Conversations and Silence

A few weeks ago I was sitting at our dining room table with my spousal unit and my 6 year old granddaughter.  We were enjoying breakfast.  In a matter of fact tone my granddaughter said, "Two of my friends died.  Jack and Ally.  Jack Pinto, he was in my class.  Ally's name was Allison, but I called her Ally."

Ginger and I were speechless as our treasure processed being a first grader from Newtown Connecticut, dealing with realities difficult and tragic for a person of any age.  "This is not a conversation that a 6 year old should be having!" I thought to myself as we silently respected Reese's space as she remembered her friends.  As true as this is, I am sure children in Syria, Africa and other areas of our world infected with senseless violence, are remembering friends and family now gone.  Hopefully they have a place to say out loud what is in their heart. Scars of the heart  can often heal through conversation, I think. 

As a young man I did an experiment based on a Bible verse in James "Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger;"  (Jas 1:19)  I decided for a day to do this.  The exercise was simple:  If someone was talking and I had something I wanted to say, I would count to 3 after they stopped before speaking (quick to hear, slow to speak--get it.).  If they started talking again I would be quick to hear.  I went through my entire day without getting to say much.  It seemed that I could not get past 2 before someone would talk which required me to be quick to listen and slow to speak all over again, restarting the cycle.  It was a profound experience, you may want to try it.

I have learned a lot more in my life by listening than I ever did by talking.  I learned that morning at my breakfast table that my precious granddaughter guards in her heart the memory of her friends who were so cruelly taken from this earth.  She honors them by speaking their names.  I learned that this child and her thoughts are deep and serious and worthy of my listening.  I learned that my words could add nothing to the reverence that she displayed for life, her friends and the reality that although they are gone they are not forgotten.  I discovered a new and deeper respect for her as she deals with grief and confusion in a world prepared to dispense both in abundance over her lifetime.  I realized from that moment of seeing into her 6 year old mind, that she will likely be able to handle whatever life offers her with grace.  I learned that God has placed a sensitive and serious "woman to be" in our midst who will make a difference by who she is and what she does. 

12/14/2012 My Granddaughter Lives in Newtown

My granddaughter lives in Newtown.  She is in the first grade.  She was in school today.  She does not yet know of the horror that was visited upon her town.  She and her brother play with toys in my living room.

My daughter-in-law lives in Newtown.  Today she experienced a terror few ever know.  Hearing news so shocking, bordering on unbelief.  Not in Newtown!  They escape to our home in New Hampshire--a trip already planned.  We relish in the company of our grandchildren as she sits silently, suffering, wondering--who?  Her eyes are full, holding back a stream...wondering who?

Speaking not of the tragedy, we watch the kids play.  Seeing our treasures, smiling, laughing, we know that by grace or chance our granddaughter was in her school today and not in Sandy Hook Elementary across town.  I am unable to comprehend what another granddad or granny in another house might be going through.  Struggling to envision another granddaughter or grandson now gone. A mom, a dad stunned in disbelief that this could be happening.

My son lives in Newtown.  He is as strong a man as I have ever known.  He sits in silence--shaken.  Wondering why?  Snuggling his daughter as they watch a cartoon.  Words are not sufficient.

The kids sleep.  The parents can finally talk and hug and weep for their friends and neighbors and their indescribable loss--but they do not sleep much.

Pundits blame the guns...again, but no one speaks of evil or sickness.  People did not use guns in Oklahoma City or Auschwitz or Dachau.  We live in a broken world with broken people.  One lived in Newtown.

My kids live in Newtown.  Their hearts are broken tonight.

Mine is too.

The Cousinette Epistles 6: Friends

Dear Cousinettes:

Your Aunt Ginger and I have a tradition to take some time off every year the week before Labor Day.  This tradition started after our last sprout severed roots and tumbled away. 

Next week we will celebrate 36 years together.  Our anniversary is on the 29th of August and it is a convenient time to get away.  Little did we know in 1976 what we were getting into.  I have to say it was all good--not all easy--but all good. 

Your Aunt Ginger could be best described as the best friend a person could possibly have.  I am not the only one who thinks this.  I am the one who has gained the most benefit from it.  Being friends and being married is a very good situation.  It helps to get you through difficult times.  More important it magnifies the times that are wonderful and enables you to tolerate most of the times that are just uneventful.  I aspire to be as good a friend to her and others, as she has been to me and hers.

I heard it said that if you want a friend then be a friend.  The world we live in today is a beautiful place when you have one.  It can be a lonely place when you don't.  You will have times when you have money, and not.  You will be excited, and not.  You will be devastated, and not.  But in all your times, if you have a friend, if you have friends, you will make it through.

I work with people and their financial investments for a living.  These are important.  From where I stand today, I sincerely believe that the wisest investment a person can make, is in the effort to be a friend.  Not a fair weather, good times buddy kind of friend.  Be a grab the tissue when you cry, hold your sides when you laugh til you hurt, and get in your face when you are screwing up kind of friend.  If you can be that friend, the dividends are undeniable.  You will have riches beyond your imagination. 

I have one.  She is amazing.  You can have as many as you can love. 

Your crazy uncle.

Saying Goodby: A Tribute

Yesterday we went to another funeral, the second in recent months.  Tom Murphy and his wife Madalyn have been good friends for years.  We spent many an hour playing cards, "skinching" in Maine looking for hidden treasures in the junk stores there.  Discussing the solutions to the worlds problems and counting their growing tribe of grand-kids.

It is not fair to say that Tom fought cancer.  Cancer fought Tom and being the good Irishman he was, he gave it quite a tussle.  He proved doctors wrong that sent him away years ago saying there was nothing that could be done.  He proved the world wrong by keeping a positive, encouraging attitude.  Sympathy was not needed, it was given by Tom.  I only saw him twice during his fight as we no longer work together.  Both times, though his body was stripped of the vitality it had once had, his smile beamed that Tom was still alive and well and ready for the next challenge.

Hundreds gathered yesterday, all touched in some way by this gentle, wonderful man.  Our loss is heaven's gain.  If it can be any brighter up there it is now because Tom's smile is bigger than ever.

Acoustic Nirvana: Or Betty Boop and Budha

There are accidents of time and place that put you in the presence of genius.  Hopefully you will have the presence of mind and soul to recognize it.  My story.

Day 3 of Ginger's birthday weekend.  Kennebunk Maine.  In a free paper we saw a notice for an Acoustic Guitar Concert at the River Tree Arts Center, admission $10.  I love good acoustic guitar and for $10 each, not a lot of risk, right.

We arrive at the River Tree Arts Center (http://rivertreearts.org/) and are able to park right in front of the facility.  Not a good sign.  We walk in and we are among a dozen people or so, nervous musicians wondering if anyone will show, nervous exec director wondering same.  We pay, browse and sit.  The crowd swells to maybe 20.

The opening act was Ed Desjardin.  A terrific player and songwriter.  His unique style seemed to be rooted in a delightful mix of great musical styles melded into his own.  After a short break the feature performer was Martin Swinger.  (http://www.martinswinger.com/) 

Martin Swinger, broad smile and commanding presence, drew us into the story of his song like a gripping novel that keeps the light on til 2 AM.  He knits silly with serious, petty with poignant, leaving you asking, "How did he do that?  How did we get from there to here? That was amazing!"  From the first song, in my heart I was on the little red chair in the front of the room in first grade class where we sat and listened to Mrs. Simpson read those incredible stories.  Time disappeared as you hung on the next phrase--only now it was set to music and delivered by tenor voice so clear it sparkled.  Our 20 sojourners in the audience could have been in Carnegie Hall and we would not have had more pleasure than we enjoyed at the River Tree.

I sat thinking between songs, "Who is he like?"  The complexity of sound and lyric were unlike anyone I had ever heard.  Songs of grief, love, and depression delivered with humor, hope and delicacy.  In one brief night at River Tree, I am a fan.  His song Betty Boop and Budha capture his approach to life and music by pairing the most unlikely couple--the silly and the serious--to show how they coexist and inform us each of the other.

If you love music and good songwriting, do yourself a favor and click on the link above and listen to some of his work like the "Consider the Oyster", or "Gravity" to get a feel for this master of the ballad.  You can buy his work in CD's or downloads from his website.  An artist of this caliber must be shared and supported.

Ginger and I stumbled into the presence of genius last night.  We are better for it.

Travel Tip

I fly Southwest Airlines often because they go from where I am to where I want to be most of the time. I count it a great day when I score an exit row seat and luxuriate in the expansive legroom. Today I took the exit row aisle seat and by the window was a young man with a Yankee's hat on. There was a middle seat between us.

I strike up a conversation about our hope for potential candidates for the middle seat and shared a couple of wide body horror stories of trips gone by. Then came a shocking confession.

"I am really not a Yankee fan," confided James. "I am from Kansas City. I travel in my job a lot. I have learned that for the most part people hate the Yankees. I wear the hat and more often than not I get an empty seat next to me."

BRILLIANT! I realize that I am in the presence of a perceptive and wise young man. You will see in the picture the proof of his insight--the Yankee hat and the empty seat.

James, my hat is off to you.

Time Tripping

March 30, 1981:
Thirty one years ago today, I set up my workbench in the front yard of our home out by Fort Cobb lake. My project was to build a doll bed for my daughter Sara who would turn 3 the next day. I was listening to the radio as I worked. I was frozen mid project by the news flash that President Reagan had been shot in San Francisco.

March 30 2012:
Ginger and I fulfilled a long held desire to visit the Ronald Reagan Library in Simi Valley, CA. As I went through the exhibit that detailed the assassination attempt, I went back in time to when I stood there as a much younger man, shocked at the news of the attempt on our President. I went back to a day when my Sara was almost three.

We are told by neurologists that our brains hold memories of all the experiences we have ever had. During hypnosis and other tests the memories have been triggered and experienced afresh by individuals. There was a moment today when I realized that I was standing in the Reagan Memorial at almost precisely 31 years to the moment from the time of that tragic event. In my mind I stood again in the yard, felt the same feelings, called in the house to give Ginger the news. It was almost like a cheesy movie flashback, but it was eerie for me, as it was very real.

President Reagan, a great man, is no longer with us. The doll crib was restored last year so that My Sara's three year old can put her dolls and critters down for naps. My Sara has grown to be a magnificent woman of depth, courage and skill. I see in her daughter my past, present and future all in one glance--and today I experienced all three in a moment.



Ronald Reagan Memorial, Simi Valley, CA