Dan's World

A Musical Journey

2012-02-14T11:55:00.000-05:00

I recently reconnected with an old friend on Facebook, and this morning I was looking through her page and browsing some old photos from days gone by. I have a special place in my heart for my good friend Joey Douglas.

Joey is alive and well and living in New York. She's a singer and entertainer, doing what she loves, and enjoying her life. She's an extraordinary woman, and my life is richer because our paths crossed back in late 1976. I had just returned from a year in New York, having spent my time there studying the theater. At the end of the year I decided acting wasn't for me, and I really didn't want to continue living in New York due to the high expense and the fact that I had no job and no real desire to find one. You think New York is expensive now? Believe me, it was expensive back then, too. Compared to Atlanta, anyway. So, I packed it up and headed south.

Although acting wasn't in my blood, music certainly was, and I wanted to pursue that when I arrived back home and got settled in. I contacted the local musician's union to inquire about any jobs, and to register myself as a dues-paying member. About a week or so after doing this, I got a call from Joey. She sounded so friendly on the phone, and asked me if I'd like to audition for a band she was in. They needed a keyboard player, and so I agreed to the audition.

Joey was living in Douglasville, Georgia at the time, so I made the long drive out I-20 West to her apartment. I remember a nice upright piano against the wall, one of those older instruments that are very heavy. We had one like it when I was growing up, so I felt right at home as I began playing through some current pop songs. Joey smiled and told me how impressed she was with my playing and offered me the job. I was elated. My first job as a pianist. I would be doing some background singing, too, and of course I was happy to accept those terms in addition to being a member of the band. We also had a bass player and a drummer. We soon settled on the name Rainbow, or, as I remember "Joey Douglas and Rainbow," which became our official name, and we performed mostly top 40 tunes along with some of the oldies. This was in the mid 1970s, so there was an abundance of good, singable material out there for us to choose from. I remember lots of Carpenters music, which we all adored and which was very popular, and I even bought a Wurlitzer Model 200 keyboard to play, the same model Richard Carpenter used. I wish I still had it. It produced the most beautiful sound, and the feel was very much like the pianos I grew up playing. Much rehearsal time followed, but soon we were ready for some gigs.

We played anywhere we could. Joey's dear friend Carole acted as our first manager, calling hotels, restaurants, Kiwanis clubs, bars and clubs, just about any place she could think of trying to get us work. She did this tirelessly in addition to her full time job as a paralegal at First National Bank. We wouldn't have gotten very far without Carole's help, and more importantly, her belief in us. She just knew we would find work, and soon we did. I don't recall all the places we played, but most were local hotels and such, and once we had a three week engagement at the Marriott in Blacksburg, Virginia! Wow! We thought we were moving up when we got the news that Carole had landed this one for us. I may be wrong, but it could have been our new agent Mike who found this one, although it may have been Carole. It's been so long ago that some details are sketchy now.

Now, here we were getting ready for the journey north to Virginia. It was January, and as it happened, that winter was to go down in the history books as one the coldest and snowiest in that region of the country. I mean, it was COLD! We drove up in either two or three cars, I can't remember now, but one car had a U-Haul trailer behind it carrying all our equipment. I'm talking heavy speakers, soundboard, drum sets, keyboard, music stands, microphones, guitar, bass and accessories, not to mention what seemed like miles of cables and extension cords. It gave me a workout that only a 21-year-old could handle, and even then I was struggling. We had no road crew to help us. I think we handled everything on our own. There were four of us in the band: Joey, Tom, (Lord forgive me, the bass player's name I can't recall anymore), and me. Along for the ride were Carole, Tom's girlfriend, and the bass player's girlfriend, both of whose names I've long forgotten.

When we checked in at the front desk, we were told that the three of us guys would be staying in an apartment building which was adjacent to the hotel property since there were not enough rooms in the main hotel to accommodate us all. We didn't seem to mind hearing that, since the apartment turned out to have three bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a kitchen. But pretty soon we came to the shocking realization that there was something wrong with the thermostat that controlled our heat. The heater worked fine, but it would run a cycle and then switch off. It wouldn't come back on again until someone flipped the circuit breaker. As it happened, there was something faulty somewhere, and the only way to get the heat back on was to turn it on manually by flipping the breaker. Now, it was in the teens and twenties outside and huge drifts of snow covered everything. Snow was still falling and we needed heat! Obviously, we suffered most during the long, cold nights. We couldn't get up every 20 minutes or so to flip the switch, so we endured that ice cave for far too long. Looking back, I cannot understand why one of us didn't demand some action on this, but we didn't, perhaps because we were so happy just to be there, and we were out of the apartment most of the day anyway. Come nighttime, however--a different story. Would you believe it, on the last day of our stay in Blacksburg, a maintenance man showed up and fixed the problem. The last day! I still can't believe it. What were we thinking?

During our time there we didn't do much other than our nightly performances, at which only slim crowds attended during the week, with more on the weekends. I guess people just couldn't get there, so many a night we would play to one, two, maybe three customers. We enjoyed every minute of it, though, honing our skills and perfecting our act. We continued to have daily rehearsals, and Joey was very disciplined and could be tough on us when we needed it. She would become quite frustrated at some things we guys did, but we always came through for her in the end, and we all became good friends. Joey and I bonded during this time, I think, or at least we began to understand each other better.

The snow was so beautiful as it fell from the sky. One afternoon I went out into the cold by myself, and I could see the snowflakes in little piles here and there on leaves and on surfaces, and for the first time in my life, I saw some individual flakes in their pure, crystalline form. Never before had I seen a single snowflake with its six points other than in pictures. The infrequent snows we had in Mississippi were made up of heavy, wet flakes which never showed their pure crystals, so this dry snow was quite a sight. It made an impression on me and I've never forgotten it. Along with the beautiful flakes I also remember how quiet it was. To this day whenever it snows I marvel at the utter calm and quiet in the air. Not a sound could be heard that afternoon other than the brief stirring of the wind around me. It was a good day, one of the best. But I must admit I am easily entertained by nature and the simplest of pleasures!

One weekend we all decided it would be fun to drive to Washington, D.C. for some sight-seeing. I had never been, and for some reason we had a day or two off, so we took advantage of it. I remember that trip being a harrowing one because of the weather, but the main problem was the cold. The temperatures were staying below freezing all the time, so the snow and ice weren't melting. In fact, the mix of ice and snow was becoming more packed down like permafrost, and even walking was difficult. We did manage to maneuver our way through the streets of Washington, DC, in spite of mother nature's mayhem. We saw all the monuments, and even spent time in the Smithsonian, and that was amazing to me, seeing the vast array of exhibits. I remember seeing dinosaurs, something I always loved as a kid.

It was a time of high coffee prices, I remember. And also I think inflation was rampant and groceries and other necessities were higher than normal. I recall stopping for a cup of coffee on the ride back to Blacksburg, and was shocked to find that I could purchase one cup of coffee, no refills. No refills? I had been a waiter off and on for years and the one thing a customer could always count on was a bottomless cup of coffee. Not that year. It was crazy.

We continued our three week gig at the Marriott, but soon it was time to drive back to Atlanta. We reversed the process and packed everything up for the long haul south. I remember the roads being much better on the way home, and I think we made it home without any mishaps.

Our time on the road and in Blacksburg was one of the highlights of my young life, and we were all looking forward to more gigs and more road trips. But change was coming, and what happened soon after we arrived back in Atlanta came as a surprise to everyone, but especially to me, since I was the reason for it.

Christmas Joy

2011-12-10T13:05:00.001-05:00

Christmas brings joy to people everywhere, and the best joy of all comes from giving. It was God who gave us the greatest gift we've ever received, a tiny baby who would grow up to give us all new life, new birth, and eternal life. What better gift than that? Jesus taught us how to be gift givers. He was and is the master when it comes to giving. We continue to receive his gifts of love everywhere we look. In every single thing in our world we can find Jesus, and therefore, love. We have only to look, to seek, and to find.

The One who loves us urges us to give, and at Christmas we have a grand opportunity to do so. I don't necessarily mean gifts in the physical sense, but our gifts can include the time we spend with others, the little things we do for one another to say we care, and of course, our prayers. Our prayers for others are very powerful, and even more so because we are offering them up for someone other than ourselves, which is pleasing to God. Our personal prayers are important too, and God hears and answers those, but I like to think he is especially pleased when we pray in someone's behalf. That demonstrates to God that we aren't thinking of ourselves, but of others, just as Jesus did. Jesus spent a good part of his life on Earth praying to his Father in heaven, and he teaches us to pray for our needs and wants, even though God already knows them. We take it for granted that the people we love know we love them, but it always feels good to say "I love you," and feels even better when our ears hear those words spoken to us.

Some days I don't always feel lovable. Some days I get very down and I just have to wait it out. But I find that if I will pray a little for someone else, my spirits will brighten and my bad mood will lift. One of the mysteries of our faith is that we cannot know everything God has in store for us. That's where our trust and faith come into play. Jesus wants us to trust him every day in every way. He will take care of us if we allow him to. Life still won't be perfect, but our next life will be, and we can find hope in that. In the meantime, we can create our own heaven right here on Earth by giving of our time, our talent, and our hearts. Each act of giving brings us closer to Him.

My friends and I probably felt very close to Him this morning as we made our annual holiday HELP trek to downtown Atlanta where we distributed hundreds of gifts to the needy. Our gifts included hats, gloves, scarves, blankets, reading glasses, hygiene kits, smiles, hugs, and words of encouragement. As I wrote in a previous article, we were receiving as well as giving this morning. For each scarf we gave out, we got a "thank you," for each hat, a "Merry Christmas," for each pair of glasses, a "God bless you," and many more besides. All of this with a warm smile and a hug, and what better Christmas gift could we receive, I ask you? My heart was light, my spirit soared, and as we sang out each carol in the crisp morning sunshine I felt the warmth of His love everywhere.

Let us be thankful for the abundance we have, but let us also remember to share that overflow with others who may be in need.

Peace on Earth, good will to men.

God bless you.

HELP

2011-10-01T23:32:00.000-04:00

HELP. That is the name of our ministry to the homeless at Grace United Methodist Church. I was privileged to attend an outing this morning--the first of October. I'm a novice with the HELP ministry, and what a grand first impression it made on me. I had no clear idea what to expect, and I was humbled in the presence of so many friendly, smiling faces, and so many "thank you's" and "God bless you's." Everyone was cheerful and upbeat, which made our morning go smoothly. I could have stayed out in that parking lot for hours. The air was crisp with the autumn morning, the sun was shining, and all was right with the world. It felt like holy ground.

As I wrote in my previous entry, St. Francis of Assisi once said, "It is in giving that we receive." I was the recipient this morning. I was at the receiving end of God's good grace. It came to me through the handshakes, the smiles, the thank you's and God bless you's that surrounded me and my friends as we handed out needed supplies to the men, women, and children who we served this morning. Each and every person was genuinely grateful for what we had to offer. The experience helped me understand how close we are as human beings, and as Kevin Elrod so beautifully expressed in his closing prayer this morning, how not so far removed we all are from being homeless ourselves and how easily we could be in a similar situation.

And as our pastor Kate Floyd reminded us in her Weekly Reflection of September 28, 2011, Jesus is recorded as saying in the 25th chapter of Matthew:

I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked and you gave me clothing. I was sick and you took care of me…Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

Those words are powerful indeed, and their message became real to me today. My Grace friends and I had the special joy of living out these words this morning, and I think I can speak for them when I say we felt blessed to find in the eyes of each person we greeted, the face of Christ himself. A powerful affirmation of God's great love for us all, and how easy to receive--and give.

2011-09-20T23:35:00.000-04:00

We had a "Day of Visioning" at Grace Church recently. I am a member of a well-kept secret in Atlanta, and that is, Grace United Methodist Church on old Ponce de Leon Avenue in old Atlanta. I'm trying to let the secret out, so pay attention. I like to call that part of town "old Atlanta," not because it is older than any other part of the city, but because it still has many old buildings and landmarks of Atlanta's past. Atlanta has always been a city that has redefined itself. Since General Sherman and his armies marched through and set fires blazing, Atlanta has seen fit to rebuild and reshape itself into something new, as it did after the Civil War, and continues to do to this day. Churches, fortunately, are often the last buildings to be razed in the name of progress, and Atlanta still has most of its old houses of worship.

I would like to tell you how I feel about my church. I will try to impart the joy and sense of belonging I've found at Grace.

We, like many intown churches today, are struggling financially and struggling in other ways, most notably in trying to bring in new members. It's a difficult task in a city where so many people live, but so few seem to go to church. I pass walkers, joggers, runners, and dog-walkers on my way to church on Sunday mornings, and I wonder why they aren't at home getting ready for church. Of course, I realize some of the reasons for this. Intown and Midtown are made up of scores of young adults, most in their 20s and 30s, who are trying to carve out careers, start new lives, new families, and beginning that journey of trying to figure out who they are and where they fit in the world. Many haven't given much thought to organized religion. Even though I was brought up attending church, I will admit that when I left home and began my journey of self-discovery, finding a church was the last thing on my mind. I really didn't give it much thought in my younger adult years.

I think people find a church when they're ready. And when we're ready--when God calls us--we will reach out and take the lead. That's how it was for me. When Grace reached out to me, I took her hand and have never let go. From the first time I visited I felt the Holy Spirit in the sanctuary, and I was swept away. The service music, the stained glass windows, the preaching, the smiles and warm reception from the members, all of this and more pulled me in and made me feel at home. I just knew this was the place for me. Of course I returned on subsequent Sundays until I was overwhelmingly convinced that this was going to be my church home. Joining was the right decision for me.

Grace gives me the freedom to be me, to express my ideas and talents, my hopes and dreams, my prayers and my sorrows, and my hopes for the future. Our visioning session got us all together to think about who we are, and how we can continue being who we are in this busy city. We are a church steeped in tradition, a tradition rich in music and ministry, of helping others and nurturing lives. More than anything, we are a group of loving and caring people, who just want to use our gifts to help others and glorify God in the process.

We each have special gifts. Even if you don't think so, you do. God has given every one of us something unique, whether large or small, that we can use to benefit mankind. Many of us share the same talents as musicians, preachers, or teachers, but we each have something uniquely ours that we can offer. We just have to find it. Here is, I think, a good prayer: If you don't yet know, ask God to show you what your gift is. Once He has shown you, begin using it. Many of us know instinctively what we're good at, and we just need a mentor, friend, or loved one to give us encouragement. And sometimes your friends and family can point out what it is you're good at if you're not sure. Some may have only one special gift, while others might have many. A warm, sincere smile, an engaging personality, these too are gifts, and important ones because they bless others. We have an abundance of gifts at Grace, and the longer I attend the more clearly I see this. You don't have to be blessed with great or unusual talent to make a contribution. Most people aren't.

Dolly Parton once said: "If you see somebody without a smile, give them yours." That's great, isn't it? So simple, so easy to do, and so rewarding to both giver and receiver. Sadly, the smile you give to someone may be the only one they receive all day. Think about it. It's the easiest thing you can do, and it can be a tremendous and heartfelt gesture of God's love shining through you.

We are called as followers of Christ to love one another, just as He loves us. We must do this as Christians, or we do not honor God. Anything we say, anything we do, large or small, if it does not involve Love, it does not involve God. This is hard to accept at times, because so often we don't feel like loving. Our human tendency is to do what pleases us first, then what's left over we can offer to God and our fellow man. But God wants us to give our love and our gifts to others freely and with abundance, and through this He will in turn bless us.

My church teaches me how to give of myself all the time. We make items of warmth like scarves, hats, and mittens to give away to those who are cold on Atlanta's streets. We make hygiene kits and give them to those in need. Making something with your own hands, giving of your time simply for the sake of your church and for others, these are all actions that not only help the needy, but bring blessings to the giver in return.

It is in giving that we receive. St. Francis of Assisi said this many centuries ago, and I always enjoy reading his prayer and trying to apply it in my daily life.

As we struggle to maintain our financial integrity over the coming months and years, I feel certain that God will continue to bless Grace United Methodist Church, as long as we continue to honor Him in everything we do. Someone once said that God cannot be outdone in generosity, but we can surely try.

2011-09-16T21:12:00.006-04:00

I just returned from a short vacation to the North Carolina mountains, and I had the good fortune to stay in a most wonderful and charming Bed & Breakfast Inn located in Waynesville, NC. Nestled in the Blue Ridge valley and surrounded by beautiful mountaintops, Waynesville is a city of around ten thousand, and as charming as any place can be. My friends and I stayed at the Inn at Iris Meadows, located on Love Lane at the top of a hill, and looking down into town with the Blue Ridge mountain peaks in the distance.

The Inn at Iris Ridge is a 100-year-old home that has been fully restored and brought up to 21st century standards. The accommadations are first rate, as are the owners, Becky and George Fain. We wanted for nothing during our stay, and the Fains had thought of everything. We were greeted by Zephyrus, the resident cat, when we first arrived. He nudged up to each of us, as if we were old friends. The Fains own a dog, and her name is Scratch. Just as friendly as Zeph, the two of them made us feel at home instantly.

http://www.irismeadows.com/index.htm

I haven't stayed in many B&Bs, and this one really made an impression on me. I felt completely at home here, and pampered like a member of royalty. The breakfasts were impeccably prepared and presented, and the surroundings were peaceful and lovely. The guest rooms really blew me away with all the attention to detail. Fine and fancy bed linens, and the bathroom was over-the-top luxurious and spacious. This is a place you to have to see to appreciate, and I urge you to do just that.

George and Becky are two most gracious hosts, and you will adore their hospitality. Please check their web site and get more details.

I appreciate the finer things in life, and I wholeheartedly recommend The Inn at Iris Meadows. This Inn defines a perfect getaway for any occasion.

The Help

2011-08-16T10:06:00.002-04:00

I found The Help entertaining and somewhat disturbing at times. I have read through half the book, and am having trouble reading some parts of it, as Stockett's writing is sometimes very good, and other times difficult to follow. I grew up in Jackson in the 1960s, and I remember having "help" all through my childhood. Our maids, however, were not full time cooks and did not raise me and my 4 siblings, but were more part time housekeepers and occasionally cooked breakfast for us while my mother was busy getting ready to go to work. As children we never developed the kind of relationship with the help that is portrayed in the book and movie. I did have friends that had this kind of relationship with their help, but their economic status was higher than ours, and that might have played a part in it.

I remember hearing of some of the unrest during that period, although I was only a child in the sixties. The odd thing is, no one talked about it. I never heard adults speaking of racial unrest or tension, and everything was hush-hush. And on top of that, my father worked in the news media. Most kids my age in Jackson just had normal childhoods, but occasionally we would hear of racial incidents in the news. Our parents' generation would not speak on racial issues to us (children). That's the way it was. The incidents portrayed in The Help are foreign to me even though I grew up right in the heart of Jackson, Mississippi. I'm sure things like that happened, and probably more often than I want to believe, but I cannot relate directly.

One thing I can relate to though--integration. It happened the year I entered the 8th grade. Our school went from being 100% white to 60% black and 40% white. I had no idea what to expect on that first day, but looking back I remember how calm the transition was, or seemed to be. In particular I recall how well-behaved and well-dressed the black students were, and--how friendly. I made some new friends very easily the first week of school. I think they were just as tense and unsettled as we white kids were. I could see the anxious expressions on their faces. They didn't know what to expect any more than we did. It was awkward during that first week, but eventually we resumed a normal routine of just being junior high adolescents.

The teachers, however, were a different story. You could feel the tension they were experiencing. It's as though they were being judged on how well they could keep everything together, although in my classes we had no more disruption than normal. We had a few troublemakers, but they were quickly weeded out. Back then, class disorder was not tolerated, regardless of the racial makeup of the class. I hear things are quite different today. I've been told by some friends of mine who were former high school teachers that chaos reigns and that teachers aren't allowed to discipline or in some cases, even reprimand students. If that's the case I don't see how they do their jobs. I'm sure many can't, and that's a shame.

It's funny how adults are compared to kids. Left on their own, kids will associate and become friends with any child, regardless of race. It's how we are molded as young adults and who and what influences us that can make us bigoted or prejudiced. These behaviors are learned, of course, and passed along from one generation to the next.

I thought it was very touching the way Aibileen talked to Mae Mobley and tried her best to pass along the values of self-love and self-respect, in spite of her own conflicting emotions toward the white adults all around her. And it was heartbreaking how she described the way the children she raised turned out just like their parents when they reached adulthood. I like to believe that many of them didn't turn out that way, and that those like Skeeter continue to find ways to heal the wounds of those tumultuous years.

2011-08-12T00:45:00.003-04:00

What's wrong with our world today? I'm disturbed by so many things I see. The grace and good manners of the world in which I grew up seems to be disappearing. Everything and everyone is so common these days. People don't dress up anymore. People don't even care how they look when they go out. And people don't care about their bodies anymore. It's quite disturbing. I saw a young man on the plane this afternoon wearing a purple bathrobe, complete with belt over a T shirt and jeans. That's just wrong! And working in the airline industry, I see far more than this every day. I can't even begin to tell you. You would be embarrassed.

I think this is an American phenomenon. In other countries, Europe in particular, people still seem to take a semblance of pride in their daily lives. They don't overeat to the point of bursting their buttons at the dinner table, or see just how little moving around they can do. No, they walk, walk, and walk some more, and if they don't walk they ride bicycles! I realize that in Europe one can get from point A to point B a lot easier and quicker than here in the good old US of A. Things are much more compact over there. Walking and other exercise is just part of daily life. Here in America it's not.

Geography plays a big part in all this, I know. Most of us couldn't walk to the grocery store even if we wanted to because of the distance involved. Our cities and suburbs were not built for pedestrians. To get somewhere in the United States you have to take a car, bus, subway train, or a taxi. Only in certain parts of metropolitan areas can one get around on foot, and this might also apply to life in a very small town, but most of us are trapped in our cars, trucks, and SUVs. Hopelessly trapped, I might add.

It's such a shame to me that we have to go to a health club to get healthy! A club, for God's sake! And on top of that, we have to pay somebody for the privilege. What a sham. I refuse to do it. I won't pay someone or some establishment good money so I can lift heavy pieces of metal, sweat away on some treadmill, or jump around in a room with 100 other sweaty people, all for the sake of getting healthy. No sir. If that's what has to be done, count me out. I have other more important, and more fun things to do with my time than that.

Exercise should be about life, about doing things daily that maintain the body and the spirit. And that should spill over into our eating as well. There needs to be a natural rhythm to our day; we wake, we eat breakfast, we go to work, et cetera, on through the day, constantly moving about, stretching, walking, bending, lifting, movement, movement, movement, until at day's end we are tired and ready for sleep.

But we don't do that. We sit staring at computer screens all day, snacking, getting up only to use the bathroom, then we're back in our cubicles again, straining our eyes. After work we get into our cars and drive through rush hour traffic for Lord knows how long until we finally get home. Then what do we do? Sit in a recliner and watch TV until dinner time, where we consume too many calories eating too large a portion of whatever is on our plate. After dinner we retire to the family room to do some more channel surfing until it's time for bed, where we lie dormant for another 7 hours or so--if we're lucky to get 7 hours of sleep. And of course just before bed, we enjoy a large bowl of ice cream and a cookie or two as a midnight snack.

Whew! Now I know this doesn't describe everyone in the USA, but I'll wager a bet that this describes many, many people. Maybe a slight variation here and there, but pretty accurate nonetheless. What can be done about it? How can we change our patterns? What can we do to curb our ever increasing appetite for more? For bigger and better? After all, you can have it all, can't you? Isn't that what we're teaching our kids these days? You can do it! You can have it all. Hmmm...

We all know that the housing bubble explosion put a serious damper on a lot of consumer spending, thus slowing things a little. Let face the facts: Americans were living dangerously--overspending on credit, buying things we shouldn't have with money we didn't have. Many of us turned a blind eye to our spending, taking on more and more debt thinking that the stock market and the housing market would continue going up. That's what they were telling us. Housing prices were soaring ever higher. But no one seemed to be afraid of anything. No one cared to remember the old truism that "everything that goes up must come down." I was taught that as a youngster. And then came the crash. The house of cards came tumbling down. And it was a true house of cards, just barely able to stand on its own. The metaphor of the bubble is accurate here; beautiful and shiny, but oh, so fragile. Easily popped. And pop it did.

I don't know how I got off on the topic of the economy, but it all ties into how we've gotten off track.

I'm no economist, but I've read a little on the subject and I know some of how things operate out there. It's going to be an uphill battle to get Americans to change their ways, and some things we do are perfectly fine and healthy. I'm just seeing the results of our overindulgence and it ain't a pretty sight. These are just my thoughts, and if I can come up with some answers I'll let you know. Stay tuned, and thanks for listening.

2011-03-19T17:26:00.005-04:00

I have finally come into the 21st century (I suppose), and upgraded my cell phone to a smart phone. Smarter than my previous phone it is, although I guess that's a marketing ploy to get you to buy a new phone. Who wants a dumb phone, anyway? Not me!

It's great. It's like having a mini computer right in your hand, any time you need it. I can read the newspaper, see the stock reports, find a movie or a recipe, play a game or two, take pictures--beautiful ones, by the way--and shoot videos, too. I can watch TV or full-length movies, and much more. Oh, and I can make a phone call! Imagine that. It's got email, messaging, a calendar, a memo function, and so much more that I can't even remember. I can see now why people stay glued to their phones all the time--it's easy to do.

It's amazing what technology has brought us nowadays. All our gadgets are getting smaller and lighter, which I love. My heavy, clunky desktop computer finally gave way to a smaller, lighter laptop, and now I find myself using my smart phone as a substitute for the laptop, and it's with me all the time.

I waited and waited for several years before I made the changeover. I wanted the technology to improve and I didn't mind waiting for everyone else to work the bugs out. I've never been one to rush out and get the latest technology as soon as it appears on the store shelves--mainly because the price is usually high, and the glitches haven't been solved yet. So, I wait around for the prices to fall and the quality to improve. My timing was just right this time, and I'm very happy with my Android Galaxy S 4G phone. I'm a T-Mobile customer, and I've been happy with them for several years now. I highly recommend a smart phone to just about anyone, regardless of age. They are simple to learn and operate, because everything is touch, and it's all pretty intuitive. It's also fast, and oh so colorful! Absolutely beautiful screen, crisp and clear, with great sound.

That's enough on this subject for now. Trust me--it's a great newfangled invention!

This brings me to something else. One of the games that's really hot these days is Angry Birds. It can be downloaded for free right to your phone or computer, and it's so much fun to play. It looks like an episode of The Flintstones--prehistoric-looking backgrounds and sounds, and a queue of odd birds all itching to smash a mess of green, grunting pigs and piglets. Sounds bizarre, doesn't it. Believe me, it's fun, and I find myself playing it for longer periods of time than I should. I just can't help myself. This coming from someone who never plays video games, and who doesn't really care for them.

This afternoon I was finishing up my last flight into Atlanta, and I spied a woman who appeared to be in her early sixties just aiming and shooting away at those nasty pigs. I could tell she was hooked on the Angry Birds experience. I expect soon we'll be seeing more and more of this phenomenon and we'll see T shirts and lots of other paraphernalia showing these angry avians letting out their frustrations on the poor, helpless pigs. Great fun.

2010-12-06T23:03:00.002-05:00

Lowe's has severely disappointed me. I went to them in good faith to buy some major appliances for my kitchen and they have let me down. I will not go into the specifics here, but they have not followed through on their end, and that disappoints me. I expect more than that from a company as big as Lowe's.

As I was deciding what to do to my kitchen, I heard from a friend that he had had Lowe's do his kitchen remodel, and that they had done a splendid job, coordinating everything and accomplishing the installations in three consecutive days. I was quite impressed, so I decided to go with Lowe's, too. I have been let down again and again, at every turn in the road. I am so despondent now that I don't even care anymore. I wrote to the Corporate Offices to express my disappointment. Maybe that will get some results.

People in the service industry just don't seem to care anymore. I take great pride in my work. Some days I don't feel like going to work, but I do, and when I get there I give my all. I give 100% every day, because that was instilled in me growing up. I was taught to do my best--always, especially when it comes to my job, and I live up to that, day after day, even when I don't feel like it. I also expect it from others, but sadly, I must realize that that's often not the case. For whatever reason, some people don't care how they perform on the job, as long as they get paid. That's so sad, because it devalues the person. It does nothing to instill a sense of worth and pride.

I'm so beat down by this experience that right now I don't even care. If they come through and deliver and install what I paid for--fine. I'll be happy. If they don't--so be it. I'm through fighting. They can keep my money and the stuff I bought. I just don't care. I'll just never, never, never shop at Lowe's again, because they truly don't care about their customers. They've shown that, and I believe it.

What else can I say? Shame on them. I have nothing more to say. I'm tired of it all.

2010-11-25T11:42:00.003-05:00

I Give Thanks...

For the gift of sight; to see the wonder of nature in the turning leaves of brightest red and gold.
For the gift of hearing; to experience the joy of music and laughter everywhere around me.
For the gift of speaking; to say what's in my heart to those I love.
For the gift of feelings; to experience my heart's desires deep within my soul.
For the gift of love, for there is no greater gift than this.

I am thankful on this Thanksgiving day for the multitude of blessings God has bestowed on me and my family through the years, and my humble prayer today is that your life will also be richly blessed.

May we remember the good things, forget the bad, and always carry hope in our hearts.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

2010-06-09T10:16:00.002-04:00

Today I am feeling a little "under the weather." Last night my German friends and I were discussing phrases in English and German and how there are many similarities. We agreed that every language has its cliches and "phrases" as we call them, but translating them from one language to another can get tricky. When my friend Nicole was new to the U.S., she couldn't quite comprehend what someone was saying when they described themselves as under the weather. It does sound rather ridiculous, doesn't it? But then we have many such sayings in English.

I am struggling along with my German. Years ago when I was in junior high school, I had a German-speaking friend named Kathy. Kathy was American, but she lived the majority of her young life growing up in southern Germany. She did not have a German accent when she spoke English, but her German was fluent and beautiful. I was impressed with that, and began to learn some German using the "Living Language" course, which was a series of lessons on 33 1/3 LPs. I still have those old records somewhere, and they helped get me started. In high school I took a year of German, but never practiced speaking it and therefore, forgot most of what I had learned.

Fast forward to the year 2007, when I met another young German-speaking lady named Nicole, with whom I worked as a flight attendant, and my interest was piqued once again. This time I decided to invest in Rosetta Stone, another teaching course, and I have begun taking the lessons and am having some success. This time around, though, I have the Internet and its vast resources to help me, along with other German friends--Heike, Margaret, and Russell. I have no excuse this time. If I don't learn it, it's my own fault!

I will give a critique of Rosetta Stone when I have finished the course, for right now I am still on Level One, and there is much content to get through.

It's been fun rediscovering an old friend, and just maybe I'll be speaking German like a native before too long. Everyone says I have great pronunciation, and that encourages me to keep at it.

As for my "under the weather," I am staying in and trying to take care of myself. Just a cold I think, but it's making me feel really lousy. My head is throbbing and I don't have much energy. Oh well, I can sit and study my German lessons and let it all soak in. maybe that will soothe the pain.

2010-02-05T09:20:00.006-05:00

Today we lost a really special man, Whit Whitley, my sister Helen's father-in-law and my brother-in-law Craig's father. Whit was an amazing man in many ways. I didn't know him all that well—unfortunately for me—but any time I was in his presence I was better for the experience. Whit was always in a good mood, always smiling, laughing, and full of life. He was a positive man, and his positive outlook was inspiring. He could tell a joke and make me laugh, and he was generous to a fault. Whit was always eager to help his fellow man. He was a good adviser, counselor, and friend. The times I was in his company were always good, happy times like Christmas, Thanksgiving, et cetera, so I always got to see him at a time of celebration.

Today we celebrate this incredible man's life. As I'm sure he would have it, today we must remember Whit for all the good things, for all the love he shared, and for the legacy of optimism he left us. I will forever remember him with a smile on my face, for he always made me happy.

Craig and Helen will no doubt have many stories to share with our family in the months and years to come about Whit's good nature and generosity, and I look forward to hearing more about his life.

I miss you already, dear Whit, and I know you're in a better place now, free from pain and care, and reunited with your beloved wife Sarah. Whenever I'm down, I'll only have to remember you and I'll be just fine. That's the way you would want it.

I salute you Whit Whitley, and may I follow your example and live my life with the same good spirit you demonstrated every day in yours.

2010-01-25T18:44:00.003-05:00

I want to share with you something I discovered by accident over the Christmas holiday. I chose to make some split pea soup because I had a new immersion blender I wanted to try out, and I always like split pea soup at Christmas and when the weather is cold. Well, I knew I needed some ham to make my stock with. I went to the grocery store to buy all of my ingredients, and I was looking around for ham. I found whole hams, sliced hams, and diced ham, then—I spotted some "smoked neck bones," and "smoked ham hocks." Well, I had never used either of these, but I really needed something so I picked up a package of the neck bones and thought I'd give them a try. What the heck? And they were incredibly cheap, too.

I boiled the neck bones in water for about an hour to tenderize the meat and flavor the stock. I discarded the bones after getting as much meat off of them as I could, which wasn't much. I added the other ingredients for cooking and simmering, then removed the bay leaves about an hour later, after all the vegetables had become soft and well-cooked. I used my new blender (which worked incredibly well), and made a beautiful, creamy soup. Now, about this time I always taste the soup to see what seasonings it needs. Salt is always needed, along with pepper.

You could have knocked me over with a feather when I took a taste of the soup. I kid you not, if was perfectly seasoned! NO salt needed, no pepper, in fact, it was the most delicious concoction I had ever eaten. Apparently the neck bones were smoked and cured with salt, like a Smithfield ham, and those bones were all the seasoning I needed. I was incredulous. Any time I've made soup in the past I have always had to add salt, but this soup needed nothing extra. These little gems are filled with goodness that makes anything delicious. I immediately began thinking of other ways to use them. Black-eyed peas came to mind, along with cabbage.

Yesterday I made some vegetable-beef soup, first making my stock with some neck bones. It turned out to be the best I've ever made.

They're probably not good for me, but on occasion they can really spice up a meal. I'll certainly use them again and again. I've always heard that old Southern cooks rely on them for everything, and now I know why. Yum.

2009-12-16T22:38:00.003-05:00

Christmas means a lot of things to me, but Christmas music is at the top of my list of favorite things. Christmas carols never grow old, and since we only sing them once a year, they retain a fresh, new quality that is very satisfying. There is something special to me about hearing Silent Night for the first time each December. It's soothing and comforting, and carries me back to happy childhood memories of sitting in church on Christmas Eve and listening to the sounds of the season.

Tonight I watched a broadcast of the "Best of The Andy Williams Christmas Specials" on PBS and it was incredibly nostalgic for me. We watched those specials every year growing up, and seeing and hearing clips from times gone by warmed me all over. Such innocent times—though they really weren't—but we were only children so there was an innocence to everything. The beautiful harmonies of Andy and his brothers, the young Osmond brothers and their close harmony, the holiday sets and costumes all came together to create a unique holiday experience that I doubt we'll ever experience again. There truly was a magical quality to those broadcasts, and that's exactly as it should be. That's what makes them special, even now.

Perhaps because I grew up around good music, or perhaps because I am a musician and can appreciate the talent and hard work that go into making good music, I can spot talent when I see it. My grandfather had this ability, and I like to think I have it, too. I'd like to form a singing group of my own some day, with close harmonies featuring some of the fine songs I grew up listening to. Yes, I would like that. Let me get to work on that one, at least in my mind—for now. By next Christmas you might get to hear a program of the "Dan Thompson Singers." It could happen. Any good singers out there?

2009-12-03T18:14:00.003-05:00

Today I waited for the oven repair man to come fix my gas oven. He was quite impressed with the old thing. It was installed in the late 'seventies, and was very high-end for its day. This model has two gas ovens, a small one on top, and a full-sized one on the bottom. He said he rarely sees one like this. Most have a microwave on top, but never a second oven. "Very nice," he said.

The starter on the top oven had gone out, and the lower oven's starter was starting to falter. Any cake I baked would be gummy and undercooked in the middle, and almost overdone on the outer edges. I knew something was wrong. He got a new starter installed in the big oven, but will return tomorrow to repair the small one.

I have a pecan pie baking at this very moment. The aroma is enticing, and I just had to get started using up some of the seven pounds of pecans I bought at my church. I love pecan pie, and I've been waiting for the day the oven got fixed so I could bake one. I'll let you know how things turn out. Stay tuned....

Well, he fixed it up just fine and now it's baking just like an oven should. I tried it out on a pecan pie, and it baked beautifully. I'm glad that's over.

The Blind Side

2009-11-29T22:11:00.003-05:00

I saw a wonderful movie this evening—The Blind Side—starring Sandra Bullock. I had seen a promo on The View last week, and being from Mississippi and also being an Ole Miss fan, I thought I might like to see this one. I'm sure glad I did. The acting was superb, from everyone, and it was a heart-warming and touching film, perfect for opening on Thanksgiving weekend. Yes, it was a feel-good film based on a true story, but feel-good films are in short supply these days, and it was refreshing to leave the theater feeling good. I miss that. I miss going to see uplifting movies. There are so many reality TV shows on the air these days, and I don't know about you, but I don't like them. Some come very close to exploiting and ridiculing people. But that's a topic for another discussion.

I recommend The Blind Side. There is still hope for Hollywood.

Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T12:08:00.003-05:00

Today is Thanksgiving, and I am thankful for so many things. I cannot begin to name all my blessings, but I am blessed to have family and friends who love me and who I love in return.

There is so much we take for granted nowadays, and today gives us the perfect opportunity to reflect on those things for which we should be thankful. I have just named the most important two, but to be healthy and to live not only in this great country of ours, but to do so at this moment in time when we have so many conveniences and so much technology to make our lives easier makes it that much more of a blessing. Just think what life was like 100 years go, in 1909. Much different from today, you know. Just think how much has happened in the past 100 years. Good and bad, to be sure, but the gains have far outweighed the losses in many areas of our lives.

I won't begin listing all the things that make our lives easier because we all know what they are. No, I just want to sit down and give thanks on this day for everything I have, and try not to dwell on what I don't have. I believe the Lord will take care of my needs, just as He always has.

We who have an abundance of blessings should be mindful of these, and share our good fortune with those who may be hungry or hurting, or lonely on this Thanksgiving day. If all you can do is offer up a prayer of thanksgiving, that will be a great kindness and will help someone who needs a blessing. Prayer is powerful, but prayer works best when it's put into action. Share a smile with someone, share a turkey dinner with a stranger, give what you can on this Thanksgiving day to show how grateful you are for your many blessings. You'll feel better, and so will someone else.

Blessings and best wishes today and always!

Laughter Really Is The Best Medicine

2009-11-22T21:05:00.009-05:00

As I was sitting in my jumpseat the other day, I was once again feeling a little lonely and blue. You see, I am a flight attendant, most often working solo, and always on flights with a bunch of strangers. Most folks want nothing more than to sleep and be left alone, so often I am left with nothing to do after I've completed my service. It's especially bothersome on long flights, and even worse at night. It can get pretty boring, let me assure you, and oftentimes it is hard to stay awake, although I always do of course. The point is, my job can get me down if I let it, and that set me to thinking about how seldom I laugh anymore. I mean, I'm talking about real deep-down laughing, the kind you do when you get hysterical at something and can't stop. Real gut-busting, soul-cleansing laughter that feels so good. Oh, how I miss that special kind of joy. I used to laugh like that quite often in the past, and I can't recall when it began to fade, but sitting in my jumpseat on the airplane the other night I thought about it for a long while.

I remembered being in church on many Sundays as a youngster when my brother and I would get tickled about something...usually some person who looked a little odd, or a strange sound, or whatever. It didn't matter what started us off, but one of us would be desperately trying to stifle a laugh, and of course the other would be trying in vain to do the same thing, and we both tried so hard to keep from laughing out loud. To do so would have been terrible, and so embarrassing. We knew we couldn't—and shouldn't—laugh, but we were powerless to help ourselves. It was agonizing, because the harder we tried to stop, the worse it got. My mother—or grandmother—depending on which church we were in, would shoot us a disapproving look or grab us by the hand, and eventually we would calm down, but I remember how much fun it was to laugh like that, even though it was a strain to get through.

I remember going to comedy clubs and seeing certain comedians who could make me double over with laughter, but those talents are getting harder and harder to find. We all take life too seriously these days. I'd like to laugh more in my daily life and hear others laugh more, too.

I am no comedian. I cannot tell a joke to save my life. Heck, I can't even remember one, let alone tell one. No, I have to leave that up to the professionals. But I sure can appreciate a good joke and I have no shyness about expressing my appreciation.

Phyllis Diller used to make me laugh. I had some old comedy records of hers from the 'sixties. Her dialogue made me roll on the floor, and I was only a teenager. Instead of listening to the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, I was in my room laughing over Phyllis Diller monologues or nightclub acts by Moms Mabley or Fannie Flagg. Oh, how I miss those hours I spent soaking in all those jokes and one-liners. And the best part was, I could play them back as often as I wished. I could laugh myself silly if I wanted to.

I've let myself become too serious these days. Maybe it's time for me to break out the old recordings and relive my childhood memories. The only problem is, I have long since gotten rid of those old records. I suppose I can dig up a lot of that material on the Internet, but it won't be quite the same as placing the phonograph needle on the edge of the LP and waiting for the fun to begin. Oh, I'm laughing right now just thinking about it.

I can laugh at anything, at any time, and for any reason. I've been known to laugh spontaneously in the presence of others, leaving them quite in the dark as to the reason for my chuckling. If someone should ask me, "Dan, what's so funny?" I couldn't even begin to explain it to them, because I might be thinking about anything. I don't do that anymore, and I miss it.

My sister and her husband are certified Laughter Yoga instructors. They lead workshops and gatherings to promote more laughter in the world. I've resisted attending one of their events, thinking that I didn't need it, but now I am considering jumping right in and laughing along with the best of them. I think it would be an exhilarating experience. They tell me it will work, and that I'll feel so much better afterward. Perhaps it's worth a try. Anything for a laugh, right?

We should all try to loosen up a bit and stop being so serious about everything. Or, be serious if you must, but take the time to unwind and laugh a little on a regular basis. I still believe it's good medicine for what ails you.

Follow-up To Previous Post

2009-11-21T19:34:00.002-05:00

I want to add something to my latest post on the early arrival of Christmas. Just in the past four days as I was traveling, I encountered two instances of what I was just blogging about. Mind you, it's the week before Thanksgiving. In the lobby of the Asheville, NC airport, a huge decorated Christmas tree greeted me as I descended the escalator, and I thought, "Oh no, this is just what I was complaining about!"

To further add to my misery, another adorned tree greeted me when I checked into my hotel a few minutes later. It seems I was a little late in getting the news out that--"I don't approve of this. Stop it--stop it now! Don't you see you're cheapening Christmas?"

Of course I would never say this out loud (what good would it do?), but the thoughts were boiling around in my head nonetheless. I guess I'll just have to cease my Scroogy attitude and accept things as they are.

I agree with the "Angry Old Man" from Saturday Night Live, portrayed by Dana Carvey, who said: "I don't like it. I hate it. I hate it," all the while pounding his fists on the desk and looking angrily out at the audience. Yes, sometimes I feel just like that. So there.

2009-11-17T15:10:00.007-05:00

With each passing year it seems, Christmas comes earlier and earlier. Not literally, of course, but with the way our society functions, it appears that we just can't wait for the holidays to begin. Sure, it's a happy time for most of us, and a time full of joy and beautiful things, but there is much truth to the saying of having "too much of a good thing."

Years ago—and I mean decades—nothing "Christmasy" ever appeared on the scene until after Thanksgiving. No television ads, no newspaper flyers, no Santas in store windows, nothing to hint that the holidays were upon us ever showed up on the scene until at least the day after Thanksgiving. That was fine with me and most everyone I knew. Then somewhere along the way, the start date got pushed back earlier and earlier. This year I saw Christmas trees and other holiday decorations for sale even before Halloween. Yes. I am telling the truth. I almost died when I went to buy some Halloween decorations and saw Christmas stuff out for sale. I thought, "Can't we wait at least until after Halloween?" I almost laughed out loud when I thought that, because how ironic that I would be incensed about something like this around Halloween, when in prior years I would have felt this outrage closer to Thanksgiving. Here it was a few days before Halloween and the Santas were already waving and smiling. I should have been in full outrage, but perhaps I have slowly become accustomed to the encroachment of Christmas a little earlier with each passing year.

I suppose I can see it from a business standpoint. God knows retailers are having a hard enough time in this down economy, and they need all the extra time they can squeeze out of the holiday shopping season to make a buck. But I still don't like to rush Christmas. I like to enjoy the segue of Halloween to Thanksgiving, then Thanksgiving to Christmas. I prefer to have clear distinctions between the holidays so that I can appreciate each one on its own.

I saw a cartoon the other day that read: Merry Thanksgivoween! Are we coming to that? Are we combining all the fall and winter holidays into one big event? Wouldn't that be easier? Maybe, but it wouldn't be nearly as much fun. That was an extreme example, of course, but it illustrated how we rush the holidays and hardly have time to catch our collective breaths before getting ready for the next celebration. Whew! I get winded just thinking about it.

We decorate our homes and lawns earlier than ever before, too. Folks may not remember this, but there was a time not so long ago when Christmas trees were not put out and decorated until Christmas Eve. Imagine that! Remember, Christmas doesn't officially begin until Christmas Day, the day designated as Christ's birthday, and then continues for twelve days, according to Christian doctrine and tradition.

But the Christmas season isn't really all about Christmas, is it? Despite what Linus tried to tell Charlie Brown on a dark and lonely theater stage, Christmas is about a lot more than that. It's about shopping and spending lots of money. It's about rushing around, meeting deadlines and going to fancy, overdone parties. It's all about the lights, and the sparkle of tinsel and shiny ornaments. It's about out-decorating your neighbors and seeing who can win the award for the biggest and brightest—and gaudiest—yard display.

I suppose those things have their places in our Christmas culture. Other countries have their traditions, too, and we might think them a little strange, but it's all what you get used to. It's all what you're comfortable with and what you grew up with. I just happened to grow up at a time when Christmas was Christmas, and it didn't start until after the last plate of turkey and dressing was consumed, and all the pilgrim and pine cone decorations of Thanksgiving had been carefully put away for next year. We relaxed with our tummies full, took naps and woke up ready to make that turkey sandwich with the leftover turkey that always tasted so good between two slices of thin, white bread, slathered with mayonnaise. After we had eaten that last crust of bread and gotten the kitchen all cleaned up and the good china washed and put away, maybe then--maybe--would we start to think about Santa Claus. But let's not think about it just yet, not until after we've slept off that huge meal. Maybe then we can decide what we're going to do with all those lefovers. Turkey soup, anyone?

2009-10-08T22:45:00.002-04:00

I have been doing a lot of other things lately besides writing. I am correcting that. For one thing, I have now moved all my Word files to my new laptop, so I now have no good excuse for not writing more.

I have started on my first book. I don't want to divulge any details at this time, since it is so new that there isn't much to tell you. The story is coming out of all the ideas in my mind for the sequel to another story that is about forty years old. It's exciting, and I hope to include a snippet of the narrative soon.

2009-05-26T12:30:00.002-04:00

The rains have returned to Georgia with a vengeance. After a prolonged drought, we are finally getting the relief we need. We have endured numerous watering restrictions over the last several years, and our lake levels have fallen drastically. Now, after several consecutive weeks of steady rain, we are finally putting our deficit to rest.

I once heard a weatherman say, "It usually rains after a drought," and boy was he right. Well, I suppose that's how Mother Nature works. She decides when and how much precipitation we are to receive, and whether global warming has anything to do with it—well, who really knows? I'm on the fence with that issue. I think the weather is influenced by countless factors, most of which we don't even understand yet.

Let's enjoy our good fortune while it lasts. The lakes are filling up, the trees and flowers are getting a good drink, and everyone's front lawn sure looks emerald green and healthy right now.

The powers that be have declared the drought in Georgia "officially over." I'm glad to hear it. Let it rain, let it pour.

2009-05-05T10:33:00.002-04:00

Today is my birthday. I feel so lucky to have as many friends as I do, and so many of you remembered me today. Thanks to Facebook, it's really easy to keep up with friends and family. I love perusing the pages of my friends and seeing what's up in their lives. It makes me feel more connected somehow.

Cherish your friendships. And be a good friend to yourself.

2009-03-24T10:12:00.003-04:00

After a long absence, I'm back. I cannot say why I've been away for so long. So many distractions to take me away from writing, none of them important enough to keep me from something I love, and something I need to do.

A lot has happened since I posted my last entry. My father has been in and out of the hospital since December. He's 81, and suffering from dementia and congestive heart failure. His health is sometimes fragile, especially while he is hospitalized. I hate seeing him in that condition—hooked up to IV fluids and other equipment, because he seems so delicate and fragile. It breaks my heart. It's been so hard visiting him during those hospital stays, but fortunately, he's out now and doing much better. Recently, we moved him into a brand-new Sunrise facility in John's Creek, and the cheerfulness of the staff and his new surroundings have helped all of us to feel better. Daddy is the first—and only—resident on his floor, and everyone is competing for his attention. At times I think, surely he must realize how pampered he is, and then at other times I'm not sure he knows. His dementia worsens as the day wears on. This is a common symptom, I am told, and happens often in elderly dementia sufferers. My family and I are so thankful he is in a wonderfully supportive environment where he receives lots of attention, therapy, and great food! At this point, his new home is more like a resort than an assisted living facility.

Growing old is never easy. Seeing my parents age reminds me that I am not far behind them, and teaches me how short and precious life on Earth is. You blink and you're 30. Blink again—40. Time moves faster and faster with each passing year and decade. I don't know why that is, but maybe it's because by the time you reach say, 50, you've seen so much of what life has to offer, experienced so much, that you begin to wonder what's left.

For me, I have no children of my own to love and occupy my time. I am blessed with two wonderful and adorable nieces, which is the next best thing to having children of my own, I suppose. I love them so much, and they are growing up fast.

I read a while ago that one way to slow the passing of time is to vary your routine. Learn a new skill, take a class, get a new job, go on an extended vacation—things like that. Anything to change the way your day flows will help give you a new perspective on life and just may trick you into thinking that time is slowing a little. Keeping the same schedule day after day is boring and monotonous, and allows one day to blend into the next....and the next, and pretty soon a whole month goes by and you wonder where all the time went. Throw in something new and different and you upset the system, thus allowing new experiences to enter and slow things down. It's kind of like baking a cake. You add ingredients into a mixer and turn it on. Pretty soon the eggs and sugar are well-blended and the mixer seems to speed up just a little. But then you add in the flour and milk, and things get messy. The mixer has to work a little harder, and "appears" to slow down until everything is smoothly blended again. That's kind of the way life is. When something new is added to the mix of your daily life, it takes time to incorporate, and once in, makes a richer, fuller batter. I guess I'm comparing life to cake batter, huh? In some ways, it is.

I thank God every day for my family, my home, and my health. All are fragile, and all could be gone in an instant through some unforeseen event. If you'll think of every single day of your life as a gift, you won't go wrong. Every tragedy, every sickness, every death, brings healing and new life. Everything which tries to tear us down ultimately makes us stronger. Just as exercise is good for the body, trials and tribulations are good for the soul. Healing comes only after pain, and that's the secret of how life works. Take your trials as a gift, because through them comes a stronger You, better able to face new obstacles that may come your way.

Some of the best advice I've read stressed the difference between Thankfulness and Praise. Thankfulness is when we thank God for things we've asked for, things we've wanted and received through prayer and work. That's easy. But then there is Praise—praise is what we must give God for everything. Even in the midst of our greatest hardships, we should still give God praise. That can be very hard to do, but do it we must, because ultimately, God has a plan for us all, and that includes whatever miserable predicament we find ourselves in at the moment. By praising Him, we surrender to His Will, and that brings acceptance, which allows God to work in our lives.

....Gosh, I didn't expect to preach a sermon today. In fact, this is probably the first such sermon I've ever put down—anywhere. I didn't know it was in me.

The Loss of A Great Author

2008-11-05T15:17:00.004-05:00

Today I read with sadness the passing of one of my favorite authors, Michael Crichton. At the age of only 66, Michael succumbed to cancer. The author of numerous books and the possessor of a great deal of scientific knowledge, he will be greatly missed by his legions of fans, of which I am one. I first became a fan after reading Timeline. I was captivated by it and could not put it down. I felt so disappointed after reading the last page because I just wanted the story to go on and on. Crichton's excellent writing style and story-telling genius kept me spellbound with each sentence. He made me feel like I was right in the middle of the action in every scene, and it was breathtaking.

I read Jurassic Park, of course, and Sphere. So far, Timeline is my favorite, hands down. If you haven't read it, grab a copy as soon as you can. It will hook you from the first page to the last. But don't bother watching the movie version, as it was a joke, in my opinion.

I have a lot of catching up to do with his other books, and I think State of Fear and Disclosure will be my next picks, in that order. I look forward to reading and then sharing my thoughts on these next two.

Crichton loved the works of Mark Twain and Alfred Hitchcock. They were his role models.

I am deeply saddened by his passing, and I know I shall cherish his writings all the more now that he's gone.

"Thank You," Michael, and may you rest in peace.

On Halloween Night

2008-10-21T12:09:00.013-04:00

The darkness comes early on Halloween night
spirits and goblins are ready to fight
The tree winds moan
and the full moon's in sight
The stage is now set
for some Halloween fright.

A large owl hoots and flies from its perch
Bats huddle 'round,
beginning their search
The air holds a chill,
and children stand still
Afraid of their shadows,
too frightened to squeal.

A patch of huge pumpkins
sits off to the left
It seems they are watching,
with eyes that won't rest.

I quicken my pace
and try not to glance,
'cause I feel their eyes staring
and I can't take a chance.

It's homeward I'm bound
and tonight I must walk
through woods and through meadows
with eyes like a hawk.

A cackle I hear
unearthly and weird,
a figure sneaks by
and fills me with fear.

I look around swiftly
to see what's about
when I see a face dimly
and rather than shout,
I stand there quite calmly
and squinting my eyes
I see a witch costume,
a child in disguise.

I must get it together
or else I'll be toast
For the creatures that scare me
are bat, witch, and ghost.

These Halloween frights
are the things on my mind
and the woods are now full of them,
in front, and behind.

I can see my house faintly
up ahead through the mist
My heart is still pounding
my hands, two clinched fists.

Ready to strike
to defend if I must
Against these wild demons
who roam in the dusk.

At last I am home
tucked safely inside
With door bolted shut
I let out a sigh. ...

Now all of these horrors
which gave me such fright,
Are outside my door
on this Halloween night.

Dan Thompson
October 21, 2008

Magical Moon

2008-10-01T12:28:00.013-04:00

Recently, I was watching one of my favorite old movies, Finian's Rainbow, and I got an inspiration for a poem. One of my favorite scenes is when Woody and Sharon meet in the woods at night and Woody charms her and tries to get her to believe in werewolves. He gains her confidence and the two of them lie side by side on the cool grass looking up at the full moon. One of the best songs from the movie follows—Old Devil Moon. This poem was inspired by that scene. I hope you enjoy it.

You can watch "Old Devil Moon" by clicking this link. Sit back, and enjoy.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=rS5jXMHXU84

And now, here's my poem:

Magical Moon

I want to lie in the cool grass on a late summer's evening—
lie still beside you, and look at the moon.
With no words spoken, we'll ponder the mysteries of life in a hazy moon
whose never-changing face will delight us and stir in us new wonder.

That summer's eve, when twilight turns to dusk
the sound of all things nocturnal fills our ears
and the fragrance of early fall drifts through the air.

Into the night we move, comforted by the knowing of God's protection
allowing our senses to take in everything that surrounds us
in the hope of growing closer still, closer to the realization of perfect harmony.

Alone, and yet together as one in the stillness of evening.

Communicating without words, speaking only through the sound of two heartbeats, echoed
by the distant chirping of crickets in soft rhythm and cadence.

Oh! Heavenly moon! How can the mortal eyes of man fathom your deep mystery? What lies beneath your mottled and jagged surface?
What keeps you floating in a sea of nothingness for all time?

I turn to gaze at you my love, and behold a work of God's perfection.
A face possessing wisdom and wonderful style,
eyes with the beauty and depth of some vast, unknown ocean
placed somewhere on another world, a world which man
will never see.

None could create your singular beauty but a God,
a God whose love creates anything—from nothing.

Oh, my love! To feel you close to me brings a warmth no sun would dare challenge.
In you will I contemplate the rest of my days.

On this splendid night, the lucky moon and I share in the delight of your moonward gaze,
eyes shining with the clarity of blue polished glass.

In union with you will I complete my desires and longings. I will forever cherish the spirit of giving
I learn from you.

Tonight, all things seem possible. Every imagined idea, every hopeful thought, every desire seems to stretch out before us like the blades of grass
on which we lie.
Each blade a hope or dream, a wish, waiting only for a word from us
to spring into life.

The moon in all its splendor seems to be whispering such affirmatives all around us.

And then... all creatures cease their chatter, and for an instant the moon grows brighter, our hearts beating faster as we gaze upward into the face of that eternal orb, sensing the brightness and almost feeling we are looking at God Himself.

Then, just as suddenly, the nocturnal sounds resume their familiar harmonies, the air stirs a gentle breeze, and in that instant...

life returns to normal.

Stunned by a miracle, we look at each other and can find no words to say.

In that magical moment, we believe, the light of God's love,
splicing into the moon's rays
and caressing moonbeams with purest love,
streamed downward and gave us a tiny, and all too brief...
glimpse of eternity.

God's touch?. ...

We wonder in awe.

And so, we continue our moon watch, waiting, hoping to experience another
miracle on this summer night.

My Electric Is Parked Out Front

2008-09-24T10:44:00.012-04:00

Come on, America, WAKE UP! It appears obvious to me that the future of transportation is not in fossil fuels. We are ruining our environment with air pollution from gas-guzzling cars, and we are certainly at the mercy of the big oil companies when it comes to how we can get around. They have us exactly where they want (and need) us, and they don't want to see any new-fangled inventions coming along to upset their monopoly, thus keeping their bank accounts bloated.

It's about history, tradition, and family businesses that go back generations. It's about immense wealth created through an industry that relies on each one of us to buy the products and services they offer. In short, it's a beautifully framed picture of life the way it has been, and the way they want it to continue to be.

Oil has powered our American economy for nearly a century now, and over that length of time the forces behind it have become something akin to a mighty hurricane like Ike or Katrina, building power through their many decades of expansion and control. We had better stand back and stay out of the way...or else, they presume.

But come on, let's be honest. We have all benefited tremendously from oil. It has enabled us to prosper as a nation, to move around and get to just about anyplace we want to be. Oil and gasoline have been our friends, but they've always had a dark side, and we all know what that is: the pollution, the ever-changing supply and demand problems, the volatile markets, the short supplies and the rising prices, the vast expense and labor it takes to refine crude oil into gasoline and other usable forms of energy. The list goes on. It only makes sense to start looking to other ways to feed our transportation habits. We've been on this roller coaster ride long enough and quite frankly, I'm getting a little nauseated from the rough ride. Let's face it, no matter what happens in the oil industry, we'll still need to get from point A to point B. That's a fact that isn't likely to change--ever.

Wiser heads than mine have been pondering these issues for many years, and we now have some viable alternatives out there just waiting to be given the chance to grow and mature. My personal favorite is the electric car. I've been reading with a lot of interest about the Chevy Volt, scheduled to be on showroom floors by 2010. This is one sleek, sexy auto. Check out the photo. It has immense street appeal from what I've seen. It can apparently go 40 miles between charges, more than enough for the average daily commuter to get to and from work without a re-charge. It has other neat advantages, too. It doesn't pollute, it's incredibly quiet, but the best part is, it needs no gas (or at the very least, only a bare minimum to help keep the batteries charged). From what I understand, any gasoline required for the Volt won't be used to actually propel the vehicle, but solely for reasons of sustaining battery life between charges. Sure, it will have to be plugged in to keep it going, but that can be accomplished with minimal effort by simply plugging it into a wall socket.

If electric cars catch on, almost overnight you'll see charging stations springing up like mushrooms after a rainstorm to handle the needs of those who don't park in a garage or driveway, those who must park on city and neighborhood streets at night. I've given that some thought since in my own neighborhood there are many cars that are forced to park on the street due to the lack of driveways and garages. Without the convenience of a garage, I wondered, where will these folks charge their electrics? The mother of invention will take care of that little problem, let me assure you. Whoever is resourceful enough and lucky enough to be first in line with a charging station patent will become incredibly rich on that little invention.

Yes, I am dreaming of driving my first electric car. Sleek and sexy would be my preference, but body style isn't even at the top of my wish list. I really don't care what the thing looks like as long as it's affordable, dependable, and practical. Those are three paramount concerns. And those concerns are at the top of the list when it comes to America's acceptance of an electric car, or any invention for that matter. Besides the production of the vehicle itself, those three items on the list must be wrestled with and conquered before this concept will truly take to the road.

It's a tall order. Very tall. A lot of work lies ahead, but I remain optimistic. The work is already being done, steadily, but surely. I am convinced that it won't be much longer before my dream of owning an electric car will become reality. Mark my words folks, and remember you read it here first; as soon as the before-mentioned three issues are cleared up, and as soon as these cars start appearing on America's roads, everyone will want one, and the growth potential will be astounding. It'll be the biggest phenomenon since the convertible or the two-seater sports car. And the "cool factor" will surpass all other cool factors out there. The latest cell phones and IPods will pale in comparison to the status of being among the first to own one of these beauties. Just you wait. I know what I'm talking about.

I'm a dreamer, I admit it, but all great ideas have their beginnings in dreams. And this is one dream that's closer to reality than you might think. The timing is right and the conditions are favorable for the acceptance of an alternative energy source. I believe the market is out there, practically begging for something different, and the public is sick and tired of the status quo. Yes, a warm reception awaits those who can produce the desired results. Any takers?

Note and followup: Since writing this, the price of gasoline has dropped dramatically, the economy is in the pits, and nobody's buying new cars right now—gasoline or electric. Who would have guessed these things could happen in so brief a period of time.

My dream still holds, though. In time gas prices will rise again and the cry for innovation will trumpet forth. General Motors is still working on the Chevy Volt, promising its debut in 2010. We shall see. Other, more pressing concerns are facing our country at the moment, and the advent of the electric car seems unimportant in comparison to job losses, layoffs, decreasing salaries, and a host of other problems facing all of us. I won't even begin to comment on some of the absurdly stupid acts that have been recently committed, with little or no oversight, and the parsimony of certain individuals is beyond my comprehension.

Sigh....

Grammar and Speech

2008-09-03T12:13:00.002-04:00

I admit it--I'm a grammar grump, or grouch, or however you care to label it. I hate it when I hear English spoken carelessly and sloppily. It's so easy to be careless and take a cavalier attitude toward grammar and speech, but our language deserves more respect than that. I'm quite aware that English is a living, changing language; it always has been. But when its misuse and downright abuse is so evident nowadays, it makes me wonder why this is happening and just what's behind it. There are many reasons, of course, some more obvious than others, but I suspect one of the main causes is the result of "media immersion." Everything is "right now," and "at this moment." You can't listen to a news program without hearing the words "right now" at least once every sixty seconds, sometimes more frequently than that.

I like using the term "trend-speak" to describe the phenomenon of the way English is being assaulted on the airwaves and in print. For instance, when did it suddenly become acceptable in everyday speech to start pronouncing consonants with such force? For example: when did "Atlanta" become "At-Lan-tuh?" Where previously the "ta" of "Atlanta" was pronounced using what's called an aspirated "t", it has decayed into mispronunciation as "At-LAN-tuh." Or worse yet, "Uhlanna." Yes, believe it or not I hear it pronounced that way occasionally.

Friend Juan Antonio Samaranch made an official announcement to all Atlantans and the world on a special day in 1996. He announced something to the effect of ... "the International Olympic Committee has awarded the 1996 Olympic Games to the city of... At-lan-tah." When he said it that way--and because that speech was replayed countless times on Atlanta television--somehow the pronunciation stuck and that's about when I first started hearing the widespread use of "At-lan-tuh." Years later I still hear it every day. Amazing. English is not this man's native language and he was speaking it with a Spanish accent, for heaven's sake! Do we have to follow suit and try to imitate his speech? I don't think so. The same goes for J-Lo (Jennifer Lopez). I suspect her speech (translation: accent), has influenced the tongue of many a young girl. Why? Because it sounds cool, of course. And we always want to imitate those we admire, now don't we?

"didn't" has now become did-dunt.
I have heard "button" pronounced bud-don.
"wouldn't" has morphed into would-dunt.
"couldn't" -- could-dunt, et cetera.

OH, and where in the heck did all this "an-tie" goop come from? "Antivirus" is now pronounced "An-tie-virus." tie-being pronounced as "tie" in "necktie." The absolute worst rendering of this is found in saying "mul-tie-tasking." It's nauseating to hear.

I've been doing a bit of my own research into this phenomenon, and here are some thoughts I'd like to share. Feel free to add your own if you'd like to comment.

We all know, of course, how the word "like" has taken over in everyday speech and peppers every teen conversation you hear. It doesn't matter where you live anymore. Thanks to TV and the movies, all trends now spread lightning-fast, and are picked up very quickly by the masses. These and other characteristics of Valspeak, or (valley girl) speech, are amply documented and presented for your reading pleasure at Wikipedia.com. I won't go deeply into the uses of "like" and "totally" on this blog, because they are already well documented all over the Internet. I just want to acknowledge them, even though they neither need nor deserve any encouragement from me or anybody else. Let's just say, they're here, and it seems they're here to stay--at least for now.

Misuse of the word like dates back to the beatnik era of the 1950's, although at the time it was used slightly differently, and in a more restrained fashion. You can watch old 1950's sitcoms and hear it spoken among the young folks. It sounds funny to my ear when I hear it, and it's interesting to compare how it was used then versus now.

Every generation has its speech peculiarities. In college, my speech teacher used to say that the way you talk demonstrates your class, education, and what region of the country you're from. I find that to be mostly true, although it may be harder to make those distinctions in today's world, where it seems we're all starting to sound alike, and many regions of the country seem to be losing their regional accents entirely, especially among the young crowd. Again, television and movies play a tremendous role in shaping these speech patterns. It's evident everywhere you travel.

I suppose I'll eventually learn to accept all this and move on. But in the meantime I'll do my best to keep on speaking the King's English, and I'll try my darndest to resist the urge to, well, you know...like...oh....what-ever!

Knitting Vs Crocheting

2008-08-30T10:52:00.001-04:00

First of all, I want it to be known that I am both a knitter and a crocheter. I love both crafts, and they each have their positives and negatives. There seems to be a great division between the two parties, or at least that is the perception. One craft is often held in higher status than the other, and in my opinion this tendency is completely arbitrary.

Knitting and crocheting are two very different ways of making a piece of fabric, since the execution of the individual stitches requires the use of either two needles (in the case of knitting), or one hook (in the case of crochet). This doesn't mean that one way is superior (or inferior) to the other. It simply means that one method produces results that look and feel one way, while the other produces results that have their distinctive look and feel. Are there differences? Yes, of course there are. Are there differences between a Mac and a PC? Of course. You'll find devotees of both. There are some things that one does better than the other, and vice versa. It's the same with knit and crochet. Crocheting uses approximately one-third more yarn than knitting, and that is one difference which you'd think might make yarn manufacturers very happy, but doesn't seem to. Knitting produces fabric with a very nice drape, well-suited to wearable items like sweaters and lacy shawls. Crochet, however, tends to make heavier afghans, extremely cozy and warm hats, and when done with sport weight (or lighter) yarn, can make quite beautiful sweaters and jackets that can stand their own up against the finest of hand-knits.

I endorse both crafts, as each one has its special place in the world of handwork. Some people just prefer one over the other, and that's fine. Some learned to knit from the beginning, fell in love with it, and just never ventured into crochet, for whatever reason. Others first learned to crochet and stayed put with hook in hand. That, too is fine.

I want to propose a challenge to all the knitters and crocheters of this world: Give the other one a try. If you've never produced a stitch in your life on two needles, give it a try. If you've never looped yarn through hook, give it a try. If you still feel a bit snobbish toward one particular craft, then practice the opposing one at home where no one can see you. And please, don't just pick up the other craft and try casting on or making a starting chain and then leaving it there. No. Finish a project and see how your work turns out. Knit an entire scarf. Crochet a hat to completion. Give it your best shot. If you need help, get a friend to show you, or better yet, grab an instructional video or DVD to guide you. There are tons of them available, and some of those video teachers were my best friends in my hours of desperation.

Try both crafts. Give them your best efforts. Put yourself in the other crafter's place and see for yourself what it's like to "cross over to the other side." You just might find you enjoy both ways of making things, and you might find your preferred uses for each one. They are both lots of fun, speaking from my experience, and both present unique challenges. I've learned a lot by learning both, and who knows, I might even try tatting or embroidery next! Maybe.

Early Autumn In the Air

2008-08-23T15:28:00.001-04:00

The weather today reminds me of those early autumn days of my youth—those afternoons in late summer when you could tell fall was just around the corner. It’s cloudy and gray outside—and slightly cool, due to tropical storm Fay skirting the Gulf coast and trying to make its way back out into the Gulf of Mexico. Fall has always been my favorite season, and I’ve been lucky to have lived my entire life up till now in a place where fall presents itself every year, in full color and crispness. I feel a little sorry for people who never get to experience the joys of the changing seasons, particularly the change from warmer weather to cooler, when blessed relief comes in the form of cool air, or as I’ve often heard it called, “nature’s air conditioning."

Mississippi summers can be brutally hot and humid,and they certainly were when I was growing up, but not everyone had air conditioning back then, which made it much more uncomfortable in the hot summer months. Going back to school each fall, we endured the last sting of summer’s heat in the classroom, because our grammar school had no air conditioning, only electric fans, which, as you know, only circulate warm air around a room. I recall those first few weeks of early September when the days were still very warm. We’d be in the classroom, freshly dressed in our new school clothes, still stiff and scratchy with the newness that only such clothes can give to the poor, unfortunate boys and girls who had to wear them. Synthetic fabric was really coming into its own at the time, and you know how synthetic materials don’t breathe the way cotton does. Wash and wear, permanent press, wrinkle resistant—these were all phrases to describe the “convenience” of all this nonsense, and although I admit many of the shirts and pants I wore looked good, they sure didn’t feel good, let me tell you. I always cringed when my mother made me try on the itchy, scratchy new shirts she bought for me. Maybe my skin was a little over-sensitive, I don’t know, but not until after my new clothes had been washed at least three times did they begin to resemble anything I would call comfortable.

We were fortunate to have air conditioning at home, so at least there I could find relief in the afternoons when I would come in, change into my play clothes, and then go back outside. I could endure the heat in my play clothes, mainly because I already knew how well-worn and comfortable they were.

Summer always managed to hang on for most of September, and only when October came around did we get to experience the sheer bliss of cool, autumn breezes and crisp, blue skies. Fall meant one good thing to me: Halloween! Out of all the holidays, Halloween—only topped by Christmas—was my favorite time of the year. I’ve always had a fascination about it, all its mystery and darkness. I associate Halloween with fun, not fright, which always makes it something to look forward to every year, even as an adult. I guess most people feel that way about it, since it’s all about having fun anyway. We never played tricks on any of our neighbors. That side of Halloween was foreign to us, as we were too busy deciding which costume to wear, and which street we would trick-or-treat down first. Neighbors would answer the door and were very generous with the candy—and at times—the homemade goodies they would toss in our bags. Remember popcorn balls? I recall getting at least one or two every year. But we especially loved getting chocolate of any kind, usually in the form of candy bars or Hershey Kisses. Of course, we never liked getting fruit, and as good fortune would have it, we almost never did. Fruit was heavy and took up too much room in the goody bag, so not getting any was definitely a good thing.

We would come home from our night of candy collecting tired and worn out from all the door to door trudging. Next, we would dump out our bags of candy onto the kitchen table—in the full light, so we could carefully examine all the goodies and sort out the best from the “not so best.” We managed to eat a lot of it right then and there, and I’m sure our parents protested vehemently against our doing so, but we just ignored them and kept on eating it. On more than one Halloween night I went to bed with a tummy ache.

Old Memory Found

2008-08-21T14:55:00.001-04:00

I mentioned in an earlier post that I had something published when I was just a young boy. That's true, and it was a letter I had written to the local newspaper inquiring about an Arts Festival that was to take place in my hometown of Jackson, Mississippi.

This festival would go on to become an annual event, and at the time of my writing to the Amusement Editor of the Jackson Daily News, the Mississippi Arts Festival was beginning its second year.

Growing up in a musical family, I was always interested in anything pertaining to the performance of music or its composition. I was most eager to know all about this festival since it was being talked about everywhere--even in school--and I knew relatively little about it. I was constantly bombarding my poor mother with question after question, some of which she could answer, many of which she could not. If I remember correctly, it was she who suggested I write a letter and include in it all I wanted to know. That's exactly what I set out to do, and we (my family) were all quite astonished to see my letter published shortly thereafter, published mind you, in my own handwriting! That was a real surprise. Maybe they liked my cursive script, but I never knew why it was printed that way. It certainly stood out on the page, and I suspect it was read by many more people than my nine-year-old mind could imagine.

Of course, copies were clipped out and saved. Then, about a month ago as I was rummaging through an old suitcase looking for scrapbook items, this old and yellowed clipping tumbled into my lap. I hadn't seen it or even given it a thought in over forty-four years. That's a long time, and had I not found it, I probably would never have even remembered writing it. At first I had to think back on when and why I wrote it, and finally I was able to recall some long-forgotten memories of that time in my life. In any case, just for the record, here's the transcription of my one and only published piece, not seen in print since April 29, 1965.

Dear Mr. Hains,
My mother has been telling me about the Mississippi Arts Festival at the Coliseum. She says our family is going and that we will have a lot of fun. I think we will because I like to go to the Coliseum to see most anything. There are some questions however that have been bugging me, and I thought maybe you could answer since you wrote all that stuff in the newspaper. If it lasts from Friday till Monday where will we sleep? There are seven of us and we don't even have a sleeping bag. Should we bring the peanut butter since I know my daddy will get tired of buying peanuts and cotton candy before the first intermission? How much will they charge to park our car for all that time?

Your friend,
Dan Thompson
4315 Oak Hill Dr.
Jackson, Miss.

P.S. They don't have bathtubs at the coliseum, do they? I have never seen any there. I know we will enjoy the Arts Festival.

Oh boy!...that was my inquiring mind, always wanting to know everything and always asking too many questions, as my mother used to say. At least this time I let her off the hook!

My First Confession

2008-08-14T16:00:00.001-04:00

This is my very first post on my very first blog. I titled it My First Confession, though I won't be confessing too much at this point. I'm a newbie, so please give me time to grow. The world of blogging is new to me, and I hope to discover all its joys and perhaps learn some new things about life and the others who are living it, too.

I am filled with many emotions these days--confused at times, and also sure at times. Being firmly planted in midlife and looking toward the horizon, I'm squinting to see what lies over there just beyond next week, next year. Day at a time, so to speak, with some healthy anticipation at what tomorrow might hold.

I am feeling philosophical today. In fact, I feel philosophical most days. I want to write about my feelings and opinions. I think it will help to keep me balanced.

One confession I have is this: I really don't know where to start, but I don't think it's that important anyway. I've kept so many thoughts inside of me for so long now that I'm afraid they will come spilling out randomly. Better let me take a very long and deep breath before I get started....

I have always believed that I can express myself better through writing than through conversation. I've always known that deep inside, but until recently I haven't taken advantage of this method of self-expression, and I don't really know why--what's been holding me back. I am a good listener most of the time, although I can easily let you think I'm interested in what you're saying while my mind is completely off in another dimension. I'm bad about that, and I have to work on it. But generally speaking, my preference is to listen rather than to talk, so I guess that makes me a better listener. Because I have been such an ardent listener all my life, I have a lot of lost ground to cover, so if I ramble at times, please forgive me that, as I'm sure things will improve over time. But then, if I need to ramble, I will. Consider this your official advance notice.

I'll try to keep my thoughts from straying too far. Seems I am already making some confessions in spite of myself. Oh well, good for the soul, and all that....

I recently discovered the joy of writing kind of by accident. Up until just recently I have never thought much at all about writing anything. I grew up in a musical family, full of singing siblings and grownups, piano players and teachers, rehearsals, choirs and choruses. Music has been a part of me as far back as I can remember, and it's always been my friend. It's been a great comfort in my life, not so much in the performing of it, but I've found that in the listening is where I derive the greatest satisfaction. When I'm feeling especially down and out, all I have to do is dig out an old song, one that has brought comfort to me in the past, begin listening to it, and all my ugly feelings fade away. Music has the greatest power imaginable to do this. Many people don't realize it, but just pay attention to your mood the next time you're listening to a favorite tune. You can't help but feel better. So, I use music--and old movies--to soothe and calm me whenever I need it.

For a long time I tried to use my music to express who I am, but that hasn't worked. I have always been a reluctant performer. This may stem from piano recitals when I was a kid, where I was always worried I would forget a note or phrase, and wind up embarrassing myself in front of my parents and fellow students. It happened once, and the memory remains. It took a while to get over that stomach-knotting recital, and the thought of performing any kind of music in public ever since then has kept me secretly dreading any and all performances. I do find, though, that the better prepared I am, the less I am likely to experience any dread. I played piano professionally for ten years, and none of it was easy. It was often very lonely, too. Preparation helps. Practice, practice, practice.

Of course, practice and preparation applies to writing as well. As I sit here carefully composing this blog, I am constantly editing and fine tuning almost every sentence. I can't help myself. Writing anything at all is an act of creation for me. I love English. I adore hearing words beautifully spoken and correctly written. I treat language with as much care and tenderness as I would treat any Standard American tune I was arranging and playing on my piano. Language deserves as much attention to detail as we can give it. God knows it's shredded and disrespected enough in today's media. I'm tired of seeing it treated so poorly, so I'll do my best to give it the respect it deserves.

Well now, I have already preached a sermon on English. I didn't mean to, but I have strong feelings associated with it, and well, I guess you'll just have to put up with me on that.

This is enough for my first offering. I have a short essay on camping and the joys thereof almost ready to post. It should show up soon. And after that I'll tell you how I got started writing way back in 1964 at the most tender age of nine, and how that very first piece of writing made it into the local newspaper.

Thank you for reading.

Dan

Camping

2008-08-14T12:35:00.000-04:00

Camp. Just seeing the word invokes fond memories for me. I can’t say that I liked all the camping trips I took during my childhood, but a few were quite memorable. Today’s kids—and I suspect the kids of my youth—were then, as now, preoccupied with the technology of the day. Back in the 1960’s, about the only technology we had was television and radio. Of course, we had stacks of 45’s and LP’s to play on our record players and stereos, but these weren’t nearly as portable as today’s gadgets are. Kids nowadays are wired wherever they go. I see them everywhere with ear buds attached, listening away to their favorite tunes, or chatting on cell phones. Four decades ago, if we weren’t outside playing, we were usually watching TV, listening to the radio, or playing records. When we left the house, we were on our own, disconnected from the airwaves and the vinyl grooves of our favorite singing sensations. We didn’t think much about it, and I don’t recall missing the TV or any of the other things that I was so fond of at home.

This brings me to my point: Can today’s young people cope with the major disconnect they must endure while away at camp? Recently, my niece went away from her home in the city and entered into a technology-free campground where no cell phones, I-Pods, video games, or any such devices are permitted. If caught with one, a camper could be sent home immediately—no excuses. Those folks mean business. So, my curious mind wants to know how my niece is adjusting to her “unplugged” life in the woods. You see, she is still away at camp and won’t be home for another week or so. Just knowing her though, I suspect she is getting along splendidly without these devices, mainly due to the scads of planned activities the camp staff have planned for the girls on a daily basis. Their days are carefully orchestrated from sunup to sundown so they won’t have time to get bored or restless. I would be willing to bet that once camp started, the girls quickly put out of their minds the modern, wired (and wireless) world they left behind. That’s as it should be, of course, and that’s the way the camp organizers and counselors have it planned.

The beauty of going away to camp is that it opens up a whole new world in so many ways. It takes kids out of their daily routine and all the comforts they are used to at home, and plops them firmly in the middle of a group of their peers where everybody is equal, and where no one can boast too loudly, lest they be scolded by some counselor and told to play by the rules.

I remember going away for long weekends with my father and younger brother during my summers growing up in Mississippi. We were members of the YMCA group for boys known as Y-Indian Guides, a father and son organization where we learned all kinds of fun stuff, from Native American Indian lore to how to paddle a canoe and survive in the wilderness on nuts and berries. Each summer, on pre-appointed long weekends, my father would drive my brother and me off to Camp Mondamin, beside the Strong River in Eastern Mississippi. There we would be joined by all the other boys and their fathers from our particular Indian Guide group. Fathers and sons sported exotic names like Running Bear, Little Bear, and Shooting Star (we were only seven or eight years old, you see). My brother and I were just as excited as we could be, and having our dad go with us was the absolute best part of it all. Being with a parent at that age was something to be quite proud of, and our pride and enthusiasm showed in the way we strutted around the campground acting very grown up and sure of ourselves. After all, what could possibly happen to us with daddy so close by?

We slept in tents—or teepees—as we called them, made fires without matches, learned canoeing and other outdoor activities, got to shoot “bows and arrows,” and just had an all-around fun time. And I don’t remember even thinking for a moment about TV shows, movies, or records. The most memorable part of these adventures for me was when, at dusk, we would all sit in a very large circle, legs crossed Indian-style. The boys would sit in front and fathers in back, and we would sing songs, hear scary stories, and then, just after dark, the great climactic moment came when the Chief, or leader of our tribe would invoke some sort of prayer to the “Great Spirit” and lo and behold!—out of nowhere, and seemingly out of thin air, a huge bonfire would magically roar toward the sky from the center of the circle. And I’m talking a huge fire, where moments before only a pile of wood and twigs sat. It was truly a magical experience for my brother and me, and one I’ll never forget. I have wondered to this day how they pulled that off, but now I think I prefer not knowing, so as to keep the magic alive forever in my imagination.

Yes, camping can be a wonder-filled, even awe-inspiring experience for anyone, but especially for a child. I am so fortunate to have had the opportunity at attend several in my youth, and I think any girl or boy would be equally as fortunate to have this experience today. I can’t wait to hear all the details and stories from my niece, Samantha, when she returns to the “comforts” of her home in the city. I hope she will one day find comfort in her own memories of her camping adventures, so she can share these with her children some day.