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)