David at Montana News Daily:
My father drank Johnny Walker. Red or Black, depending on his passing income. Straight, no ice, no water, straight as the scotch taking him to his heaven.
When he was dying, when I was twelve, I listened to my father’s heart. The rhythm went bump, bump, _____, _____, bump. I still hear those missing beats.
Wow, thats powerful imagery David. Thanks for that.
John VanDyk of View from an Iowa Homestead:
Communication is difficult. Perhaps my reality is so bizarre that others can’t link to the analogies I use to describe my ideas. Anyway, it’s disheartening to make what you consider a brilliant and lucid point, only to be met by blank stares (except Tina, to her credit, who has been married to me long enough to understand!).
John’s dilemma is well understood in these parts (blivet-land). He’s describing how his congregation is working on their worship and where they feel their direction as a body of believers is going. In a congregation there can be a wide variety of personalities and positions which can hamper the communication. Even in a group that you would think would have a great deal in common say a group of … Archaeologists (or Entomologists) it seems like communication is a scarce commodity. Sadly, I’ve given up on having a real exchange of ideas, I’m satisfied if I’m not grossly misunderstood. I try to lead with my mind and heart equally engaged and present and then listen very carefully. I wish I could say that I counted on the same thing in return. My grandmother once told me there are two kinds of people, those that listen and those that wait to talk. I suspect you are a good listener and expect others to be the same way. They may be filled with their own dialog and are just waiting to talk again and don’t hear you. At least you’re dealing with a community founded on compassion, love, and caring. Good luck John.
I posted a picture of my Dad for those of you who might be interested. I’ve talked about him a lot. I keep thinking about the movie Field of Dreams … I think seeing that movie was the first time I thought about my Dad as a young man and what he must have been like then …
As I left the barbershop today, tears of remembrance filled my eyes. It was not the middle aged me walking out of the door but my eight-year-old self, holding the hand of my grandfather and nursing the stick candy the barber had handed me. I heard the faint voice of the barber as we exited, “Fine young man you’ve got there Arthur”. I felt the extra squeeze on my held hand at these words.
Happy Father’s Day, Grandpa.
Scripting News: “Each top-level item now has its own URL. The blue arrow points to that URL. So if you want to point to part of a given day’s Scripting News, click on the arrow, copy the URL and paste it into your Web page or email.” Black dots, blue arrows – whatever.
array: “our last day on the east coast. we begin the return trip early tomorrow morning. the choice of routes is still undecided, but the pull of ‘just being home’ is getting stronger." There comes a point when the need for the sensation of motion just becomes overpowering and its time to get going … Good road to you two.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad
This day is for all of us who are Father, Dad, Papa, Pater, Daddy, or have someone who fits that description in your life. Remember to be an active part of your child’s life if you are a Father or your own Father’s life if he is still alive. Its never too late to start. postscript: In today’s dead tree edition of the Sunday newspaper Kathleen Parker, a columnist for the Orlando Sentinel, asked if it was “Time to end Father’s Day?” because of the general bad performance of Dads out there. I must live under a rock. Is it that bad ‘out there’?