65 Years in 65 Days – Page 4 – Ralston Creek Review

DAY 36 – CALL ME “COACH”

April 14, 2013

36 of 65

Call Me “Coach”

Sports for children begin at such an early age! Our son Michael began playing organized baseball while still in kindergarten. We enrolled him in Jefferson County’s tee ball league – a form of the game in which the ball is placed on a stationary tee in front of the batter, who is permitted to swing until he hits the ball. Meanwhile, members of the opposing team move around the field chasing butterflies, playing soccer with their mitts, some even waiting for a ball to be hit their way.

Once the ball is hit, the batter runs to first, then second, then third – or perhaps to third, then second, then home – or perhaps to the pitcher’s mound. It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. It was Michael’s kind of game and he enjoyed it.

As his 1^st Grade year came to a close, another season of tee ball began. A few of the kids, and especially some parents, were more serious than the previous year. Still, most of us were happy we could sit out in the sun watching fielders throw their gloves into the air to try to catch them and batters stick a tongue out the side of their mouth as they swung from their heels, perhaps missing the ball but at least hitting the tee.

The next year, games became more intense. Tees were no longer used – it was “coach pitch” baseball. The coach of each team was required to pitch to his own players while the other team was in the field for defense. We enrolled Michael and he anxiously awaited the start of the season. One evening, though, we received a telephone call from the baseball association telling us there were not enough coaches for the number of players who had registered. There would be no team for Michael unless additional coaches could be recruited. Continue reading “DAY 36 – CALL ME “COACH””

DAY 35 – CONVERSATIONS

April 13, 2013

35 of 65

Conversations

Browsing through book stores is one of life’s small pleasures. Denver’s Tattered Cover is one of the best. It began as a small shop in Cherry Creek some 40 years ago and now – even in the age of ebooks – maintains large stores in three locations with over half a million books in stock. There are reading areas throughout the stores.

I was browsing there one day in the mid-1990s and overheard a conversation between two women discussing Neale Donald Walsch’s book, Conversations with God (which has since become Part 1 of a trilogy). One was raving about how wonderful it was; the other expressed her excitement to read it. I picked up a copy and leafed through it. A few months later I actually read the book.

The story, which is supposed to be true, tells of Walsch, a formerly homeless man, whose life was in shambles. One day in desperation he wrote a letter to God expressing his frustration and dissatisfaction with life. He blamed God for his problems and demanded answers to confused, angry questions. When he was ready to quit writing, his pen would not stop. He let words which he could not control appear on the paper, asking him whether he really wanted an answer, or if he was simply venting. In response, he wrote more and more questions which were “answered” through the same automatic writing. He ascertained that this was his way of hearing the Voice of God.

I was intrigued and decided to try it myself.

I sat down with paper and pen and I wrote, “What do I need to know about my life right now?”

I paused, then heard or felt the word KNOW, followed by silence until I had written “Know.”

THAT. Again, I wrote.

The words then came in a steady stream: I LOVE YOU AND I AM ALWAYS WITH YOU.

I wrote. I listened. There were no more words.

I did not keep the paper on which I recorded this brief conversation. It was not necessary. The words had bubbled up as if they rose from my own center, and they remain there.

KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU
AND I AM ALWAYS WITH YOU.

DAY 34 – IT’S 1..2..3..WHAT ARE WE FIGHTING FOR?

April 2, 2013

34 of 65

Its 1..2..3..What Are We Fighting For

The defining event of our generation was the Vietnam War. Like World War II for the generation before us, World War I before that and the Civil War only a few years earlier, EVERYONE in the country had some friend or loved one involved in the war. Between 1964 and 1975, more than 8.7 million Americans served on active duty in the military – nearly one of every 30 people in the entire country. About 3.4 million of those were actually stationed in Southeast Asia, of whom more than 58,000 were killed, 75,000 disabled and hundreds of thousands more wounded. Millions of civilians worked in “defense” industries.

The average age of those who were “in country,” doing the actual fighting, was 19.

Some of those young men – women, too, but at that time it was mostly men – willingly volunteered. The number of volunteers, though, was insufficient, so more were brought to the military by conscription. Only about a quarter of the military personnel were drafted, but many more enlisted solely to avoid the draft. Enlistees had greater opportunity to choose a service specialty and thus greater control over whether they would see combat.

The so-called “Selective Service” system was not popular, and perhaps 50,000 young men, termed “draft dodgers,” received asylum in Canada to avoid conscription.

My 19^th birthday was in 1967, a time when troop deployment to Southeast Asia was increasing each month. I was not concerned about the draft because, as a full-time college student, I was given a deferment. About that time, a friend of mine – a girl who was merely curious because women could not be drafted – asked what I would do if I were drafted. I told her that I intended to ignore the government and assumed the government would return the favor. She called me naïve. Continue reading “DAY 34 – IT’S 1..2..3..WHAT ARE WE FIGHTING FOR?”

DAY 33 – IT’S A SMALL WORLD

April 11, 2013

33 of 65

It’s a Small World

It is a small world, and Santa Fe, New Mexico is someplace near its center.

That is a good thing; we have always loved that part of the country.

In 1979, Cathy and I spent a long weekend in Santa Fe to attend the Opera. I guess we were cultured in those days. One morning we stopped at the French Pastry Shop, which is on the Plaza right next to the La Fonda Hotel. As we entered, a woman named Jan Chadwick who worked in Denver with one of my clients was walking out. I said, “Hi. This is a surprise. I guess it is a small world.”

We moved to the mountains in the summer of 1993. Our son Michael had just completed 3^rd Grade and our daughter Suzanne had made it through 1^st Grade. The next fall they started attending Clear Creek County schools. When Spring Break came in 1994, we loaded the family in the car to enjoy a few days in Santa Fe. The Town of Walsenburg, Colorado is about 200 miles from Idaho Springs – about half way to Santa Fe. It has a pleasant city park, so we stopped for lunch.

While Cathy and I got the food and drinks prepared at a picnic table, Michael and Suzanne let off some energy at a playground a short distance away. When lunch was ready, I went to the playground to let the kids know it was time to eat. We started back toward the picnic table as another car stopped on the street and two children exited and ran toward the playground. As they passed us, one yelled, “Hi, Michael.”

“Hi Michael?” I said. “Hi, Michael?”

Suzanne spoke up, saying in a matter of fact tone, “Oh, that’s Andrew. He’s in my class.”

We introduced ourselves to Andrew’s parents, who lived close to us, but who were headed to Arizona to watch the Colorado Rockies’ spring training.

“It’s a small world, isn’t it,” someone noted.

Our family returned to Santa Fe for Spring Break in 1995. Taking a different route, we stopped for lunch in San Luis, Colorado – again, a little bit over half way. After lunch, we walked to the stations of the cross, which are the major attraction for tourists in a part of the state that is otherwise only high desert farm country. Like the traditional stations found in most Catholic churches, these are 14 artistic representations of Christ carrying the cross to his crucifixion. They are not in a church, though. They are placed along a three-quarter mile trail leading to a mesa 300 feet above the town. The representations are extraordinary, nearly life sized bronze statues created by a local artist named Huberto Maestas.

A number of other travelers were marveling at the art work and the view from the mesa top. As we turned from looking at one of the early stations, a voice above us said hello. We looked up and saw Pam and Cory Wong. Cory was the local forest ranger at the Idaho Springs ranger station. Their children also attended school with ours. The Wongs were on their way to visit relatives in Northern New Mexico.

“Wow, it really is a small world,” we said.

DAY 32 – I’M GLAD I ASKED

April 10, 2013

32 of 65

I’m Glad I Asked

One Request: In my senior year of high school, the English department changed the curriculum so that students would not simply take “Senior English”; but, to be “more like college,” we could choose a specific subject to study each quarter. The Creative Writing class taught by Mrs. Crawford was different in that students were required to enroll for the whole semester.

I wanted to take Creative Writing, but during the first quarter there was a conflict with another subject I needed, so I signed up for a class on drama that met at a different time. My schedule changed the next quarter, and I asked Mrs. Crawford if I could join her group. She said she would approve it if I could also get permission from the teacher of the mythology class I had chosen.

I was unable to meet with that teacher until the first day of the class. He began by describing the books we would use, the papers that would be required, the grading criteria and similar matters. When he asked if there were any questions, I raised my hand to let him know that I would like to transfer to Creative Writing. He instructed the rest of the students to begin reading the first assignment and asked me to come to his desk.

“This program was set up so that you and all the students would have freedom to choose what you study. A lot of work has gone into the planning. The classes are designed to give you a college-like experience. The Language Arts faculty has determined that transfers from a section you chose will only be permitted under extraordinary circumstances. I’m afraid that we can’t let you change sections. Do you have any other questions?”

“I was wondering,” I asked, “if this class will be any better than what you have described?”

“Maybe we can get you out of here,” he said. Continue reading “DAY 32 – I’M GLAD I ASKED”

DAY 31 – GHOSTS OF AUSCHWITZ

April 9, 2013

31 of 65

Ghosts of Auschwitz

This is a travel story. Let me set the stage.

Our son Michael was participating in a summer session of Semester at Sea, taking classes while sailing to exotic locales on a cruise ship for three months. An optional parents’ trip was scheduled to meet the ship in St. Petersburg, Russia; spend a few days, then sail to Gdansk, Poland; see some sights in Poland; and return home. Neither Cathy nor I had been to that part of Europe, so we would have liked to go, but . . .

Cathy is a Registered Nurse, specializing as a lactation consultant. To work in that field it is necessary to be certified by the International Board of Lactation Consultant Examiners (“IBLCE”). Certification requires completing specific education and passing an exam that is given no more than once a year. She was scheduled to take the exam on a date immediately after the parents’ trip concluded, and she was enrolled in review classes in the days leading up to the exam. She simply could not go.

To make matters worse, we were moving just a week before the trip was to begin and were not sure that the significant remodeling of our new (to us) house would be completed. It was quite a stressful time.

As a good husband, I knew how difficult this period would be for Cathy. Clearly the most helpful thing I could do was go to Europe alone to spend some time with Michael. Continue reading “DAY 31 – GHOSTS OF AUSCHWITZ”

DAY 30 – HEALING – PART 1

April 8, 2013

30 of 65

Healing – Part 1

Although healing may not be THE purpose of life, it is important. The word “healing” literally means to make whole. It applies in many different contexts – to take some condition or some thing that is broken or lacking and make it complete. Most commonly, it implies the restoration of complete health to a person who has suffered a disease or an injury.

I consider myself fortunate to have been healthy most of my life. When I was 9 years old, the United States – and the whole world – experienced an epidemic of what was called Asian Flu. Those most at risk were school aged children. In many parts of the country schools closed to try to prevent the transmission of the virus. Though my school, Fremont Elementary, remained open, some days there were more students home sick than were attending classes. Over a two or three week period, nearly everyone in my class caught the flu, except me. I thought I was too tough to get it, but I had simply been fortunate. Both of my brothers suffered mild cases of the flu, but I did not. I remained fortunate.

Finally, my luck ran out. Continue reading “DAY 30 – HEALING – PART 1”

DAY 29 – OF MY MANY SHORTCOMINGS . . .

April 7, 2013

29 of 65

Of My Many Shortcomings . . .

Of my many shortcomings, one of the most glaring is my lack of skill in repairing mechanical devices or things around the house.

It is not that I am afraid of hard work. In fact, I am on such good terms with hard work that I can lie down right next to it and go to sleep. Rather, I am one of those people who merely walks by something like a copier or a printer and the machine stops working – and one who cannot make it start again.

Most find it hard to believe that I was once in the honors program at the University of Colorado School of Engineering. They completely understand that I left the program quickly.

I do – and always will – have the greatest respect for those who can manipulate inanimate objects. Let me give an example. Continue reading “DAY 29 – OF MY MANY SHORTCOMINGS . . .”

DAY 28 – SPAIN

April 6, 2013

28 of 65

Spain

Every morning there’s a halo hangin’
From the corner of my girlfriend’s four post bed,
I know it’s not mine but I’ll see if I can use it for
The weekend or a one-night stand.
–Sugar Ray, “Every Morning” (1999)

It was the Spring of 1999 at the end of a very long day. We spent the previous night in Malaga, Spain, rose early and drove our rented car to Gibraltar. After some sightseeing, we boarded a ferry to Morocco where we spent the day on a whirlwind tour of Tangier. Like all tourists, we visited the Kasbah and the British colonial quarter of Mershan. For lunch we ate couscous and delicious vegetables and drank mint tea, with belly dancers for entertainment. Suzanne and Michael rode camels, and we had many opportunities to purchase souvenirs (we didn’t even need to go into shops; vendors followed us down the street). Then it was back on the ferry for the return to Europe, and then to the car for a 250 mile drive – even longer in kilometers – to Almeria where we were staying.

By midnight, the Moon was reflecting off the Mediterranean, I was driving at least the speed limit along the Costa del Sol and Costa de Almeria, and Cathy and the kids were sleeping. I tried not to wake them, but to keep from falling asleep myself, I turned the radio on at low volume to listen to Spanish music. The first song I heard was “Every Morning” by Sugar Ray, a California group. When commercials began, I changed stations and again heard “Every Morning.” As stations faded out of range and I scanned for something new, “Every Morning” was played time and again. The song got me through the night, kept me awake and stayed in my head for days afterward. Wherever we went the radio kept playing it for days afterward, helping it to keep it in my head. Not the flamenco I was expecting, but catchy. Continue reading “DAY 28 – SPAIN”

DAY 27 – THE PURPOSE OF LIFE

April 5, 2013

27 of 65

The Purpose of Life

I don’t want to keep you in suspense. There is no reason to wait until Day 65; we can pause right now for a brief moment to discuss the purpose of life on the Earth. Understand that my intent is not to impose a particular belief, but to describe an experience.

Ten or twelve years ago, I participated in a class or workshop that met each weekend for several weeks. It was called “The Ultimate Game” and was facilitated by a gentleman named John McKenna who lives in the mountains near Conifer, Colorado. John is many things – a teacher, a martial arts master, a commodities investor, but I think mostly a musician. He had recently completed an album called No Ordinary Days, which is a wonderfully melodic allegory depicting the journey that eventually leads one back to see his home with a new vision and to henceforth “walk the world in wonder.” It is available only at John’s website, www.purplemusic.com. It seemed he wanted to impart the wisdom he had gained from writing and recording those songs in a more prosaic fashion, so he created The Ultimate Game.

Each week, John would give us a homework assignment to prepare for the discussion and exercises coming the following week. One assignment was to answer the question: What is the purpose of life on Earth? I thought about that for a few minutes and quickly came up with my answer. I was curious to learn what others would say. Continue reading “DAY 27 – THE PURPOSE OF LIFE”