Swaying Hugs and a Road Song

Frost on the Windshield

The recent snowfall painted a serene backdrop for my lengthy road trip to offer a final goodbye to someone that I’ve known most of my adult life. It seems I’ve lost count, but I know that I’ve attended far more memorial services in the past few years than I have in my entire lifetime. “It’s that circle of life thing”, a friend reminded me. His reply seemed far too casual… maybe even a bit too basic. And as much as I would like to think differently, he was absolutely right.

The calm of the distant drive had a soundtrack, but with little volume. Sometimes there was no volume at all. Instead I tuned to the noises of the moment… the wind, the road, and my thoughts as mile markers passed by as if to keep time.

As mournful as expectations were, the day was instead a celebration. I rekindled with faces I’d not seen in years. Those reunions were often followed by hugs. Long ones. The ones that make you sway back and forth in one another’s arms for what seems like forever… those welcomed kind of forevers. The day was filled with plenty of shared words of comfort. Smiling strangers offered personal accounts, memories, and stories of a man that we each knew just a little bit differently than the other. I laughed far more than I cried. At times, laughing loud enough that people sitting in pews in front of me would look back with a smile. Seems everyone did.

The return home soundtrack was not much different than the one from hours earlier. Loosening my necktie, I turned south on the rural two-lane route. Smiling, I waved back to the oncoming driver with four raised fingers from the top of my steering wheel. My right hand reached for the dial on the dash to raise the volume on the stereo. A mile or so later, I raised it even more. Each of those familiar lyrics was a longtime friend of mine. I sang the words to every song while reflections of miles passed behind me in the mirror, each seemingly humming the very same song.

silent celebration

Yesterday I made a two-hour drive to say my goodbyes to a longtime friend. Most of my drive was spent listening to the silence of my thoughts equally balanced with the soft hum of the road. An overflow of memories was my co-pilot.

The emotional evening was a celebration of lives touched by a beautiful, spirited, and love filled woman. Selfishness always seems to get in the way when I unexpectedly lose a loved one. My thoughts are always the same, wishing I'd had the chance to say goodbye.

With fewer than twenty days marked from the calendar this New Year, most have been filled with unexpected love, including these past few days of recent loss.

A gorgeous bright moonlight assisted my headlights in lighting the long rural road trip home. Just as I had done earlier in the day, my co-pilot was once again the silence of memories, this time though, they were paired with many tears of love. A life’s celebration continues.

defining self. remembering others.

Defining Self

Between the news I heard last week and the question I was asked this morning, I've spent much of today taking a far closer look than normal at myself.

Following my morning coffee, weeding through emails, and a few good morning kisses from the pups, I headed out the door for Sunday worship. Recently I've missed more sermons than heard and today I wanted to change that trend. It is after all a new year. For me, the best messages aren't those that are simply well prepared and delivered from a pulpit, but instead the ones that suggest deeper thought and self-evaluation. Today was one of those kinds of sermons. The takeaway as I made my walk to the car was quite simple, “what defines me?”

Ironically I’d already begun asking myself this very question on Friday afternoon upon hearing that a friend had passed away. I was shocked by the news and to my surprise, she hadn’t passed recently, Friday marked the fourth anniversary and I never knew. Naturally, I spent the balance of Friday in memory mode. It was a healthy mental time and two days after receiving the news, it continues.

The older I become, I find myself holding onto my past more than I once did. I certainly don't make it a point to live for the past, but I have great respect for it being responsible for much of the very thing my pastor discussed this morning. In all of it’s greatest, worsts, and more than it’s share of mediocre days, my past defines the very man that I am today.

Reflection is a way I continue moving forward. That evaluation of knowing where I’ve been propels me. My father guided and taught me more than his share from the time I was a child through my adulthood. His far too early death nineteen years ago however didn’t erase those life lessons. I still use them… many of them daily.

Although we hadn’t seen one another in several years, the news of Donna’s passing still saddens me. To say that she died too young is such a cliché, but it’s the best I can come up with and the fact is, she did. I’m incredibly grateful however for all of the life and laughter that she brought to mine. Each of them are now blessings.

The passing of time continues to move quicker than it once did, all the while defining me and defining us. Hold onto it.

beneath a blue sky and a green canopy

Moving Forward ©2012

Yesterday marked the end of the first week of 2012. The weather and the day were nearly identical to the week before. Almost to the minute from a week earlier, I drove past a cemetery yesterday that I'd driven by on the afternoon of New Years Eve. On a date generally known for celebrating great hopes and new beginnings, a funeral was taking place. Beneath the largest blue sky was a green temporary canopy providing shade for family, friends, and loved ones who instead were spending this final day of 2011 by saying farewell. There was no champagne, no confetti, and no loud countdown to a brilliant display of lights or fireworks. There was only sunshine, silence, and goodbyes.

I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking quite a bit about those things that I control; and more importantly, those that I don’t. I’m not generally one that’s big on making annual resolutions. A good idea is a good idea. Whether you begin it on January 1 or May 5th is really unimportant. The importance comes from making a healthy decision, committing to the right people, and being honest with myself.

I’ve happily committed to a number of those in recent years. On December 30, I celebrated my second year of sobriety. It certainly would have been far easier for me to wait until January 1. Then I could have bookmarked it as one of those happy, new beginning, resolution kind of things. It couldn’t wait though and neither could I.

I owe it to myself to be surrounded by the right people; to learn how to forgive; to wake in the morning and live the entire day until I lay my head on my pillow at nighttime for a few hours sleep; to smile because I truly mean it; and to move with a forward momentum. I'd like to dance everyday to the music in my head and sing the lyrics ...whether I know all the words or not. I need to leave any random aches from my past where they are and move with one step in front of the other.

I'm responsible for me, so if a large blue sky plans to shine on my day, I refuse to be invisible.

approval to ride

Preserved Motion

I made my annual trek to the service station this morning for the Commonwealth's approval to drive my truck on their roads. At nearly 16 years old, she passed the state inspection with flying colors again. I never had any doubts, though it does call for celebration. It means we'll share more road stories, more journeys to nowhere destinations, more driving music with numerous mixes from all sorts of artists and musical genres, more get my head straight me time, more field trips for the pups and I with all the windows down, and more hours of sun filled days pampering and polishing.

As we both grow older, we tend to share quite a bit in common, at times almost mirroring the other. Our paint is bit duller than it use to be. There are even noticeable signs of chipping in certain areas. We stand a little wider, older, and not as trendy or hip as we once were. I wouldn't necessarily call any of these flaws. I think of them more as beauty marks and savored life experiences.

Whatever the case, I relate more today to Roger Taylor's lyrics to I'm in Love With My Car than when I first bought the rock elite A Night at the Opera album in 1975. Ironically, that same year I began taking driver's education classes. Seems only appropriate that I add the entire album to my next road trip.

Chicken or Egg? I Solved It.

Seems doubtful that this blog post could resolve the ageless question. Call it scientific or happenstance, but it was interesting that I witnessed both just minutes apart during my recent visit to Paint Bank. All I can really add to this longtime debate is what I actually saw. Seeing it with my own eyes made me a believer.

I’d only been in the tiny mountain town for about fifteen minutes before I was greeted with the wide smile and the southern drawl from the young lady behind the counter of the Paint Bank General Store. She was cleanly dressed all in white, helpful, and quick to answer my touristy questions. She also never missing a chance to flash her pretty smile. As we talked, I spotted my first glimpse of it, sitting on the counter an arms length away. It resembled a sacred stained glass work of art as the afternoon sunlight passed through it.

There it was, in a tiny town with a population count between 146 and 148, depending on which road sign you read. Inside of the general store that claimed to have “a little bit of everything”; and while listening to the beautiful twang of a long drawn out Southern dialect, I discovered the answer to all of those centuries long questions, faiths, and scientific theories. They were red and resting in the one-gallon glass jar at the end of the counter.

It wasn’t more than ten minutes later when I walked upon all of those lovely ladies in the coop out back. They were curious, talkative, and certainly kept a close eye on me. By that point however, I’d already made my discovery and regardless of how persistent and persuasive they attempted to be, I already knew the truth.

The pickled egg clearly came first.