One Last Trip Across the Bridge

I just watched the remains of John Robert Lewis carried to a horse-drawn caisson by a military honor guard, then over the bridge where he was beaten nearly to death, as he knelt to pray, by Alabama State Troopers 55 years ago. Along the route people sang spirituals and shouted “Thank you!” The bridge was strewn with rose petals to symbolize the blood shed there in the name of human rights.

At the end of the bridge, when the caisson passed the near the spot where John Lewis was so savagely brutalized, several Alabama State Troopers stood at attention and saluted. I have no idea if this was a simple coincidence, but I certainly hope not.

I purposely did not name the bridge, because it is is named after a man who was an enthusiastic supporter of slavery and later the grand dragon of the Alabama Ku Klux Klan. There is a movement to rename that bridge after John Lewis, and I pray that will come to pass.

As I watched that carriage, with the driver standing and holding his black top hat over his heart, there was one overwhelming idea that I felt myself and heard the commentators express in various ways. John Lewis adhered to the principles of nonviolent protest and put his body and even his life in harms way many times. He did this to move our country toward equality and true freedom for all of us, not just the ones who look a certain way. We as a country are fortunate that he survived those times to become an elder, who then led us so effectively for so many years.

Now John Lewis has made the transition from elder to ancestor, a role in which he will serve as a guiding light for generations to come. And I feel lucky to be alive while men like this walked among us.

Farewell, Congressman.

Where Have All The Heroes Gone?

Not too long ago I learned of the passing of a woman I’ve known for nearly three decades. Mary Tummonds was one of those tireless, selfless people who shared her time, talent, and energy with the rest of us, with no motive other than to make the world a better place. She was one of the first people I met 27 years ago when we moved to Whitmore Lake, and for all those years she was a ray of sunshine at every event the local Kiwanis was involved in. Her warm smile was unforgettable. The news that this modern-day hero has left us made me think of this column I published thirteen years ago.

While the reference to “The Sopranos” is kind of dated, it feels like the rest of it holds true now more than ever.


A Hero Walking AwayWhen we first moved to our lake here in Michigan, there was a yearly event called Winterfest. Aside from Christmas, this was hands-down the best part of that long, gray, slush-up-your-pant-leg, toe-numbing, car-door-rotting, sniffles-producing chunk of our year that Winterfest is named after.

The first official ritual of Winterfest came in early January when everybody around the lake would dispose of their Christmas trees by simply dragging them out onto the ice and leaving them there. Before long, friendly oversized gremlins wearing parkas and sturdy boots would come along and take them away. These were members of the local Kiwanis Club, who would use our trees, gallons of green dye, snow shovels, ice augers, and a little imagination to design and build an Ice Golf course right out there on the frozen lake.  Continue reading →

A Few Christmas Thoughts

Here I sit on Christmas day, feeling well-fed, lazy, and blessed. Instead of watching play-by-play coverage of the ongoing dumpster fire in Washington, DC, I have the Vince Guaraldi Trio on the stereo playing all the cuts from the Charlie Brown Christmas Songs. We fried a turkey, and it turned out to be the best one we’ve ever done. Yeah, I know, I always say that. But still…

I’m not sure why Christmas day feels like this, but it does. That mellow and reflective mood might be all about peace on earth and good will toward all men, or it might have something to do with all the turkey and Jamison. Either way, it’s pretty nice to spend a day just feeling good and thinking about the year gone by.

Back in November Kitty Donohoe, Reverend Robert Jones, and I spent a week writing songs with twenty teenage girls at Vista Maria. These young women are in foster care at Vista because their lives have been scarred by abuse, neglect, violence, and addiction in the outside world. Quite a few of them were trapped in the horror of modern slavery known as  human trafficking. At the end of the week we all went “on stage” in a beautiful chapel on the Vista Maria campus and performed our work.

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Florence

Florence

This one’s not going to be funny.

Last week Hurricane Florence barreled out of the Atlantic Ocean and ground her way through the Carolinas, leaving all sorts of ruin and heartbreak in her wake. As a result of this storm, there has been something like $22 billion in property damage, and at least 42 people have died. Many hundreds of men, women, and children have been rescued from damaged and flooded homes. As I’m writing this, the nearly 11 trillion gallons of water dumped by the storm is flowing back toward the sea and creating even more problems. Authorities are still rescuing people and preparing for more deaths.

To the best of my knowledge, most or all of the deaths and evacuations happened in areas that were under mandatory evacuation orders. This means that in a perfect world, none of those people would have been there to need rescuing or to lose their lives. There are two fairly important things going on here. 

First off, some people who live in these areas simply can’t afford to evacuate. If you don’t have a car, you can’t just hit the highway out of town. If do manage to hitch a ride, and you don’t have relatives inland or the money to pay for a motel, you have a problem. If you can’t find or understand whatever emergency transportation and shelter plan the local government might have in place, and if the local government can’t find you to help you, then you’re pretty much out of luck. This is a problem that municipalities large and small have struggled with for decades.

And then there are those folks who are just too stubborn to leave.

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Yurts

Yurts

Some of my friends spend their extra time and money abandoning their comfortable homes to spend weekends in small tents filled with mosquitos and sweaty children. They call this “camping.” The idea of leaving your 60” high-def television behind and  voluntarily hanging out under a piece of cloth draped from a couple of poles always puzzled me, because it didn’t make any “sense.” 

When I asked a few campers why they do it, I got answers like, “Communing with nature lets us bond as a family,” and, “We really enjoy eating pancakes that smell like kerosene.”

OK, I can see that. Also, just about any Urgent Care will give you a group rate on treatment for chiggers. But I still could never get into the idea of making a home, even for a weekend, in one of those drafty little tents.

Then it struck me – I could have it all, just by living in a Yurt!

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A Little Cash In Your Pocket

 A Little Cash In Your Pocket

Cash. Remember the stuff?

Not long ago I went to the Apple Store to buy a case for my iPhone. For those of you who have never been in an Apple Store, the place is pretty much what moviemakers back in the 1970s thought the future would look like, except just about everybody keeps their clothes on. It’s filled with huge pale oak tables covered with iMacs, iPhones, iPads, and a bunch of other iCrap that I probably couldn’t afford, even if I had any idea what it was. 

I stumbled around the store for a while, wending my way through a crowd of self-assured 30-something customers who were scientifically evaluating their potential purchases by taking duck-face selfies and watching Youtube videos of fat guys falling off ladders. Eventually I found the case I wanted and looked around for the check-out counter. 

Important advisory note – Apple Stores don’t have check-out counters. 

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John McCain

John McCain

Up to now I’ve been holding off on writing about the passing of Senator John McCain, largely because there is not much anyone can say about him that hasn’t already been eloquently said. 

But having just listened to Joe Biden speak at the funeral of his lifelong political adversary and dear friend, I just can’t help myself. John McCain is a man I honestly feel is one of the great Americans of all time, even though I’ve disagreed with him on nearly every one of his policy ideas. 

I first became aware of John McCain when I was twenty-one years old and saw film of American POWs being released in North Vietnam. He was the son of an Admiral, and a fighter pilot who had been shot down and held in Hanoi for five and a half years. 

Think about it. He endured sixty-six months of abuse and torture, more than two thousand days of unrelenting misery. The thing  I found incredible about his story, the thing that really stuck in my mind at the time, was that because of his father’s rank he had been offered early release – and had refused to go home a single day before any of his fellow prisoners.

Could there be a better definition of the word, “Hero?”

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Aretha

Aretha

How often is it that one word can completely change the way you feel? Say it with me:

Aretha.

Unless you’ve been living in a sensory deprivation chamber for the past fifty years, that word conjures a soaring, explosive voice singing…

R-E-S-P-E-C-T,
Find out what it means to me.

OK, I guess you can rightly accuse me of piling on here. It seems like everybody on the planet has written a tribute to the Queen of Soul, but I can’t help it. This woman was a musical force of nature who spent a lifetime changing the world around her. 

I think I was about 15 years old when I developed a crush on her. After all, she told me, straight out, that I made her feel like a natural woman!

When my soul was in the lost and found,
You came along to claim it…

Yes, I certainly did. When she sang, she was powerful, confident, dazzling, and just short of terrifyingly sexy.

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Siri & Me

Siri & Me

I finally got an iPhone. Mind you, I didn’t get the trendy new iPhone 5 – the only model I could afford without hitting the lottery was a creaky old iPhone 4s. This means I will have to make do with a severely antiquated phone that lost its status as most advanced technology in the world nearly three weeks ago.

I had to replace my old smartphone, Kierkegaard, because his battery died, and it was going to cost me more to replace the battery than to get the new phone. Besides, Kierkegaard kept pushing me over my data plan by sending me an endless stream of text messages going on and on about stuff like “…truth as subjectivity,” or “…the fluidity of social identities”  – sometimes in Danish. I figured it was time to move on, before I snapped and went all Hegelian on him.

My new iPhone is pretty nice. No, let me be slightly more precise – this thing is the greatest material addition to my life since the day I discovered beer and barbecued ribs.

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Now And Then

Now And Then

When I was a kid I had a sort-of girlfriend called Catnip Catie. Her name came from the fact that she always kept her personal supply of Whacky Wonder Weed hidden in her cat’s toys. Mind you, this was back in the olden days, before you could get a Prescription for legal Whacky Wonder Weed to treat your case of Restless Leg Syndrome.

I met Catie working in the hospital, where she was a Licensed Practical Nurse and I was a Certified Bedpan Technologist. She was also an artist, so she painted peace signs, and flowers, and variations on those cool Keep On Truckin’ cartoon guys on my guitar. She lived in a very colorful little Catie-decorated house trailer parked out in a field behind an old gas station.

Catie didn’t turn out to be a huge part of my life. I knew her for a couple of years, then we drifted our separate ways. But sometimes, forty years later, I like to just shut my eyes, and drift back, and hang out for a while in Catie’s trailer, inhaling the scent of her patchouli, and her paint, and fresh coffee, and last week’s bacon, all laced with just a hint of Whacky Wonder Weed and kitty litter.

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