” to put you asleep once the leftover turkey runs out.!

I was unable to obtain the services of Robert Bateman for the accompanying "artwork"; in fact the primitive scrawling is probably the least "Bateman-esque" you are likely to find !? ( "Crude but Effective Expressionist"? )

I image you’ll be able to glean any number of my underlying psychiatric issues from this "fairy tale"?, but on the whole I think it nicely reflects the afterglow I’m feeling after a blessed weekend of shared thankfulness, unabashed generosity of spirit, and a true bounty of loving nourishment.

May God bless my friend, all whose hearts are hearths of comfort and everlasting, ever-glowing, ever-giving love...evermore.

Ever fore by tImMy

The young moth took off along with her first breaths of life and soared as the breeze breathed purpose into her furtive and uncertain path.

It was dusk and the growing darkness only added to the already fearful moth’s sense of dread. She flitted aimlessly from branch to flower trying in vain to capture the warm coattails of the setting sun but soon realized it was setting faster than her spirits.

She finally settled upon a warm mossy rock that had been baking in the warm afternoon sunlight and she relished in its’ comfort as the air cooled around her. The moth innately knew that this lovely place – while a haven for the sun’s rays – left her vulnerable to predators such as the birds she heard madly chirping nearby.

She flew off the now cooling rock keeping as low to the ground as the strengthening wind would allow; her senses taut in desperation to find some form of light and accompanying warmth.

The young moth soon found herself faltering in the shroud of the darkening woods. It was getting cold….as cold as the graying light. She feebly thought of making a dash toward the dimly lit moon but realized thoughtfully that its reflected light held little comfort to a shivering moth whose waning strength was hardly up to such a journey!

Suddenly a wisp of wind tinged with wood-smoke painted the air and she flew off eagerly towards the tangy source. The wind ruffled and strained her beating wings and she fought and won several losing battles having to double back time and time again; the smell getting stronger….the essence getting closer….the feel getting nearer….and then….the SIGHT!

A blazing five-foot bonfire had been abandoned by some careless revelers and to the young moth’s delight there was no sign of their returning!

Gorgeous multi-colored flames lashed out and sucked the chill from the air, exhaling a blast of serious heat that drew the young creature forward like a fluttering mindless drone.

The warmth, the color, the smell and the crackling sounds were pure Ambrosia to the moth-maiden who, in her weakened delirious condition was about to fly head-long into the fiery abyss.

“Hold on there young lady!!!....”

The moth stopped dead in mid-flight - the booming voice like an invisible wall in front of her.

“What in the heck do you think you’re doing?”

Weak with shock and surprise, the moth fluttered to the forest floor at the outer edge of the bonfire’s seething heat and gasped, “ I….I…don’t know….I….who are you?”

“Well….last time I checked, I’m a fine strapping eight hundred degree crackling burning bonfire that would probably do little more than just singe your pretty and foolish wings you silly moth!”

“I am not a silly moth. I am just young and didn’t know better….but I’m thankful nonetheless for your consideration in saving me and showing me the error of my way. I’d surely enjoy the warmth of your company! Is there any way I can possibly pay you!?”

She now basked in the glow of the bonfire inching as close as she dare hardly believing she was actually having a conversation with it/him!?

A gust of wind stirred a vast wave of flame and a shower of sparks that the moth thought was meant as an end to their conversation but as she prepared to fly off the bonfire’s voice froze her with his its’ plea.

“I’m sorry about the wind….how it scared you. But I’d surely wish you’d stay!? That’s how you could… pay, though I hardly think you owe me anything…and if you’d like, I could tell you some stories!....before I…have to go.”

The aftermath of the sudden wind gusts had diminished the bonfire significantly and the moth found herself able to move ever closer, somewhat dangerously as the hot embers tickled her wings.

“Where do you have to go?” she asked with an uneasy sense of dread about her new and appealing “friend”.

“I’m not sure!? I was once ablaze with fiery strength and burning passion...it was like daylight in this clearing! But now....I’m weakening....burning up I suppose!? But never you mind....I’ve got SOME stories to share with you! Wonderful tall tales, and funny jokes and yarns of exploits and adventure that have been told and cherished right here at my very feet!! I’ll try my best to edit for content, since you’re so young and all! Some things in this life you’re better off finding out as you go!”

The bonfire’s tone reflected his own intensity as he shared his stories and his warmth with the enraptured moth. She reddened with embarrassment ( as much as a moth can I suppose!), and flushed with delightful laughter as he re-told the bonfire stories and fireside jokes he’d experienced.

The night passed quickly and giddily, as the bonfire relished the rapt joyousness of his precocious new friend. ( as it often does, among friends.)

With the passing of the night came the realization that the bonfire was dying. His voice had weakened like the fire that had battled the darkness through the cold hours. His spirit began to wane as his strength faltered like the flickering flames.

“I think I’ve...run out of stories... young lady.” The voice a mirror of the ashes soon to become cold in the silent fire pit.

“This has been....you have been....I....”, the last spoken in a breath swallowed up by the breeze.

“You can’t go!”, the frightened young moth was now dangerously close to the bonfire’s coals and hanging on to his words for dear life.

“Please don’t leave me Mister Bonfire!!!!....I....I love you!!!”

There was nothing in response but a dreadful silence as smoke wisped and then wafted from the blinking embers.

Frantically the moth rose up, her wings desperately fanning the cooling charred wood, pleading for a spark of response.

“Mister Bonfire!...Mister Bonfire!?....my love, please say something!”

Seeing one last glowing ember amongst the ashes, she saw with clarity and pure certainty, her beckoning destiny. How she was alive....how she was saved....how she had lived, and learned, and loved was owed to this fading force of life shared – and fulfilled.

The night is not dark by the fire of love, nor cold in its' company or lonely in its' memory.

The young moth hovered briefly, whispered his name one last time, and then flew headlong into the smoldering coal, bursting into tiny flume of fire...her last conscious feelings were those of the loving warmth of his embrace...and the eternal comfort of his words, “ I love you too!”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

love a long as you live (extraordinarily)

Grab Grass and Growl #56

Morning Friend,

Amongst the veritable cornucopia of topics I could discuss this morning, none seems more appropriate, ( given the time of year, and my wont to write about things I am passionate about), than Football.

Now perhaps you're not a fan of the game?

Perhaps you're not interested in anything "sports-minded" this morning?

Before you go reaching for the "delete" button, let me assure you this is not about the "sport" of the game, but rather its' ESSENCE.

Having played the game at a high level until a nasty shoulder separation, separated me, from aspirations of one day playing professionally, I consider myself qualified to expound on the "Ballet of Violence", that is football.

Despite shrinking student enrollments, the number of teams in our province's High School Football League reached a record 30 teams this year.

This is not only reflective of the game's popularity amongst fans and players, but of its' innate "character building value" by parents and school administrators.

A football program is costly to run, but factored into the thousands of dollars required to outfit a few dozen players are the intrinsic benefits to the school's spirit and community pride.

From my perspective, the dollar value is insignificant when one considers the incalculable value of the Life Lessons and immeasurable character development the sport offers.

One might say that any team sport is essentially a worthwhile tool in teaching good values such a teamwork and commitment, but in no other sport but football, are these lessons HAMMERED home with such agonizing aplomb, and succinct savagery.

Many who watch a 60 minute game are unaware of the countless torturous hours the players have spent in preparation.

Just the act of "stretching" ( a painstaking and strenuous affair essential for performance and injury prevention ), can take up to an hour and is done before every practice as well as games.

As you're watching players get tackled and practically bent in half in the process and you're wondering how they survive the ordeal, it's because they stretched themselves nearly in half before game time.

Hand in hand with flexibility goes supreme physical conditioning; the result of months in the weight room, endless hours of drills, and miles of running, followed by more miles of running.

I wouldn't go as far to suggest that my High School coach, the irrepressible and dynamically deranged Len Sitter, had sadistic tendencies, but his maniacal demeanor would almost soften to a happy grimace when there was PAIN in the air.

He lobbied fiercely against draining the mosquito-infested swamp behind the practice field at St. Paul's because of its' ergonomic suitability for "dry-land training".

Like all beloved and respected coaches though, he had the ability to unearth the "man within the boy".

And while there are of late some women playing football at the college level in the U.S., football is an extremely violent, Manly game.

It is a game of split-second precision and raw power.

It is a game requiring intense courage and poetic coordination.

It is a game with nurtures selfless temerity and extreme physical and mental toughness.

It is a game about which the late great Earl "the Earthquake" Lunsford coined the phrase, "Grab grass and growl!" ; in reference I suppose to its' primitive and yet poignantly earthy essence.

It is a game which develops camaraderie and builds character.

It is a game where success is measured not in individual performance but by TEAM excellence.

It is a game mirroring life's lessons which I'd venture to say has passed by the "troubled" youth we read about in the papers these days; kids that are grabbing the wrong kind of grass and "prowling", not growling.

And while there is a rare few professional ball players who aren't perfect role models for kids today, the truth is most of them are.

Booze and drugs are not synonymous with success in any endeavor in life, but least of all in the rigorously demanding game of football.

To coin a phrase from an old 1950's Blue Bomber fight song,

"...we're the boys from the Bomber Crew,

we don't smoke and we don't chew

and we don't go with girls that DO!"

Now you might be saying my friend, that your boy is too "slight" or "timid" for such a maelstrom of vigor?

Well if you look at the "handsome" nappy-headed young #79 with the "baleful stare", in the accompanying photo, you'll see a skinny-as-all-get out "bean pole" with the gentle heart of a lamb.

But put him out on a football field and that lad became transformed into a rampagingly fearless 165 pound wrecking ball with the heart of a pissed off lion!

And he most CERTAINLY did his best to avoid any of the aforementioned "girls that DO" !

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( Crusading!)

Dumdy Doo #55

Morning Friend,

I offer up to your contemplative mind today, the words of the immortal Roy Orbison...

"...only the lonely, dum dum dum dumdy-doo-wah..."

While many associate Roy's fame with his trademark Wayfarer shades and his warbling falsetto, it is deep and insightful lyrics such as these which stand him in my good stead.

Being the hopeless romantic that I am, and considering the self-imposed "relationship hiatus" I've been on for the past few years, I am especially sensitive to such deep emotional tugs.

Of course someone with less tightly wound heartstrings might be less inclined to be so moved, but even one with a "hardened heart" is not "heart-LESS" and therefore not completely immune to Roy's magical refrain.

I ask the question, (less succinctly perhaps than Roy's "dum dum dum"), "who is not human, that has not felt the dark pang of loneliness?"

Where a single "dum" would have been sufficient, notice Roy adds a second for emphasis and ultimately a tri-fecta of "dums" symbolizing a TRIANGLE, of loss, pain and emptiness; the lonely trio inherent to our human condition.

In those "dums" I hear the echoing cries of newborn baby lonely for a mother he barely knows, and the aching sobs of a widower longing for wife who'd become all he knew.

And like the painful reminder of a nasty wound, I hear all too well my own anguished cries of spiritual loneliness when my world had become a tragic triangle of dums. ( or in retrospect "dumbs"?)

"Only the lonely", intones Roy, whether through unforeseen circumstance or self-imposed, self-destructive antipathy, can truly know the insidious and relentlessly heart-wrenching nature of spriritual and emotional solitude.

Now before you suggest I'm reading quite a bit into a few "dums" which some might attribute as mere syncopatic syllables inherent to much of that era's music such as "doo-wops" and "sha-la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la", allow me to clarify by including what I believe belongs in any discussion on such a broadly applicable topic as human suffering.

And that would be Hope.

Or as Roy so beautifully puts it, "...dumdy-do-wah".

I ask you, ( as Roy does so subtly), "So long as we have breath fueling our beating hearts, and the desire to fill its' void, is there not always hope?"

Slightly hidden as it may be, within this anthemic song of heartache lies a message for us all who have walked the stoop-shouldered walk of longing, who've dreamed of fulfillment, prayed for redemption, and cried until tearless; "dumdy-do-wah!" ...."There IS hope"!

By golly I'm HERE as a living testament to realized hope...ACTION sprung from wishes, REALITY emerging from need and SUCCESS resulting from change.

I can't obviously express myself with the eloquence of Roy Orbison but I can tell you a few things about conquering loneliness my friend....

"Shooby-do!"....If you've got a spiritual void in your life, then you need to simply ASK and the Good Lord awaits.

"Do-wop!"...If your dance card is collecting dust instead of dates then you need to clean up your act...get to the gym, take some classes get out of the house and AMONG the living.

"Wanga-dang!"....If it's booze or drugs that's isolating you from life then get your lonely butt to one of a HUNDRED meeting places in this town where hope springs eternal.

"Shoop doop"....DO THE MATH -take but a few moments out of your despairing and do an inventory of your life, multiply it by how much worse it could be, divide it into workable short term goals and begin subtracting yourself from the ranks of the lonely.

You'll have to pardon me for taking some leaps of imagination over founts of optimism here. ( yes they ARE giving poetic licenses to just anybody nowadays! )

I do sow upon soil only recently made arable and highly vulnerable to the whims of nature.

Only the lonely, of whom I am a paid-up alumnus, tend to get a might over-exuberant when the void of hopelessness becomes replaced by something so much the more substantive....like love.

I'm not talking through my hat here....I'm singing through it.

love tImMy:/
Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live ( in song)

To Do #54

Morning Friend,

On such a poetically beautiful day I offer some beauti.....well, some poetry.

To Do by Tim Lawrence

There’s a certain piece of paper

upon which my days rely

No it’s not a hefty banknote

or a check of value high

It’s my handy-dandy “TO DO” list

ere revised but never tossed

Like a guide without a compass

without it I might get lost

Some folks I know fly through life

by the very seat of their pants

Taking things as they come

and leaving much to chance

But I am a creature of structure

spontaneity is for play

My list helps me prioritize

so no time gets frittered away

Reliability’s no accident

there’s no “trustworthy” gene

a challenged mind like mine excels

within a scripted scene

Now one might gaze upon my list

and find themselves dumbfound

This Maniacal Agenda

would run lesser men aground

Despite some trivialities

like household needs and such

I’ve several lofty things “to do”

and fear’s no more a crutch

Time is life’s sweet essence

every hour tinged with bliss

Every moment’s like ambrosia

with my accentuated list

There are eventualities in life

the great “To Do Unknown”

But my list is put on paper

and not chiseled into stone

It’s more of a Treasure Map

than a firm itinerary

A grocery list for a life lived well

a fool-proof recipe

There are ongoing projects listed

lest my enthusiasm quell

and the “little things” of fiction

that don’t “take care of themselves”

If there’s something I forget today

or an opportunity missed

It’s probable and likely

that it wasn’t on my list

I’ll admit it’s never-ending

I’ll cross one off as I’m adding two

But life’s much more fulfilling

when there’s so much more to do

Though this earthly time is precious

comes a time our souls are whisked

I pray my friend we’ll both be on

The Good Lord’s TO DO List

I’ll surely not get to everything

upon my list today

But I’m crossing off “write poem” now

and sending best wishes your way!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

love as long as you live ( doing)

Vigilance #53

Morning Friend,

It's very important for me to be extremely vigilant in my life today.

No there aren't any roving gangs of alcoholic instigators looking to shanghai me into a bender.

Nor do I worry about leaving a pop or a coffee unattended for fear someone might try and spike it.

And any man or woman alive ( except Sophia Loren?), would be wasting their time and energy trying to "convince" me to drink again.

The focus of my vigilance is the enemy within.....my own mind.

The voice.

The insidious virus of my alcoholism is for most of the time, Quarantined, yet it forever lies in wait.

It waits for my vigilance to wane ever so slightly so that its' whispered seeds of doubt may germinate.

"Look at you! Four years sober! ONE drink to celebrate?"

"C'mon....you quit once, you can just turn it off again?"

"What kind of a REAL man are you?"

"You know of course that your not drinking is a "red flag" for the ladies...you're either boring as pee on a plate or you're a psychopath, court-ordered not to drink!?"

"Hey you quit before ever trying Yagermeister...that looks like a wickedly fun drink, no?"

"How about getting on a good old GLOW, just for old times sake?"

"Your dance card is disgraceful young man...whatever happened to the old "Closing Time Closer"?....lotta tipsy empty hearts out there Champ!"

"After all this time, you should be able to CONTROL your drinking....weekends only?....maybe just a couple during the week?....just days ending in 'Y' ?

"What about your old Mantra....Drink like a MAN, get up for work like a MAN?"

"You've got a couple of free days coming up, c'mom NO ONE WILL KNOW!"

I should clarify my friend, that this viral voice does NOT plague my every waking moment with such "temptations".

Yikes!...I'd soon go mad with that kind of chatter constantly ringing in my head.

The truth of the matter is I very nearly did go mad when the voice had a foothold and dominated my daily stream of consciousness.

"Hey man you can't pass out yet...the vendor closes in 20 minutes and if you miss it, you'll wake up to an empty fridge....you don't want that!?!!"

"Yeah yeah, your life sucks...have another drink and forget about it!"

"TOMORROW you can think about quitting...jeez don't waste a good drunk worrying about that crap today!"

"There's nothing like a cold one on a ____day!"

"Another girlfriend dumped ya? Hey there's plenty of fish in the sea right!?"

"What do DOCTOR'S know? That teetotalling bastard probably tells that to everybody!"

"Like a blaze of glory old chap....doin' it YOUR WAY....that's how you want to go out.....live hard, play hard, die hard!"

I am gratefully blessed with ways and means to have shut that darned voice up and to soberly live and play hard. ( the dying part may not rival Bruce Willis in hardness but that's fine)

But it is a daily reprieve.

And each morning's prayer of gratitute includes a vow of continued strength and vigilence.

For no matter how many years of sobriety pass, I will always be but one drink away from square one.

In fact you don't even go back to where you left off.

You don't suddenly start "fresh"; developing a taste for booze and forging new drinking habits.

You start out a step back from your darkest days, only this time you are mired in the frustrating muck of heart-breaking disappointment.

You suddenly find yourself in the anticipated company of a dear old friend who to your horror, has not aged well at all.

Whatever physiological tolerance you had before is measurably weaker.

The tools for alcoholically functioning and the cues you relied on for drunken self-sustainment, are gone.

Your ever present virus relishes the fertile ground of your impairment and the now mutated and fully blown disease flourishes.

The circus....is back in town.

Only this time it's not Ringling Bros.....or anything close.

The lying, begins anew, but in a new and frustrating forum where no one cares to listen, because no one will care.

One of the greatest miracles to me in my recovery, is that I have managed to maintain the integrity of my quarantined virus, and not had a "slip" or anything remotely like one.

Despite the fact that the Good Lord's mercy knows no bounds and that A.A. especially caters to the recently fallen, I am having far too much "hard" fun to start all over again.

So you see why I have the need to be constantly vigilant.

And perhaps also why I seem sometimes lost in thought during the day.

(Sometimes I'm just day-dreaming about Sophia....)

Un-impaired by Tim Lawrence

This bitter nectar douses my upset
a fifth today, I’m not done yet

I know I’m quite a sight today
still lovely, in a hardened way

I was a Prince of promise rare
now an aging King whose Kingdom’s bare

Yes it’s the route which brought me here
hidden away from loved ones dear

But as redemption sweet was tossed
reconciliation’s lost

A reflexive smile as pain subsides
the drunken glee that anguish hides

I’m firmly planted in roiling sand
of sinking hopes – my helm unmanned

I missed the bus, my ship has sailed
a cab to purgatory’s hailed

And if I don’t apologize
it’s simple, I’ve no original lies

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live ( stick on ice)

The Imagination of Kings and Queens #52

Morning Friend,

While high atop the "giant" Ferris wheel at Tinkertown last week, it was brought to my oft-wavering attention by my three-year-old niece, God-daughter and "bestest buddy" Ashley, that "you can see the whole world from up here!".

As with many of her profound observations and those of my other two nieces; Angela 7 and Janelle 11, with whom I'd spent the thrill-filled day, I couldn't have agreed more.

Now there are certainly larger Ferris wheels in the world than Tinkertown's 30 foot high "horizon buster".

At the apex of the 443 foot London Eye which holds 800 people, one can see Windsor Castle...25 miles away.

The Singapore Flyer is 541 feet high, holds 784 passengers and boasts a view of parts of Malaysia and Indonesia....30 miles away.

The world's largest Ferris, or "observation wheel" is Beijing's Great Wheel. It is 682 feet high, holds 1920 people, takes a half hour to go around once, and from the top on a clear day you can see parts of the Great Wall of China....over 40 miles away.

Which is all fine and well I suppose for folks in those parts of the world with their apparent, and sadly limited perspective.

A child's perspective is not restrained by facts and figures.

A child's vision is not colored by societal conceptions.

A child's imagination is untroubled by comparative dimensions.

A child's interpretation of time and space can be representative of the boundaries of love and security and the quality of faith and trust in their lives.

If what they see, feel and hear on a daily basis are reinforcements of unconditional love, reaffirmations of God's unending Grace in their lives and reminders of their own unlimited worth, then a child's world becomes a borderless canvas upon which the palette of their imaginations may run wild.

Whoever it was who said "live each day like it was your last", could well have said "....like a joyous child at play!".

I have come to see, ( through ever-clarifying vision), that a child at play is like a joyous dream come to life.

And I am fairly awed by the love on which Janelle, Angela and Ashley are so exquisitely nurtured and the limitless imagination it inspires in them.

And I am immeasurably grateful to have felt the light of their love and the tremendous insight, humility and strength it inspires in me.

It is fear which limits a child.

It is disappointment which jades a child.

It is chaos which unravels a child.

It is darkness which extinguishes a child.

It was ( sister-in-law) Gwen's unfortunately broken leg which gave Mom, Dad and me the blessed opportunity to accompany "my girls" on their Tinkertown visit last week.

I'll admit to some preconceived disdain for the little "kids" amusement park just outside of town with "...the train that goes all around!", but since it was an annual family tradition that the girls were anticipating greatly, I readily agreed.

As so often happens when I am in their company, my not-quite-so "inner" child was reincarnated to the degree that I may have had as much fun or more than they did?

There are probably more than one person who was there who are still wondering about "those three lovely girls with that 6' 5" giddy galoot"?

Having Gramma and Grampa along turned out to be a wise idea in terms of structure and restraint!

No my friend, it's not Disneyland, or Three Flags, or The Ex, or even Wonder Shows.

But on that gloriously lovely day, "hanging out" with three of the most imaginatively ingenious, fanatically fun-loving, contagiously cool and beautifully blessed BLESSINGS that an Uncle could ask for, made it seem like the bestest one ever in the whole wide world!

A world which as I have previously stated, we could SEE....high above the clouds on the gigantic Ferris wheel.

I waved to those folks on the Great Wheel and some of them waved back!

...( kids probably).

love "tinker"-tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( giddily)

Cooking Rice #51

Morning Friend,

I was struck in the left brain by my amazing Black and Decker automatic rice cooker this morning.

It wasn't too terribly painful but I'm afraid it may have left a mark.

I don't think it was from being too close?.....I mean the thing has a glass lid for goodness sakes so you can gaze in wondrous awe at rice cooking to "perfection".

There is NOTHING in the instructions which says, "Caution! Overexposure may induce profound metaphoric musing. Symptoms lasting more than 4 hours require immediate editorial intervention!"

I was nevertheless stricken by how this remarkably simple and cleverly effective appliance is a lot like my life itself these days.

Let me first say that as one who has eaten and enjoyed my own primitively prepared "imperfect" rice on many occasions I can tell you I was skeptical about adding another "gadget" to my already space-challenged kitchen. ( It's so crowded I've got to go outside to change my mind!)

Besides which there was always an element of "'adventure" to rice-cooking that made the finished product - which could be anywhere in the range from "gloppy" to "crispy" - a little more palatable.

But I'm here to tell you, the thing works like a charm.

And the concept is simple. ( as simple as it must now be for the inventor to pretty well "print his own money"!)

What you do is simply throw in a specific amount of rice, water and spices, push a button, and walk away.

As Buckwheat would say, "It's a simple as that!".

Come back 20 minutes later and it's not only cooked but it's sitting in "warm" mode; a good thing indeed for those who might walk WAAAY away.

The machine has some sort of spring loaded SCALE which initiates the cooking cycle based on the weight of the uncooked rice and water.

Once the weight reduces to what "perfect and fluffy" rice should weigh, it clicks down into warm.

It's not "fool-proof" because you do have to put the correct ratio of rice to water but the measuring lines for that are clearly marked and the instructions are pretty concise and understandable, ( even to a pseudo-fool like myself).

Now the REAL beauty of this little beauty is in the spice.

You can put just about ANY flavoring your little culinary heart desires... from garlic ( my favorite), to lemon, tomato, pineapple, mustard, hot pepper, bacon, anchovy, curry....even cinnamon!

So there you have it my friend....POWER!

The power and abilty to concoct a perfectly textured side dish, ( or MAIN dish if you happen to be poor or oriental?) which you can customize, tantalize, kick up ( or down) a notch, zestify, inundate, fabulate and modulate....JUST the way you want!

As I sat there basking in the garlicky aroma of what was going to be part of my lunch today, and the aura of the magnificent day itself, I got to thinking about how so much of my day to day life has become simply beautiful, in its' beautiful simplification.

(I've got to do something with my mind without the rice to worry about now don't I?)

Do you ever lay in bed some mornings a little fearful of the day ahead?

And then when the courage to arise comes, it's tempered with hope, that it's going to be an O.K. day?

Do you then tip-toe discreetly trying to get through the day without too much fuss....blandly....like plain, ill-cooked rice?

As you may know, I spent years living like that.

Fearfully hoping that the days, and the rice, wouldn't be too terribly bad.

My recipe for living was complicated by alcoholic over-indulgence, convoluted by spiritual starvation, confused by erratic irrationality and decidedly not simple.

Feeling anywhere from "gloppy to crispy" made just getting out of bed in the morning an adventure.

In concert with the daily physiological toll that heavy drinking takes out on a person is a painfully palpable plethora of problems and confounding complications that just make everything, everyone and every eventuality difficult to swallow.

As far as flavor went, there always seemed to be too much of what you won't find on any spice rack; anger-root, sorrow-sauce, self-pity powder, fear-leaf, doubt-seed, pain paste, and of course always overdone with the hopeless-shire!

To have come from that, and now simply turning myself ON each day like a switch, knowing the day is going to be at a minimum "perfect" but likely moreso depending on how many notches up I choose to kick it, never ceases to amaze me.

Like that amazing little rice cooker.

I've got the Good Lord to thank for the perfectly amazing days.

And now Black and Decker for the amazingly perfect rice!

Amazing.

Love timmy:/
Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( truly)

The Family #50

Morning Friend,

Unlike the proverbial parents who were in the Iron and Steel Business, ("...my Mom ironed and my Dad stole..."), my Mom and Dad are big in the field of SHARING.

It is not surprising really, given the harsh lessons in survival, compassion, and good will learned at the feet of parents who'd endured the Great Depression. ( during which some people did iron and steal ).

In the still lean post-Depression years of their childhood, sharing was more than just an attribute of a well-rounded individual, it was a way of life.

Prosperity wasn't measured in stock portfolios but by how much if any, meat was on the bones in the soup pot.

Good fortune was a job - any job - and good health.

Supplemental income could be found through bartering, bootlegging and some seasonal hay-baling.

One could always afford to be charitable, if only from the heart.

Like a solid oak tree, the family was nourished and strengthened by its' roots; a cousin who had this, an uncle who knew how to do that, or a sister-in-law who was willing to part with something else.....

And as it flourished, each branch growing outward into the world is forever linked to those roots and held firm to the mighty trunk with the bark of family fellowship and shared love. ( and the "sweet"? memory of that big old grey tub of shared Saturday night bath water.)

Times change.

But Mom and Dad's memory of when turkey-neck soup and patched jeans weren't a delicacy and a fashion statement is still fresh.

Ideals change.

But one principle still and always works in their world..."When one has, everyone has....when everyone has nothing, at least we have each other!"

Morals change.

But the Golden Rule, one of my earliest life lessons, remains a cornerstone family tradition.

Family dynamics change.

But there's ALWAYS room for one more at the table.

I offer this bit of information this morning to the latest persons to have experienced the Lawrence Family Hospitality; David and Sheila Parker from Southampton U.K. who are just rounding out a ( much too brief) 2 week visit.

They met Mom ( finest problem solver the world ever saw), and Dad ( who never met a "stranger" in his life), last winter in Barbados and after discovering some remarkable parallels and shared experiences in their lives, they became "lifelong friends" instantly.

Their visit had been eagerly anticipated like "long lost relatives" and despite the weather, Mom and Dad managed a pretty full and interesting itinerary mix of culture, recreation and "down home" family get-togethers.

I'm not privy to all the shared experiences that those people find to talk about for hours on end.

They're nearly the same age, so despite being an ocean apart I'm sure they've faced similar challenges and some of the same generic family crises.

In the conversations I've had with the fun-loving "curmudgeon wanna-be" David, and the elegantly charming Sheila, I've reaffirmed my good fortune in being a member of my family.

The near incredulous delight in their eyes is like the light of God's love and the bright hopeful hearts of my family which led me from the darkness.

The warmth of their gratitude poignantly reminds me of the oasis of my family's love that sheltered me when my spirit was far, far from home.

How perfect strangers meeting in a strange place less than a year ago are today's Aunty Sheila and Uncle David lighting up the children's faces, sharing drinks and colorful jokes with the boys and gossip and recipes with the gals is a testament to the universal wonder and magic of sharing.

Like a shared loaf of day-old bread in lean times past, everyone gets a nice slice of peace, prosperity and joy at our family's table nowadays.

It's the way it's always been my friend. ( but with fresh bathwater)

It's a Family business.

G'day and God Bless.

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( spot on )

Limiting Out on Love #49

Morning Friend,

A single bloke needs all the help he can get on the wacky 21st century dating scene.

It's a jungle out there....a roiling sea....a frenzied maelstrom of uncertainty and peril.

Which is why, in an effort to calm the waters, I've "taken the gloves off" as it were and gone to the locked cupboard where the heavy guns are kept.

No I'm not talking mail-order brides here but something almost as sure of a thing.

Not a level playing field but one not imperceptibly tipped in MY favor.

I'm talking about renowned angler and ladies man Babe Winkelman's little known ( and surprisingly unpublished) guide to success for single gents: "FISHING FOR A DATE?....from Skunked to Scoring in 10 easy steps!"

As I began reading the dusty manuscript I was immediately stricken by one of those forehead slapping, "D-oh!...Why didn't I think of this before!?" moments.

He's taken several widely known elements of successful angling and applied them to the singles scene which for many single men is a veritable pond of loneliness.

I'll of course share some of Babe's brilliance with you today with a reminder that like the sport of fishing itself, you don't actually have to know how to fish in order to appreciate it.

I should also echo the sentiments of the guide's disclaimer which reminds the reader that "because LUCK is as much a factor in fishing as it is all areas of life, some days are just going to be "bad" ones, despite the very BEST of your efforts and intentions - remember, the thrill is in the chase....and at least you're not at WORK."

-BAIT Unless a gal is indiscriminately ravenous, like say a carp or a shark, she won't bite on anything unsavory. As you are the bait, you must appeal to all of her senses positively in order to trigger a feeding response. Freshness is appealing to all species. Loud or ridiculously matched clothing can and will frighten away many quality hits. Chumming the water with humorous or clever conversation is never a bad idea.

-PRESENTATION is the trickiest part of angling and goes to its' core....presenting the bait in the most flatteringly irresistible manner possible. Your mind should be a hooked array of sharpened wits and senses; a dazzling but not overwhelming...enticing but not overpowering LURE. Cast aside your inhibitions and troll the deepest depths undaunted by the odd, but easily overcome snag.

-LOCATION Fast-moving streams of females are often seen flowing in and out of nightspots around any urban region. But again the question begs what sort of catch are you after? Plenty of piranhas and scavengers to choose from here but you might be wise to try slower waters if it's "keepers" you want. There are as many locations to choose from as their are angling challenges, but none of them are attainable if you're at home on the couch in front of the T.V. or computer cutting bait.

-PATIENCE AND PERSISTENCE Forcing any issue at all with that particular hawg you've got on your finder is about as wise as yanking hard on a sunfish bite....nothing but grief all 'round. A fisherman trying too hard is about as subtle as blood in the water and likely to cause a leaving frenzy. The fishing story worth a shared lifetime will often have dozens of preambles positing and praising your patient persistence and aplomb. She will have been "...landed before she knew she was hungry!...".

-TACKLE an angler with his equipment in poor repair will be fishing the River of Tears and buying fillets on the way home. If you care for your gear like it was made to last a lifetime it will do so very effectively. Fresh lines and good leaders make for excellent action in even the most treacherous of structure, and unstructure.

-DEMEANOR & CHARACTER are as much keys to success in a fishing boat as they are on the Love Boat. The combination of steady hands, a keen eye and a stout heart distinguishes the pure angler from the bait cutting lunker. The strength of character gleaned from a healthy kinship with Nature and respect for all God's creation are a Master Angler's hallmarks.

-ETIQUETTE It is a popular myth really that fishing trips are nothing more than bawdy drunken getaways. Those are drinking trips with some fishing. A babbling drunk will catch just as many fish as he will dates -none of either- while the Fisher Man, at one with nature is feeling the undulations of his quarry with his soul and listening, to her approaching heartbeat as he visualizes her mouth....her lips.......

I'm sure if you've seen Babe Winkleman on television as I have my friend, you're probably having as hard a time as I did matching that jowly old mug of his to these powerful and insightful words, let alone his recently revealed reputation as a "chick magnet"?

Are there such things as "fishing show groupies"?

Nevertheless I can certainly see eye to walleye with him on several of his points.

It's cast things in a different light and given me some reel insight.

And if worse comes to worse I can always go fishing.

Or change my name to Babe?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( barb-less )

The Rest Stop #48

Morning Friend,

According to the unwritten "code" on the Palliative Care Ward at St. Boniface General Hospital, "no-one dies alone".

Despite that fact that no person, not even a doctor can predict exactly how long a dying person has, there are definite physiological signs near the very end which are synonymous with someone's last hours.

It is at that point in time that family members who may not already be at the bedside are notified.

It is at that point that reluctant goodbyes are softly encouraged to those present who may still be in a state of denial or are perhaps yet praying for a miracle.

Such a sight of soft comforting caresses and whispered loving murmurings at the end of one's journey is at times as powerfully beautiful as a Mother's loving embrace at its' beginning.

There are occasions when family must travel from out of town or have just left the hospital for a break when this crisis stage arrives.

Or in some cases sadly where the patient has no family.

This is where the "code" comes into play and staff members take turns at the bedside until family members, or the end, arrives.

Unlike the nurses who have other patients' ongoing issues to mind, the bulk of this bedside duty was often gladly undertaken by yours truly.

I have as yet in my life experienced nothing as profoundly humbling or soulfully illuminating as this communion with the dying.

To whisper softly, "It's O.K. now....you're alright....it's O.K. to go now..." as you caress the worries out of a furrowed brow and grasp their cooling hand in a loving farewell as the Good Lord blessedly takes it into His own.

And you have MEANT those last words because it IS "O.K."....for that person's winding road of life has led them to this safe and spiritual place of earthly disembarkation where the fellow seeing them off is pretty much "A.O.K." !

What little you know of that person and their life, and whatever is going on in your life, become instantly insignificant to the poignant sharing of two heartbeats; one slow and hearty, the other weakly fluttering....until there is just one.

You don't have to experience that too many times before you develop a pretty fair appreciation for the beauty, fragility and calculably finite nature of life.

My own journey has been beset with a plethora of terrains and at times, pitfalls, but the years where my "road" was a hospital hallway accompanying those in their final mile was paved with supreme and sacred honor.

Now my friend, you're wondering "why?... on such a gorgeous summer morning Ab, are you writing about something so "bleak"???

Well it's because death is a part of life... it just happens to come at the end.

So until you get there, which you will too soon enough, I just felt like offering a friendly reminder - especially on such a fortuitously fantastic day.....to GET LIVING!

And also to say that any "problem" that life throws at you, short of a terminal illness, is just that: a problem short of a terminal illness.

And as a special Monday BONUS, I'd like to share a tribute I wrote to the "special" ( a word which doesn't nearly do them justice), people who work with the terminally ill.

At St. Boniface the ward is now located on the 8th floor but this was written at the time they transferred from the 3rd.....thus the reference to "Highway #3".

God bless them... bless you....share the blessings!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (compassionately)

The Rest Stop ( on Highway #3 ) by tImMy

Here did lone stars tarry between heaven and earth
Singe-winged angels found rest, redemption and safe passage
Here is where weary travelers paused between life and rebirth


Here did fretful souls strengthen thou bodies failed
No tear-soaked pillow could extinguish the fire of a lifetime
Here; the port from where valiant ships of destiny sailed


Here were last steps taken; uncertain and exquisite as the first
the intervening miles of triumph and tragedy were sustaining memories
Here the best was provided for those at their worst


The walls still echo with the passion of those who cared here
Their comforting faith rendered desperation into something somehow manageable
Here the floors are stained by those who managed all but their own tears


Here were forged fierce bonds of camaraderie, devotion and love
Many found purpose and exaltation within a phenomenal team
Days ended with the gratitude of strangers and the favor of God above


Here is where life's trivialities were treated inconsequentially
Everyone seemed to know a happier farmer on a rainy day
Here is where every easy breath was cherished exponentially


Here is where suffering became rapture and wretchedness glee
Heroes reigned on either side of a bedrail;
scientists and truckers, poets and housewives
Here is where the dying ceased, at the Rest Stop, on Highway # 3

Abraham's ( Summer) Glossary - #47

Morning Friend,

Because the beauty, the bounty and for some, the beastliness of Summer is so often indescribable, I have called upon my uniquely bent perspective and constructed a crude glossary to accomplish that very thing.

With August's arrival comes the MEAT of the summer season in this part of the world, so with none too great a measure of humility I present to you this morning, a "side of potatoes and gravy" as it were...

ABRAHAM'S ( SUMMER ) GLOSSARY

( with apologies to linguists... and the overly sensible/sensitive/sequestered)

* in no particular order

BLEEN - poor vision associated with cheap sunglasses.

NOSKEET - the speedy and seamless entry into a tent or cabin accompanied by the least number of insects possible.

PEERCHER - an obviously badly sunburned individual who continues to frolic in the sun seemingly unaware - or drunkenly indifferent- to their burgeoning blisters and imminent agony.

SKIRTION - a collision resulting from a driver's distraction by scantily clad pedestrians.

REPHALATION - the return of the male anatomy to its' normal state following cold water "shrinkage".

SHMEBS - the endless festoon of spiderwebs and caterpillar strings which strike one's face while walking in the woods.

SHWACKS - the endless branch-slaps in the face associated with walking too closely behind someone through moderate to heavy brush.

FUNGY - the way a log gets after a year or more on forest floor.

ORSINATION - the ability of dogs, cats, large rodents and even tree branches rubbing together in a dark forest at night to sound exactly like hungry bears.

SEROON - a pristine state of mind generated by the glassy surface of a lake on a windless day.

BOTTOMOBIA - fear of impending doom while in a leaky boat during bad weather.

FLEISHING - the acceptable practice of sharing untruths regarding fishing achievements.

EXFINATION - the increase in size ( usually 10% per "tell") of a fish in a fish story.

GOOSH - to start a campfire using gasoline, kerosene, or other highly flammable accelerants.

FROZID - the unfortunate and infinitely uncomfortable combination of being cold and in wet clothing simultaneously.

MOGG - irritating person ( often drunk) who incessantly and hazardly stirs and piles wood onto an already blazing campfire.

MOGG-DUNKER - one who hurls a Mogg into the nearest lake after having their hair and clothes set afire by an errant ember shower.

FARTILLA - the smell inside an enclosed tent or camper occupied by one or more imbibers of beans, legumes and/or several beer.

EXCELLENATURAMUNDO - the sound of car doors closing at the last pit stop before heading out of town for the weekend.

TOP DRAWER - expressing first class excellence such as campgrounds with hot showers and flush toilets.

CARDIOPAUSE - the momentary cessation of vital signs upon jumping into cold lake water.

DINKLING - the slow and often painstaking process of reaching thigh-depth into a cold lake.

COALITE - one extolling the oft unrecognized dietary virtues of carbon while eating a burnt-black wiener or marshmallow.

KAKITY - the smell and sound of the city after a weekend spent in the outdoors.

GOSHING - the suppression of common curses and epithets following a mishap, such as losing one's camera, watch or wallet out of a boat in deep water.

PALATADROME - the phenomenon of food tasting better cooked outdoors.

BLUELIP - the hypothermic appearance of manic but otherwise healthy children frolicking in cold lake water.

TICKORTIONISM - the self-examination of one's nether regions for wood ticks.

BUNYONIA - the exhilaration associated with splitting a log with a single blow.

BUNYACKING - the none-too precise process of removing an axe deeply imbedded in a large "green" log.

SHEWING - eating fish ( often poorly filleted), that has bones in it.

HERKEMER JERKWATER (1892-1912)- the one and only documented case of a man choking to death on a fish bone. Jerkwater, a drifter from Chicago where he was known as the "town drunk" reportedly had visited a less than reputable south side sushi bar where several witnesses described him drunkenly "inhaling" raw fish before an errant bone finally did him in.

RESERTAFICATION - the renewed appreciation for one's own bed after a weekend in a tent.

LURUSION - the misguided belief that the appetites of most fish species are enhanced by heavy rainfall.

APPETITIOUS - the smell of bacon cooking on a open fire.

FOCALBURNERS - ill fitting or ill advised styles of swimwear.

SOPHIAN - the extraordinarily wonderful way your wife or girlfriend feels ( and smells) in your arms after a weekend fishing with "the boys".

INCONTINENTAL - one running away from a bear.

URINTITIS - the non-emergent need to pee while in a sleeping bag which can wait till morning.

EUFORESTIA - the supreme sense of awe, wonder and gratefulness to God one experiences in Nature.

Enjoy the rest of the summer my friend!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( interpreting)

Shine #46

Morning Friend,

I've been taken advantage of in recent weeks and I can't quite put into words, how wonderful it is.

No, I'm not talking about the advantage-taking that costs virtue, but rather the type that requires it.

And that would of course be, designated driving.

It is a heretofore unrealized joy to be so vigorously entrusted.

Oh I've given LOTS of people rides home in my life previously, but MANY of those times were very much hope-tinged and faith challenged.

Back then we hoped I was "still O.K. to drive" and held great faith and store in "the God who looks after drunks and small children".

I actually cringe when I think of the dozens of times I "one-eyed" it down the road foolishly flaunting a carload of friends' lives or woke up not remembering a 30 minute drive home the night before.

I must say I was never as bad as Rodney Dangerfield who, the day after a drunk had to "look for his car....and take back the car he took !"

Now, with a virtuous - or at least soberly so- Mr. Stainer running the shuttle, we all may have faith and comfort in the certainty that the night's revelry will end as perfectly as it should with everyone tucked in safely at home.

...well I don't actually do any tucking, but you get my drift.

As far as taking advantages go I'd have to call this a saw-off.

It's certainly a "win/win" for yours truly.

- I get to drive...a pure and personal pleasure.

- I don't drink anyway so I'm not sacrificing anything.

- I get to "work the room" with new jokes.

- I get regaled by the drink-inspired Wisdom of Kings.

- I get reminded of how "unwise" and "unkingly" drunks are.

- I get a small measure of redemption for past foolishness.

- I get my beloved friends home safe and sound.

- I get the good feeling associated with being on the right path with the Good Lord as my co-pilot.

It was at one of these recent functions that my own journey was lit with the memory of an old friend who lost his way on the path.

It seemed that most, if not all of the crowd remembered me for a poem I'd written for his funeral.

He was a most beloved fellow and it is a testament more to the enormity of his bittersweet legacy, than my humble words said 5 years ago which triggered so many sad smiles remembering "Johnny Shine".

Johnny was one of those individuals who actually shone; a light of enthusiastic eloquence, effervescent energy and unconstrained calamity to his world and all who were a part of its' wondrous collage.

He was a man of great excesses both good and bad, but the good far and away out-shone the bad and you would have liked him my friend.

On the road of his life however you would have to have called him a "reckless driver".

He wasn't killed in an automobile accident but he nevertheless died along his road, desperate, for a designated driver.

He was alone.

Truly and sadly.

If he'd only known then what I have since learned , I am certain that my friend Johnny Shine would have caught a ride with someone.

And knowing that keeps my co-pilot permanently in the jump seat.

And it makes being taken advantage of... like a ride home.

love tImMy:/

Johnny’s Shine by Tim Lawrence

Wait for me down at the riverbank Johnny, with crawlers whiskey and a song

Sing loudly so I can find you, but wait cause I won’t be too long

Tell me a story at the riverbank Johnny, make me laugh while you’re catching more fish

Smile like the glistening water, grin like God’s granted your wish

Catch me a fish at the riverbank Johnny, put your line true to the test

Fish till you’ve limited out, till it’s time to finally rest

Sing me a song at the riverbank Johnny, I’ll join in and sing along with you

We’ll sing about heartache and pain, about sweet love precious and true

Hold my hand down at the riverbank Johnny, I’m hurting and I need to know

Was the Winter’s too long frozen river, the reason that you had to go?

Let’s say a prayer at the riverbank Johnny, put down your rod and your pain

Let’s look to the heavens together, and pray we’ll be here once again

The sunshine rains down on the riverbank Johnny, you’ve caught now release all your woes

Your wonderful spirit is sailing dear friend, away upon God’s river flow

Wait for me down at the riverbank Johnny, I’ll join you and we’ll wet a line

There’s “honey” spots along Heaven’s river, for you and me dear Johnny Shine

For My Friend Johnny Peters

May 2004

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (advantageously)

Making your own luck -#45

Morning Friend,

A local woman who last week won a third share of a $10 million lottery says a fortune teller predicted that very thing....30 years ago.

Isn't that amazing!?

Boy, now I know why they call them "fortune" tellers.

And skeptical old me used to think that those sideshow seers were nothing more than heartless shills who took advantage of people's superstitious naiveté and hopeful vulnerability. ( like the one who said I'd be "happily married with 4 children"!?)

Now old "Zelda" - which I'll call our prodigious prognosticator - was likely non-specific about just when the lottery would be won so 30 years is not too outrageous of a "window"; maybe for romance, but not money.

It's probably not in Zelda's best interests to reveal actual dates associated with her visions.

The titillating vagueness of her predictions keeps the "marks"...I mean CLIENTS coming back.

And I can certainly see tremendous problems associated with someone KNOWING the actual date on which they are going to be a winner.

Our winner- whom I'm calling "Esperanza"- might have spent the last 30 years lollygagging instead of faithfully working and spending her $12 a week on lottery tickets.

Indeed Esperanza might well have become a rather unsavory, lackadaisical character if she simply rolled through life KNOWING that her reward was just a few decades down the road.

Imagine the TAB she might have run up... if anyone could run one for 30 years? ( there goes your 3 mil!)

Imagine how many people she might have alienated and bridges she might have burned knowing a small fortune was just...a short half a lifetime away.

Imagine what a mindless blur the 30 years would be; holding on...and waiting.

Imagine 30 years of colorless and odorless TODAYS spent longing for the taste and essence of tomorrow's promise.

I can't imagine a jail sentence being any less debilitating to one's enjoyment of life than simply marking time till your ship comes in.

I don't imagine any sized jackpot could compensate for that many lost years.

Besides making interesting copy for the media, these warm and fuzzy stories about lottery winners and fortune tellers are a boon to lottery sales and the fortune telling industry.

This particular one got me thinking, after I stopped laughing.

I'm quite certain that Esperanza hasn't spent every Thursday, Saturday and Sunday morning of the past 30 years checking her lottery numbers and cursing Zelda's incompetence.

Like everyone else with a dream, a lucky rabbit's foot, a four leaf clover and a crystal ball's "certainty", she's been faithfully buying tickets; likely more faithful in the need to have a ticket in order to win, than the accoutrements of superstition and luck.

The approximately $18,720 ( not counting Casino visits), which she's spent in the last 30 years is certainly "chump change" now that she's won $3.3 million, but she earned it along the way, working, living her life and hoping... for the Big One.

Well "good for you Ezzie!" I say, and "good for Zelda" also, who will likely be booked solid for a long time, ( unless the poor dear saw her own demise in the same imminent vision as Esperanza's windfall?)

For many folks, the Ultimate Lottery Grand Prize awaits with the Good Lord in Heaven.

No fortune teller of any prowess can predict the winning names or dates of this multiple-winner-lotto.

It's drawn at any and every second of every day.

Winners come from all walks of life; all stations and situations.

You can get a ticket everywhere you find someone in need of helping hand or a kind word.

The smile, the grateful handshake, and the warm feeling are advanced subsidiary prizes.

While "luck" doesn't enter into this contest, I count myself blessedly fortuitous in recent years to have discovered the strength, humility and serenity needed to tip the odds in my favor.

Remember my friend the bottom line of lotteries the world over....you can't win, if you don't have a ticket.

In the meantime, if a fortune teller sees romance in your "future"....ask her if she can narrow it down a bit.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (fortunately)

Is is just me? #44

Morning Friend,

There's nothing really at all that I consider myself an "expert" at ( disregarding "drinking myself stupid" ).

But like anyone else who's lived a goodly number of years I am "experienced" at a great many things.

I once mistakenly, and quite foolishly followed some friends down an "expert" ski run at Banff one year; they skied...I tumbled, so I can attest to the sometimes painful knowledge that some things are best left to experts.

Like anyone though with a few decades of experience under their belt, ( or someone after a few too many belts), I have no shortage of opinions.

I believe it's been said opinions are like noses....everyone has one. ( It's actually not "noses" but some other singular bit of human anatomy which more effectively colors the saying but which I needn't highlight for today's purposes).

If you've read more than a few of these than you already know where I stand on a number of issues - I have quite a few "noses" essentially.

I come by them quite honestly being raised by intelligent and highly opinionated parents in a 7 children home where intellectual opinion, frank discussion and borderline-chaotic verbal exchange was never in short supply, and was in fact fostered.

Having parents who are polar opposites on many sociological and political issues, but have still stayed married for 51 years, has taught me much about respecting the opinions of others, admitting when you're wrong, agreeing to disagree....and not going to bed mad.

I have learned that unless you're alone on a island, it's best to keep one's ears and mind open, as well as one's mouth while opining.

You and I might have differing opinions on certain subjects my friend, but through calm and respectful discourse, or a heated and grudgingly tolerant debate, we can often both learn how dead-on right, or terribly wrong-headed both of us are.

With that in mind, I present an olio of experience-based and NOT expert opinions for a lovely Monday's mulling entitled, IS IT JUST ME.....

...or wasn't last Wednesday the "point of no return" for the changes needed to avert the Global Warming Catastrophe?....or is it THIS Wednesday?....or was that the ICE AGE?

...or do the oil companies think they are "fooling" anyone during the annual summer GOUGE?

...or is it a coincidence that successful athletes don't drink or smoke?

...or is any sight more insulting to the feminine form than an overweight woman in spandex?...WHO is telling them they look "hot"?

...or shouldn't the men's Speedo be outlawed...forever?

...or isn't it about time that we realize our present-day "justice" system doesn't work, and go to a tried and true method like public flogging?

...shouldn't store bought "tomatoes" be given another name, since they don't smell or taste remotely like the real thing?...how about "air-atoes"?

...or are young women's fashions mindful of many classic literary and film characterizations of prostitutes?

...or isn't it time to put God back in our schools?...Who hasn't yet made the connection between youth crime and Spiritual deficiency?

...or shouldn't we be allowed to administer one firm but thoughtful "cuff to the back of the head" of people who have attained a level of ignominiousness so deplete of basic intellect as to render them ignorant of their own stupidity?...like most drivers?

...or shouldn't the word "promise" be banished from political jargon, or have we become collectively content to be governed by liars?

...or has the human imagination run dry and all the "good" ideas for movies been used up?

...or have cell phones and texting taken the anticipatory wonderment and romantic mystery out of courtship and relationships?

...or is it not a crying shame given today's technologically advanced and globally conscious world, that millions of people suffer and die each year from HUNGER when there's plenty of food to go around?

...or do not enough people "smell the roses" until it's too late?

I think that about covers the "top of my head" this morning.

I of course welcome any and all rebuttal...especially from experts!

...and I promise not to go to bed mad.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( off the fence )

Pomodoro Papa - #43

Morning Friend,

In an effort to fill the void of parenthood that I've unfortunately let pass me by, I've taken to raising tomatoes in a make-shift garden on the rooftop of my apartment.

I can actually feel the breeze created by your, and a hundred other eyebrows raising at the notion of my comparing child raising to tomato growing, but bear with me.

Granted it is no small stretch of reality and imagination, but that's what we do here.

And of course I'm not talking about the entire parental void, from pre-natal to graduation, rife with uniquely human folly and happenstance that no botanical lifespan can match.

My tomato "children" arrived well out of diapers, colic and the assortment of diseases and ailments that plague a child, and parent's early years, at about "pre-school" age you could say.

You could also say that these "adoptees" couldn't have found a better "Dad".

Or a safer home above the mean streets atop a warm and fragrant pizza restaurant drenched in all day southern exposure.

My landlord is unaware of my little "horticultural daycare" but until M.M. starts publishing in Italian, my family is safe.

Rooted as they are outdoors I never have to shoo them away from the computer and out into the fresh air, nor do I fret about them roaming the streets with gangs of unsavory peppers and wild dill, or running off in a pickup truck of farm tomatoes looking for a good time in the big city.

Their elevated position keeps them safe from garden raiders, and me from having to install "sitter-cams".

Because I like to "putter" in the garden, especially on hot and sunny days with a good book and a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic ( S.P.F. 0 ), I spend a lot of quality time with the kids.

Notice I said "putter" and not "putsky"; a word my Grandmother used in reference to unsavory and decidedly unproductive activity.

For Granny's sake, , I try not to "putsky" around if I can help it at any time and certainly not in front of the children.

They seem to enjoy the music I play in front of them, but because of the great variety of artists ( Vivaldi to Velvet Revolver), I'm not sure which might be credited for their prolific growth. It might well be the blues bands that play twice weekly beneath them?

Or the sound of traffic along the busy street below?

Or the sirens of ambulances coming and going from the hospital across the street?

Or the sound of my voice as I talk to them?

Not the face to face, sit down, heart to heart talks that made me cringe as a youngster, no not those.

I greet them warmly and make sure to always compliment and encourage them.

As with music, I'm not sure whether smoother tones work better than harsh ones, and I'm not of a mind to experiment with the impact of critical and negative influences on my plants.

We already know my friend what that does to real children.

Besides which, there's always the chance that they might decide to just not listen to me, in which case I'd be talking to myself? ( which is okay I guess if you're alone on a rooftop...or a "real" parent?)

If plants could be obese, then mine would be fodder for bullies, because I feed them religiously and prodigiously.

Fortunately they have good drainage which compensates sufficiently for my and Mother Nature's over-watering. ( Ahh that it could be as simple with some of our more gluttonous offspring!?)

* I'll share a SECRET you can use next year if you're so inclined. Place a banana peel beneath the roots when planting....young tomato plants do quite well with the potassium boost!

As for the rest of their nutritional needs, they get a nice little scoop of Miracle-Gro every few days, ( mixed with their water "on the sly" of course...it doesn't do to tell them its' "good" for them).

I do my own pruning and while it's not "professional", it's not a "bowl cut" either.

I don't know much about today's styles - as one look at me will confirm - but I do know that a well pruned plant, like a well groomed child, has better odds of being successful.

You won't find Plant and Family Services visiting me on account of my unruly children.

While it certainly hasn't been a perfect growing season, my kids are doing quite well.

There are some things which affect them that I frustratingly, have no control over.

I just do the best I can with the things I do.

Children and plants, are remarkably resilent.

I realise that with minimal or even derelict care my plants would blossom ( which they did beautifully), and eventually bear fruit ( which they have recently begun to do marvelously), but to see them actually THRIVING; at the top of their game... the Peak of the Market...as veritable valedictorian vinelings, is so intrinsically delightful and succinctly satisfying as to make anyone feel like a Proud Father!

With parenting as with gardening, you reap what you sow.

Makes me glad my parents had "green thumbs".

* I will of course enjoy eating my tomatoes as they reach maturity ( on toast with mayo mostly). Isn't that what some species do with their young?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (fertilely)

Getting There - #42

Morning Friend,

There's nothing quite like the warm and fuzzy feeling of encountering old friends while out for drive on the highway, especially if they're the same idiots whose incompetence at 50 kilometers an hour in the city is so dangerously enhanced by the perilous variables of greater speed and slightly trickier circumstances.

Ahh yess....that's Him! I'd recognize that slackened jaw, the pointed; almost "pin-like" head and those maniacal "HEEERRE'S JOHNNNY" - Jack in The Shining - eyes anywhere !

How comforting it is to know that statistically, for every 1% increase in road speed, there is a corresponding 3% increase in accident likeliness.

Hmmm, that's strange....I'm doing 102, ( thanks to my trusty cruise control), and he seems to be bearing up behind me pretty quickly?

That kooky nutty guy!....Not in a hurry AGAIN is he?

One would think that on a rainy Saturday morning with the wind howling and the roads slick as a duck's back, that you wouldn't see too many folks "high-balling" down a two-lane highway unless they were;

A- Law Enforcement

B- E.M.T.'s

C- Drunks

D- Fools

E- combination of A/B

F- combination of C/D

G-Grandma going to bingo

F- late for his/her wedding

My old friend who now appears to be wanting to pass me, is most certainly a "D" which poses any number of reasons why he is choosing to place his life, mine, and any number of innocents' in jeopardy.

The first, which I cannot discount, is the fact that he may well just be plain old stupid; a garden variety idiot.

I mean, "passing" on the highway in ideal conditions is a skillful maneuver requiring a more than of modicum of intellect and a good measure of common sense.

To attempt to do so during a rainstorm with fairly heavy "Cottage Country" traffic on a highway interspersed with several stretches of on-going construction is the province of only the dimmest of wit, and/or drunks.

I'll give my friend the benefit of the doubt and suggest that given the early hour of the day he is not drunk. ( or perhaps not yet anyway?)

And I'll go a step further and suggest that he is not, a narrow-minded simpleton with no regard for human life, his own included.

A good number of otherwise relatively sound-minded individuals spend however many years of highway driving (their luck and providence allows), believing that somehow every car passed on the highway is another key to the mystical time/space continuum propelling them like anti-matter forward into a realm of existence far into the future.

It's believed that if you "bend" the speed limit enough you can fool Father Time. ( if you can avoid Father R.C.)

I would suggest that this fellow honestly believes that what awaits him at the end of an hour-long journey, is going to be magically better if he can get there in 56 minutes.

Every heart-pounding, white knuckled hair-raising time he just misses piling head-long into a grain truck or a family of four in an SUV, he is shaving valuable seconds off of his accursed "speed limited" journey.

There are "things" going on "there" that he's missing out on; against which the pleasing summer sights of lush greenery, rolling farmland and ever-growing crowds of welcoming timber cannot compete.

There is certainly nothing offered by his satellite radio, CD player or the pleasant company of his companions that can come close to the 4 minutes of unbridled delight, immeasurable richness, and ecstatic fulfillment that a few close calls can garner, so long as those minutes are spent "there".

As my deluded friend, now a full and precious 2 seconds past me, pulls in just in the nick of time, the horn of the van he just missed blares as it whizzes by and I needn't be too imaginative to discern the nature of the van driver's none-too-polite exclamations of surprise and exhortations of good-will.

I on the other hand, steeped in Serenity as I am of late, am just happy to see the poor fool's taillights and simply pray, for either his car to break down....or a single, vehicle accident with one, fatality.

I know that's a bit harsh my friend, but the unfairness of life being what it is, these Ultra-Maroons end up taking innocent lives with them and if there's a more appropriate use of the word "needlessly" than I'm not familiar with it.

Life is a journey of journeys...trips between adventures....a voyage of living.

The ride between here and there is the perfect opportunity for orientation, introspection, and contemplation.

What's the point of racing from here to there if you die along the way?

Accident rates rise exponentially with speed, so if everyone sped, no-one would get anywhere.

Half the fun is getting there, the other half is getting there alive...slow down and enjoy it!

We pass through God's lovely garden but once and to not savor its' essence, cherish its' beauty, seize and embrace it with slow and exquisite passion is shameful, and in some cases, dangerous.

If you're late for your wedding, it's both.

For you, ( and Grandma) they'll clear the highway.

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( between the ditches)

Waiting For Dad - #41

Waiting For Dad

T’was a day of chance and circumstance

that I miss-stepped my bounds

Not a felony really

but my Mother’s ire resounds

“Wait till your Father gets home!”

those ominous words I heard

Not quite a “gallows-cry” you see

but one which frays young nerves

The memory of past miss-deeds

punctuated Mom’s refrain

And set my hide a tingling

as I awaited corporal pain

It couldn’t have been too serious

and seldom a repeat offense

You “wait for your Father...” enough times

you eventually learn some sense

It wasn’t so much the spanking

Dad’s were measured and deserved

That dreading fearful waiting

should have counted as “time served”

And Good Old Dad was punctual

no doubts or shades of grey

A digression in early morning

meant a VERY long waiting day

But waiting served me two-fold

as these memories I embrace

ONE – to see my error of my ways

and TWO – to prepare my case

If a tanning was necessitated

by my oft-reluctant Judge

it was tempered with hugs thereafter

cause he never held a grudge

My goodly share of justice,

the odd merciful reprieve,

and the accompanying lessons

made me a better man I believe

I pity the Fatherless families

Sail-less ships upon the sea

no waiting for God’s Light to come home

no “Hey Dad, look at me!”

My heart goes out to children

Soldier/Fathers far away

waiting for their brave strong Dads

to come on home to stay

I pray for Fathers absent

that they return from whence they roam

God comfort the child who longs to hear

“Wait till your Father gets home.”

There are consequences in life

This is one thing I do understand

You won’t learn about them in books

as from a Father’s firm loving hands

Cherish your Father dearly my friend

even now that you’re too old to flay

make every moment special

like you’ve been waiting for him all the day

Thanks Pop!

Happy Father's Day to Good Father's, everywhere :)

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live ( behaving )

You Can't Go Back - #40

Morning Friend,

"I hope I die before I get old."

Pete Townshend

( "My Generation" - 1965)

There are permanent holes in my heart today which, like missing teeth, are daily reminders of the consequences of a selfish and recklessly unhealthy lifestyle.

And it's all Pete Townshend's fault because I thought for sure - or at least "hoped"- I'd be dead well before I developed any sense of sober, mature conscience, let alone my teeth falling out.

Alas, I live.

And while I'm not quite yet doddering and drooling; at least not publicly, I have reached an age and a state of mind where the follies of my youth, the price of my insolence, the seeds of my insurrection, and the proverbial "unpaid fiddler" have all taken a seat at the table.

I have taken a few "hits" to be sure but all in all I'm pretty lucky to be as healthy as I am, to have salvaged as many friends and loved ones as I've managed, and to have as many teeth left as I do.

Despite having a dental plan at work, I used to see a dentist every few years and flossed, even less.

When you're not going to live to be "old", who needs teeth right?

Despite having been in a few lengthy relationships with some extremely loving and remarkably special and caring young ladies, I chose a self-centered life of hard drinking over a heart-felt bond of shared commitment.

When you're going to "die young", what are a few broken hearts along the short way?

This is exactly the kind of thinking which inspires the booze or drug addled mind and explains - to me at least - some of the reasons behind a lot of my past self-destructive behavior.

When one's focus is completely on the beer in hand, what matter are tomorrows, next weeks or next years?

Who the heck cares?

If I'm to die "soon" anyway, what need have I for bridges linking me to a past I've forgotten or a future I've forsaken?

Well, lets be thankful for a moment, that for today at least I've got something like a "handle" on that stupid thinking, and while I'm at it, offer a word of apology to Mr. Townshend.

I love and respect the man's work and I'm not going to pawn off my own foolishness on some of his lyrics which I believe are a celebration of youthful exuberance and not a drunken battle-cry.

Heck, I did most of my drinking in my "not to be trusted over 30's" anyway!

I think it prudent to note another quote from that Maniacal Windmilling Guitar-smith; one decidedly more apropos to my history....

"THERE IS NO FORCE IN NATURE, AS POWERFUL OR AS CONSISTENT AS A HUMAN BEING IN PURSUIT OF HELL."

Now that sounds like me! Though I would humbly amend it to reflect my present-day outlook on facing and conquering life's challenges thusly....

"THE HUMAN WILL, WITH GOD'S GRACE, IS UNSTOPPABLE."

But getting back to lost love and teeth....

The price of not dying before I got old is having to face the sometimes harsh reality that I cannot undo the past.

I can no more un-break a heart as I can grow new teeth.

I can apologize, I can make amends, I can show remorse through living a good life free of the bonds of addiction which poisoned the love others had for me, and I can give freely of myself in repentance for all the years of taking.

But I must be very careful to realize that while all this helps make today a little more sweeter, and the memories of yesterday a little more tolerable, for me, I am still the author of those dark chapters; the shatterer of dreams, the breaker of promises, the bringer of tears...a man of fewer teeth.

I'd just recently got hold of the Email address of an ex-girlfriend's mother who had been quite supportive of the relationship and with whom I recall sharing something of a friendship.

Without coming right out and asking how I could contact Sherry, I thought a few light words of "hello" and how "well" I'm doing might open the door to finding her.

The response I got was brief.

"PLEASE DELETE _______FROM YOUR ADDRESS BOOK"

I must say those cold, impersonal words were a far cry from what I'd hoped for.

A year or two ago they might even have induced a tear or two from a younger and less resilient Abraham Stainer! ( I will admit to small measure of "mist" though ).

I don't allow for tears in my life these days.

Lord knows I've caused a riverfull and shed enough to overflow the banks in self-pity.

I temper each joyous day with the hope that the Good Lord brings more peace and happiness to those I've hurt than I could ever have managed on my best day, and that they might possibly find a measure of comfort in knowing that their pain now dwells in the emptiness of my stout and vigilent heart, fueling my unstoppable resolve.

The truth my friend is that no matter how noble your intentions; how self-effacing, humble, sincere and contrite you are....you just can't go back.

It's not unlike when the dentist says, "Sorry, but that tooth has to come out".

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( plaque-free)

Blessed - #39

Morning Friend,

Among my numerous blessings is #458 (b).

That particular one states that I have a job which includes 30 paid vacation days, or 6 weeks for those of you counting at home.

I've already used 19 for my Winter Caribbean Extravaganza, which leaves 11 days to "spread out" over the summer months.

Thanks to 458 (c) I have a job I "enjoy" so it's not entirely necessary for me to "get away" from my job for a large chunk of time in order to maintain my sanity as some folks do.

Unfortunately for some, a whole year's peace of mind can hinge on the success or failure of a few planned weeks of Summer Holidays.

Thanks largely to that infamous lawmaker by the name of Murphy, any number and series of mishaps can seriously derail those cherished plans, essentially ruining one's vacation and ultimately, their entire year.

I'm talking about bad weather, bad accommodations, ill-health, poor fishing, wrong directions, bad drivers, poisoned food, poor hunting, tainted water, twists of fate, twisted ankles or just plain old off-the-shelf bad luck.

Does the old adage about "putting all your eggs in one basket" ring a bell here?

Certainly most people have the capacity to overcome the odd setback that might tarnish, but not completely ruin, their vacation.

I heartily sympathize with, for instance, anyone in this part of the world who've taken their vacation in the past month or so because the weather has been decidedly bleak, ( unless of course "Nuclear Winter" is exactly the climate they were hoping for?).

Of course there many who are unaffected by unforeseen variables and deviations to their holiday plans and are contented simply to be away from the stress of the workplace for an extended time.

And then there's myself and Blessing 813 (a)...."happy, no matter where I am on the calendar".

I just returned from an invigorating "mini-holiday" and it actually didn't cost me any of my "precious vacation days" because it was just a pretty normal June weekend in Ab Stainer's World of Adventure.

I spent a fully-catered and pampered "half-weekend" at the four-star luxury "Full Deck Lodge" featuring; Old World and Continental cuisine, "interactive landscaping and gardening", world-class angling, top-flight entertainment, a Casino junket, and all the amenities and fellowship one could possibly expect ( or even manage?) in the space of about 30 hours!

As for a "highlights" my friend?....

- I got to Drive, the hour-long journey along the spectacularly scenic 59 Highway!

- We lunched on exotic European "meat tubes" outdoors on the famous sun-drenched "Full Deck"!

- I experienced my ancestral agricultural heritage whilst actually mowing an acre or so of lush dandelion-festooned landscape!

- My arms and hands still ache "slightly" from the gentle undulations of the garden tiller that my Dad and I had the opportunity to let loose on a patch of Real garden!

- Despite a "coolish" north wind off of majestic Lake Winnipeg, we got in an hour or so of True Wilderness Angling highlighted by my landing a "Moby Dick-like" silver bass, which truly tested and honed the limits of my fishing prowess!

- I got to assist a "master carpenter" in the initial phases of constructing a handrail addition to the deck, as well as putter around tidying up the grounds strewn lightly with Winter deadfall!

- The air so fresh it was "thick" made staying awake during the evening's audio/visual entertainment, a "head-bobbing" adventure for all!

Now the weather wasn't what you'd call "great" for this time of the year but thanks to Blessing #701 (d); "looking at the bright side", there were no bugs to speak of, it wasn't too hot to exert oneself, and it didn't snow.

(And as much as do enjoy my job, it beat the heck out of a day's work.)

I truly believe that when one is capable of squeezing as much enjoyable and fulfilling living into a few regular days off as I have been blessed to experience , the potential extravagant delight of a "vacation" of any length is immeasurable.

Sometimes all it takes it a little imagination, some positive thinking.... and proper footwear.

And it never hurts to be accompanied by Blessing #'s 1(a) and 1(b).

Thanks Mom and Dad!

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( Lake-ing )

The Game -38

Morning Friend,

"We can't all play a winning game, someone is sure to lose.

But we can play so that our name, no one may dare accuse.

For when the Master Referee, scores against our name,

It won't be whether we won or lost,

but how we played the game."

GRANTLAND RICE (1880-1954)

Now HERE's a dandy little poetic gem to start your week, ( and the rest of your life?), off on the right foot.

I may not have it exactly right word for word, but I've written it precisely how I memorized it as a child.

No, it wasn't a school assignment but rather something my young mind absorbed on its' own after hearing it recited several hundred times by my "step-grandfather".

Good old Henry Steinhauer; a brilliant man, raucous spoon and accordion player and Master Carpenter, would wax poetically, eloquently and drunkenly at the kitchen table for hours on end to an audience of me ; a rapt youngster too polite and not wily enough to beg his leave.

As drunks are apt to do, he'd forget that he'd told me the poem a hundred times previously, so he'd tell it every time with the same passion and gusto as if he himself had just heard it and was passing it on for the first time.

And just as children are apt to do, I was able to see beyond the repetitive ramblings of this tragic gent who ultimately and literally "drank his life away", and committed this significant sporting metaphor to memory, and subsequently, into practice.

Because, drunk or sober...rich or poor....young or old...we are ALL playing this remarkably complicated, decidedly difficult, extraordinarily frustrating, and infinitely satisfying "Game of Life".

Unlike traditional games and sports where winning is empirically measured with a system of scoring, Life's winners and losers are not as easily identifiable. ( no ticker-tape parades for good samaritans I'm afraid)

Unlike the "win at all costs" mentality of sports, where the rules of the game are often skirted, breached and sometimes ignored for Victory's sake, those who would sacrifice honor and hard work for deception and half-heartedness in Life's arena, never really "Win" anything. ( if you're "proud" of something you STOLE, then you just might be a sociopath my friend???)

Unlike an athlete whose great challenge lies within the alotted periods or quarters of "playing time", our game lasts every waking minute of our lifetime.

As we surely know, within that game are MANY... "wins" and "losses".

The course of one person's average hectic day can sometimes FILL a newspaper sportspage with "results'.....

- Forgot to set alarm 1.....Tim 0

- Burned toast 2.....Tim 0

- Flat tire 1....bicyle pump 1

- Angry boss 4....contrite Tim 5

- Miserable co-worker 1...Jovial Tim 10

- Pretty co-worker 10...Smilin' Tim 11

- Forgotten lunch 6...Cafeteria 2

- Ptomaine 15....Tim 0

- Layoff notices 27...Tim 1

- Pretty co-worker's goodbye 5...Tim 5

- Options 99...Tim 100

- Sober 1....Drunk 0.....

- Opportunity 1...Response 1....

When you think about the never ending stream of wins and losses, one gets a better appreciation of the importance of HOW we play as opposed to the outcome, because losses are inevitable as they are plentiful in these existential Olympics.

We can "play our heart out" and still lose just as easily as we sometimes win accidentally.

We can go on losing streaks that seem unjust and which defy our every effort to turn the tide.

We can be tempted to "cheat" for the sake of a small taste of success.

We can say "to heck with winning", LOSE ourself in an addiction of some sort and forsake the game altogether!?

We are ALL going to "lose" many times and in many ways, sometimes devastatingly and sometimes not so.

But the "Master Referee" is not tallying up a Win/Loss column.

The "Hall of Fame" is home to those played with grace and style, courage and perseverance, strength and valor, humility and forgiveness; those who took a few on the chin, learned from their mistakes and played for the LOVE of the GAME.

I am largely grateful to Henry Steinhauer; who I would suggest may be found in the "Low-German Folksingers" section of "the Hall", for his wisdom and a hint perhaps of his boisterousness?

This particular lesson has helped me understand the years where I had begun losing my own love of life; that I lost due to alcoholism.

I had been "playing through an injury".

Have a good game today!

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( onside)

What IS it!? - 37

Morning Friend,

"IT IS WHAT IT IS", has become one of the more popular "catch-phrases" in today's culture.

On one level you could call it the "21st Century Serenity Prayer for Dummies" being as it speaks to acceptance, (if not downright resignation?).

Or you could call it a more polite and politically correct way of saying "SH_T HAPPENS" ?

However you define this quaint little "sound bite", it certainly is a useful tool as an acceptable replacement for actual intelligent insight and as a safe and effective discussion ender.

When posed with a difficult question which requires you to delve deep into your vault of worldly understanding and you find yourself somewhat "wisdom-challenged" on that particular topic, you can quite sagely reply how "it is what it is"....end of story.

You might not have a clue what IT is supposed to be.

You may have no idea whatsoever what IT was.

You may be completely in the dark as to IT's significance on Global affairs, the local economy, or the darned time of day!

Your ignorance about anything and everything IT, is no impediment to your unequivocal and inarguable conclusion that IT is NOTHING ELSE known or otherwise comprehended by mankind, than what "it is".

On the other hand you my know exactly what IT is, but if a full and proper explanation requires some self-effacing revelations, exposure of personal shortcomings or good old fashioned embarrassment, then the prudent course of action is an oversimplified declarative refrain which says everything, and reveals nothing at the same time.

Professional athletes and politicians are great proponents and purveyors of the what-it-is "explanation" for poor performance.

The folksy cliché neatly deletes accountability from the athlete's ineptness or the politician's insincerity, by chalking it up to "things that just ARE"....the team lost, and your tax dollars are in the toilet.

You'll never see ME paying to see them play or voting for them, yet these people keep finding work somewhere !?

But in the sporting arena where luck can be such a large determining factor, and the world of politics where integrity is about as rare as a "perfect game", accountability is no longer expected, let alone required.

A simple "...what it is" will suffice.

But in the everyday world of you and I my friend, I would suggest that many people are unhappy with their lives because this new age "serenity prayer" doesn't include any reference to the all important aspect of COURAGE....the courage to CHANGE.

MISERY, is often the IT in their lives and as the saying goes "misery is misery".

Misery without HOPE...IS misery.

There is always another sporting season and another election down the road, but there is no other earthly life than the one we're in right now.

There was a time in my life when I couldn't even IMAGINE what life would be like without alcohol.

I was what I was.

Thankfully I realized I was what I WASN'T...and that was "meant to drink alcohol".

That realization provided the hope I needed to embark on a new and daunting life that I had previously refused to even think about, let alone TRY!

I Thank God for the courage to have said "Yes it is what it is... but I want to change IT!"

My gratitude always includes hope for others who long for positive change in their lives but who feel impotently resigned by a fearful acceptance that things are as they are and that's all there is to it.

I'm not going to sling the hackneyed line "If I can do it anyone can".

I WILL say that "with God, anyone can".

Because while IT may be, what IT is....it doesn't necessarily have to be.

Unless you're Popeye of course.

love tImMy:/ "ahh-gha-ga-ga....!"

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( accountably)

Campfire Tale - 36

Morning Friend,

I must admit I wussed out and opted out of lifelong tradition of "heading out of town" for the long weekend.

The "May Long", had always been synonymous with "the Outdoors"; and all the freshness and beauty one associates with being cradled in "Mother Nature's Bosom".

And as much as I yearned to luxuriate my Winter-ravaged senses upon it, the bosom was covered in 4 inches of fresh snow...which for the hardy souls who DID go out, must have at least made a fine beer cradle !?

There was a time when you would have had to incarcerate me to keep me in the city on a long weekend.

It just wasn't done.

( I was locked up during a long weekend but that's a story for another day.... "Great Misunderstandings of the 20th Century"? )

For weeks in advance of Great Victoria Day Weekend Hoot, the simmering anticipation could be somewhat contained by fine-tuning your carefully prepared List.

I found an old one of mine in one of my "tickle trunks" of memories....

1. BEER

2. bait

3. RUM

4. wieners

5. WINE

6. marshmallows

7. VODKA

8. beef jerky

9. KALUHA

10. mix

11. SUNDAY BEER

12. ice

From this all-encompassing list of camping essentials, one can plainly see the indelible survivalist instincts I'd garnered through my years in the Cub and Boy Scouts!

I must apologize for the "urbane" inclusion of wieners on the list, but they were STRICTLY for emergency purposes, on the "off chance" that I got too drunk to catch any fish; or be functional enough to try.

In those "heady years", it was enough to throw your rod in the trunk and even if the only light it saw all weekend was when you were digging out beer from underneath it, you could still say you "went fishing".

As far as the WEATHER went....YOU went.

May weather in this part of the world runs the seasonal gamut, so when the calendar said "long weekend" and your friends said "West Hawk", and the forecast said "...chance of flurries...", you said to yourself, " ...long underwear and extra hard stuff....".

In the course of 48-plus hours outdoors, one is imminently bound to experience SOME form of precipitation ranging anywhere from refreshing morning dew...to a tsunami...or a rare but annoying Spring blizzard.

That's what TARPS were made for.

To huddle under in pouring rain and howling wind and drunkenly curse the bad weather which was preventing you from "wetting a line".

The "liquid warmth" carefully planned, listed and packed provides an "internal tarp" that is soon taut and gets tauter with each "tot".

The warmth becomes distilled into something like courage as the lengthening shadows portend the coming of night so blindingly dark that all but the trees fear it.

Here in the "rough part" of Mother Nature's Town... it's "after hours".

It's SURVIVOR...PROVINCIAL CAMPGROUND!!!

There were but few other places where a man's mastery over the elements could be so vividly displayed than when around the blazing fire HE sparked, ( with a little help from a splash of kerosene)....the still night air tinged with mirthful revelry and the strains of Lynrd Skynrd emanating from his 200 watt Pioneer car stereo....the oneness he felt with the universe converged with his double distilled equilibrium, creating a literal "baptism of fire" as he tripped and fell ass-backwards into the very flames of his own making.

Impervious to cold, wet AND fire.... was the TRUE OUTDOORSMAN !

Free from cosmopolitan restraints - like public urinals and personality codes - a properly "outfitted" Woodsman could fully experience, if not remember, the graciousness of God's greenery...the firmament of the Forest...the lusciousness of LIFE!

If the "bosomy cradle" of his bed turned out to be the not quite "pillow-topped" gnarly base of a spruce tree under which he had finally lost consciousness, then he was "roughing it".

If he forgot tomato juice for morning Red-eyes and had to start with straight beer for breakfast than he was REALLY roughing it.

If he ran out of ice and that beer was WARM, then we're talking about a Baden Powell level of camping fortitude !

The advent in recent times of more "family-oriented" campground rules and regulations has really curtailed the long weekend excursions of compromised outdoorsmen in the Parks they and I used to go "camping" in.

And it's probably just as well my friend.

I've had enough of the "rough" stuff.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( "dib-dobbing")

Mother's Day - 35

Morning Friend,

For anyone for whom yesterday was bittersweet, because the "Guest of Honor" was missing, I offer my sincerest hope that she dwells strong in your hearts and remains alive through you, by the life and love she gave to you.

It is with no small measure of pride that I say a Special "good morning" to my youngest "fan"; my 10-year-old niece, Janelle !

At yesterday's wonderful Mother's Day dinner at my brother's place, ( highlighted by enough of Gwen's delicious cannelloni be the Olive Garden's Feature - or my lunches- this week !), the precocious youngster asked, "Are you going to write about this in tomorrow's Musings Uncle Tim?....I read them you know !?".

The first thing that came to my disbelieving mind was "do you understand it?".

Now don't get me wrong, Monday Musings is not "peer-reviewed" by Mensa, and that child is "scary" bright, but I haven't been beset by any freelance offers from TWEEN magazine lately!?

"Oh I understand it Uncle Tim, it's very funny," she said.

"Well.......", said I, adding, "I salute your prodigious proclivity young lady, but I don't actually know what I'm going to write about until I wake up on Monday morning"....( even though I KNEW that somehow, this "exchange" and delightful "revelation" would merit some mention).

It is humbling to the utmost and a tremendous cause for optimism to know that "pop culture" hasn't so completely overtaken the hearts and minds of today's youth, that there is still a little room for simple stories about "winter cycling", "bad hair", "bad habits" and "spiritual redemption".

Not that I'll be warming up the crowd at a Jonas Brothers concert with "Musing riffs" anytime soon, but I am heretofore mindful NOT to underestimate the intellect and social consciousness of children, especially those raised by intelligent and socially conscious MOTHERS!

"Ah-HAH!!", you're saying good friend, "NOW he's gotten to the point!"

And indeed and of course I have.

In my opinion, having a "good" Mother, while not a guarantee, gives any person the best chance to do well in life.

Not that anyone with a "bad" Mom, or without one in their lives haven't done well for themselves but I think history itself invariably reveals the correlation between a Mother's positive influence and the achievements of her offspring.

The Kennedys, had a ROCK for a Mother, while Frankenstein, had no-one.

I haven't won a Pulitzer ( yet), but I'm doing pretty well these days and it's no accident that I happen to have an "excellent" Mom.

While I could fill pages with examples of her excellence, I'll summarize its' essence by saying....throughout my life she has, by her words and actions, consistently demonstrated to me, her unconditional love and support and set an example, which in all good conscience and sensibility I am obliged to uphold, respect and revere.

Which in a nutshell means, if you find me terrorizing a Transylvanian village this week, it's against her better advice.

Not that she wouldn't still love me....THAT I'll know, despite the contrary sentiments of the angry pitchfork-wielding mob.

I happen to have written about that kind of love a year ago for Mother's Day and I think it bears repeating. ( turns out I was "musing" BEFORE I was "Monday Musing"!?)

A Mother's Love by Tim Lawrence

" There is in this cold and hollow world no fount of deep, strong, deathless love,
save that within a mother's heart." FELICIA HEMANS eng. poet ( 1793 - 1835)

I was struck the other day by a quote in the newspaper from a mother whose "gangster"
son had been allegedly murdered while in prison. The young man, who'd lived a violent
and troubled life, had been found in the morning dead in his bunk; a victim of the same
brand of swift and horrific violence he had himself wrought upon society.

The writer's objective litany of the man's offenses left little to be found in the way of
sympathy, short of evoking the "live by the sword...." adage. Who indeed in any right minded society could be reading this story and not be other than thankful for "prison justice" and;
given the incident's proximity to Mother's Day, pitying perhaps for this man's Mom, and whatever might be left of her shredded dignity.

Well, leave it to good old "Mom" herself, to weigh in on the old "adage-invoking train"....
leaving little doubt as to the "fount of her deathless love", when she supposed a measure of
"heroics" upon her boy in what would have been his dying moments.

"It must have taken more that one of them (attackers) to do this," she said, implying facts about her son's death yet unknown. "He was very strong," she added.

I am struck to the core by how this woman - (whose own flesh and blood had seemingly devoted his life to mayhem and murder; all manner of things contrary to what normally evokes pride in one's mother), THIS Mother could still voice something positive about her boy....
that he was "strong".

"To what depths of depravity," I ask myself, " must a son lower himself ? How low must one go to be "under the radar" of a Mother's extraordinary love?"

The answer lies not even in the extreme example of this tragic story....because there is no answer.

It is as mysterious as the gift of life itself which all Mothers bestow upon us.

It is immeasurable....as are the HEIGHTS of a Mother's joy, and dreams, and hopes for her children.

I can say with all certainty, that in the entire history of mankind, very few people who asked themselves, "Would my Mother approve?", then went ahead and make a WRONG decision.

I would urge all sons and daughters on this, and in every other precious day, to take a moment to see yourselves through your Mom's eyes, and you will be struck by how truly special you are, and the wonderful potential you have to make this beautiful world she has brought you into....even more so!

You are stronger that even SHE thinks you are.

God Bless and Happy Mother's Day to You All! Especially my Mom!

Love Tim April,2008

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Does anyone know if Tiger Beat accepts unsolicited submissions?

...from a writer with a "young following"?

Is that magazine still around?

Janelle?.....

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live ( prodigiously)

Green Bananas - 34

Morning Friend,

As the slate-stillness of pre-dawn gives way to a few sparkling beams of sunlight on this FINE Monday morning, I'm hopeful that you are lucky enough to be HALF as happy as I !

Now if you've read enough of these Musings than you know ALL about the "better life" I've found as a SOBER man with the Good Lord as my guide.

On such a beautiful morning after having given thanks through prayer and asked simply for the strength and wisdom to "stay the course for one more day", I'm reminded - as I was quite vividly over the weekend - that for some poor souls....they are very nearly...TOO LATE.

I'm speaking in particular about a fine old gentleman who's a "regular" at the bar where I enjoy shooting pool.

He's not a "close" friend; I've never called him up and don't even know his last name.

He's just one of those half-drunk guys you ALWAYS see in the bar... share a "howzitgoing" and a new joke with AND the invariable "still sober?....Good Man!".

He is, or WAS a tall strapping bloke with a quick wit and a taste for whiskey and cigarettes.

His taste for whiskey and cigarettes hasn't diminished, but in recent weeks I've noticed everything else about him has.

I'm not a doctor, and he's not one of those who tend to share their medical concerns with everyone in the neighborhood, but he is obviously losing physical, mental and spiritual ground. He is dying.

Yes I know WE ARE ALL DYING but the imminence of his end is more dramatically evident.

If you've ever had the terrible experience of witnessing someone's decline and ultimate demise, I've heard a Palliative Care doctor I know describe it as "circling the drain".

ALL of us begin our lives SLOWLY circling in the OUTER water, but as we get closer to the drain, ( older or more ill) the circling becomes faster and faster as we approach "death".

You'll often hear friends and family say in such circumstances, "But I saw him only a WEEK ago and he looked GOOD!?"

The man of whom I speak does NOT look "good" either.

Now my friend, there's "late" and then there's "TOO late".

-You can be a few minutes late for an appointment with a valid excuse.

-You can be late for work but make up for it by staying later.

-You can be a minute late in catching a bus but there's always another after it.

-You can be VERY late as I was in changing my ways and still salvage a worthwhile life.

But when it comes to your HEALTH, there is a specific physiological point where a deadly disease such as cancer takes up residence in the "breeding ground" which excessive drinking and smoking has turned your body into, and you find the slow spin of your circle toward the "drain" hastening.

At that point it is TOO LATE to do anything about it.

There's NO "excuses", valid or otherwise...another bus is NOT coming....and you certainly CANNOT "stay later" to make up for lost time.

The life you once measured in immeasurable hopes and dreams is a finite collage of snapshots of things and events you are likely seeing for the last time.

And while that "addition to the cottage" suddenly takes on a whole new IN-significance, everything else "long term" on your agenda, ( like giving up the "vices") is now off the map... RIGHT?

That's why they have a SMOKING ROOM, and a Doctor's protocol for ordering BOOZE for patients on Palliative Care wards.

Because it's too late...RIGHT?

Having had a "very' bordering on "too" late experience in my own life; I very nearly a poster boy for Liquid PlumR !?, I can honestly say that I'd trade ONE sober day for a thousand drunken ones, and if it happened to be my LAST one, then stay back in the calm water old friend and THROW ME A PADDLE!

My "happy" today is tempered with a prayer for all who suffer, and for my old friend that he might mercifully, before the circle becomes too breathlessly dizzying, find the strength to hurl the shackles of his demise HEADLONG into the maelstrom of fear, and let his last views of this beauteous world be through a vision of clarity...his last breaths be easy and sweet...the last beats of his heart be courageous and joyful... his soul rejoice in God's Peace....that it NOT be, TOO late.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe

Love as long as you live ( on green bananas)

Being Three - 33

Morning Friend,

Bitter are the tears of a child: Sweeten them.
Deep are the thoughts of a child: Quiet them.
Sharp is the grief of a child: Take it from him.
Soft is the heart of a child: Do not harden it.

Pamela Glenconner

If you've visited the "blog" site, ( which is not really a traditional "blog" per se, as it is the "Musings Repository"), you might be wondering who the outrageously cute child in the picture, "Angel Ashley" is?

The extent of her beauty obviously excludes ME in her parental genetic mix, but to MEET her, is to discover a goodly inherited portion of her Uncle Tim's frenzied passion for all things "WACKY", "FUN" and "FAST" !

She is my God-child and the youngest of my brother Marshall and sister-in-law Gwen's three beautiful daughters.

Janelle and Angela are in school all day now, so babysitting opportunities now involve just me and the... "Little Dynamo"..."Three Foot Nuclear Reactor"...."Giggling Girl"...."Monkey Girl"....or most appropriately, "FLASH-ley" !

When there are two or more of the girls to look after, they INTERACT nicely so I'm often simply supervising them at play.

But when it's just me and Ash, I AM the "play", and BOY!...do we EVER! ( exhaustively !)

And you know what my friend?

I've come to believe that my little God-daughter not only "loves" and "listens to", and "trusts", and "respects" and "feels safe" with her Uncle Tim......she LIKES me!

And while LOVE may bloom and die with the seasons on the vine of life, the roots of FRIENDSHIP run deep and eternally through the soil and soul of earth.

And as mutually forgiving and uncompromisingly agreeable as most friends are, I never dwell on such things as her lapses in continence and she never fusses too much about the limits of both my culinary and hide-and-seeking abilities.

We're just like two burrs on a donkey's tail.

Ashley turned 3 on March 20th which just so happens to be the very same age as me.

***I have done THE MATH and discovered that it is highly LIKELY that "the FLASH" was CONCEIVED on the very same day I was "reborn".

The parallels in our three years of growth and development are remarkable, exquisite, delightful, and in some ways, miraculous.

The very sight of her face lighting up when she first sees me is enough to make me weep with joy; my heart fluttering like an Angel's wings...my resolve, a Heavenly firmament.

She truly IS representative of the "Angelic" beauty that adorns the wondrous and magical kingdom that my world has become.....a world where me and Ashley will always be the same age.

I wrote a little something to commemorate my friend's third birthday, to celebrate my own, and to acknowledge the grace and love of the Good Lord who is of course the THIRD party...when WE were THREE

When WE were THREE... by Uncle "Teeem"

...you were my “Angel Princess” and I, a “King”

we could make a “Royal Mess” out of just about anything!

...we had both just learned to walk upright

you had a blazing “pamper scamper” and I was strolling in new “light”

...you liked to draw and I liked to write

while lacking in “pure” talent, we had my enthusiasm and your delight

...I was bigger than you ( a bit of a “lout”!)

but you had WAY more energy, so it all evened out

...we sure knew how to “tear”

like bikes in the house when Mom wasn’t there!

...we were as curious as kittens in clover

finding life just as wondrous starting out – as starting over

...we made quite a “fashionable” pair

scuffed knees, runny noses and flyaway “crows-nest” hair

...we sang songs with soulfulness and flair

like the “A.B.C.’s” sung by Sonny and Cher

...the light in your eyes lit a fire in my heart

that no despair, doubt or fear, could ever put out

...I kept you safe and you made me strong

though I had trouble saying “no’ we never went wrong

...we discovered we’ll ALWAYS be that way

Ashley, Tim and Jesus...forever in love each day

20/03/09

Ashley/Tim ( 36/45)

Love, uNcLetImMy:)

Laugh as much as you breathe

Love as long as you live (playing)

Counting - 32

Morning Friend,

I've never been a real "Math" kind of guy..."English"; ( or the butchering of same), has always been more my forte.

I was told early on in sobriety by more than one A.A. member that it was NOT a good idea to COUNT the days, as in, " I haven't had a drink in 11 days....that's about as long as my worst bender!"....or "I haven't had a drink in 3 days....that's how long it's taken me to recover from my last 11 day spree!"....or "I've just beaten by old record of 11 days...time to celebrate with a 3 day tilt!".

I believe the reasoning behind such a suggestion is that it takes one's focus AWAY from the all-important TODAY; which I can say from my experience in "early" sobriety, was about the only thing my "shell-shocked" brain and shattered countenance had the ability to focus ON.

And that makes perfect sense really.

What good are "a thousand wonderful yesterdays" to a man strapping himself aboard a Hell-bound hand-basket TODAY?

When the sun sets on TODAY, will I have frittered it away, selfishly patting myself on the back for yesterday's "glory"?

Who besides war heroes and crazy people get a "free pass" TODAY to do whatever they want due to "past considerations" ?

The truth of the matter is that a recovering drunk with a thousand sober yesterdays having a drink TODAY, is nothing more than a drunk, ( again), and those thousand days won't even get him a "free one".

I get it.

I also get that TODAY, spent bettering the world and myself, is preferable to a day of self-aggrandizement.

Lord knows there's no shortage of work to be done in both cases, but the area of "self improvement" is probably the better starting point since I'm about the only one qualified ( and interested), in correcting my own annoying habits, personality flaws, and all round garden variety character defects.

When you think about it, one more "better PERSON" makes a "better WORLD" , so the "global ramifications" of human activity are not ALL environmental. ( I suppose you could say I'm partly "responsible" for GLOBAL SOBERING !? )

Alas my friend as you might have suspected from Yours Truly.... the "helpless convention flaunter" that I am. I do...COUNT my days.

I count the days, each like a precious gift; each more wondrous and beautiful, and less daunting and uncertain than the ones before it.

You'll note I've said it was "suggested" that I don't, and I can see how some poor soul who is constantly "slipping" and "re-starting" and "relapsing" and "re-counting" and losing count and over-counting and not counting a sip of wine in the count, and count on the count....end up getting COUNTED OUT!

But for me, counting WORKS....and that's really the bottom line.

For a "recovering incorrigible liar" like myself, who on any given day - back in "the day" - could tell ten different people, ten different stories about how much I had or hadn't had to drink, ( and they'd ALL be B.S.!), I carry around the knowledge of EXACTLY the number of days I've been sober like the "priceless treasure" that the TRUTH is.

For a "recovering coward" like myself, who wallowed in drunken self-pity and fear for over 9,000 days, I count each day as another in a series of humble but hard-fought VICTORIES.

For a "recovering fool" like myself, who squandered God-given talents and opportunities until my very dignity was but a crumbling shell, I can now look eye-to-eye with anyone and rattle off the count with deep gratitude, dead reckoning, and immense PRIDE.

For a "recovering alcoholic", who at one time couldn't manage ONE sober day, I think it's worth mentioning that today the count is at 1,400.

Not an OVERLY IMPRESSIVE statistic by any standards, and I only really mention it because it's a nice "round" number and it happens to coincide with 46 MONTHS which happened to coincide with "Musing Monday".

If you do nothing but sit back and tick off your "sober" days on the calendar, you might end up improving your math skills, but little about your heart and soul will change for the better.

It's been said that if you sober up a drunken horse-thief, you're still left with a thief. ( and probably not your horse !? )

So hand in hand with each day of sobriety has been, and MUST be a conscientious and ongoing effort at "Tim-improvement".

Each numbered day is a granite boulder of the foundation upon which I construct my TODAYS.

For ME, the size of each new day's construction "project" is directly proportional to the foundation I've laid, and in 1,400 days I've gone from bird-houses to CASTLES!

Never forgetting of course the ONE fundamental rule of the "global" job site.....

....NO "inconvenient FIFTHS" !

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe

Love as long as you live ( adding up)

Good Orderly Direction - 31

Morning Friend,

Would it surprise you greatly to learn that my grade 2 Catechism teacher once invited our Parish Priest to answer some "theological questions" posed by a precociously skeptical student which she herself had been unable to properly address? ( at least to MY satisfaction?)

To the good Father's credit, he surely did the best he could in trying to explain to an 8-year-old, the Great Flood and God's "justification" for wiping the human slate clean and starting fresh.

The poor fellow looked about as uncomfortable as I'd ever seen a Priest, with sort of a "no one at the Seminary ever said there'd be days like this?" look to him.

Not that I was feeling particularly "buoyant" myself wondering if this opportunity to pose my questions to someone "higher up" the chain of Catholicism might be merely a prelude to determining my candidacy for an exorcism?

I worried also whether such borderline blasphemy might not get me booted as an Alter Boy; AFTER I had been pilloried, stoned and racked of course. ( This would also doubtlessly throw a wrench into my youthful designs on the Priesthood as a career choice which at the time had been a "serious" consideration !)

I wish I could tell you the meeting was a rousing success; a profound moment of enlightenment in which the STEEL of my FAITH was tempered!

Had that been the case, this forum might well be entitled "FATHER Ab's Miraculous Meanderings" !?

The truth is, I STILL don't understand God's "reason" for the Great Flood. ( the gist of my dilemma was, and still is, that there had to be at least a FEW "innocents" among the millions that were drowned ? )

Whether intended or not, what the good Father DID manage to convey to a fearful and impressionable lad that day was the notion that whether you are a nappy-headed 8-year-old or an eighty-year-old Rhodes Scholar, it is a MISTAKE to try and define, interpret, justify, contemporize, humanize, illuminate or explain GOD, especially through the flawed writings of flawed and mortal men as found in Biblical tales.

Just yesterday, Christians celebrated Easter; based on a STORY of "redemption", "re-incarnation" and "rejuvenation" of "God's only son" who "died for our sins" and "rose up from the dead" as sign of "His love for us" and the "eternal life" which awaits in "Heaven" for all those who "ask for forgiveness".

I ask you this my friend:

- Will a bank robber grab a quick read of the Bible on his way to the crime scene, or is he more likely to be able to recite scriptures by rote when he's before the parole board?

- Does God "hide" in the pages of the Bible waiting to be "found" by death row inmates?

- Is "going to church" once a week worthy of forgiveness for a week's mayhem?

- Is God's word "unavailable" to those needing the strength to overcome evil intentions BEFORE they are acted on?

Without getting into theological hot water, I'll instead slog through some moral muck here and suggest that the most basic principle of ANY religion is NOT a "literary interpretation" of some thousand-year-old tome, but rather the practice of choosing a lif