Second Class – Yeah, I Don’t Think So –

But … I am Good at it :)

So today I experienced for the first time, what has become a ‘Second-Class’ citizen event amidst the COVID (bio-weapon) insanity :( The “jabbed” & the “un-jabbed”

 Before I get to that ~~ I did a search with the question, “Are the unvaxed now second class citizens”? The very first result was an article dated July 7, 2021 from Bloomberg, it states, “Royal Caribbean has restarted sailings with two classes of passengers on board—those who’ve been vaccinated against Covid-19, and those who have not. Jabbed guests, identified with special wristbands.” It goes on to say, “Those with a hole punched in their SeaPass—indicating that they haven’t been jabbed or declined to show a vaccine card—will be segregated to one deck of the main dining room and will be banned from some of the better, more intimate for-a-fee dining venues.” Aye, yi yi, yi yi … But here’s the best part. The name of the 4,275-passenger ship, ‘Freedom of the Seas’. Now that’s what I call ‘ironic’!

So, back to my experience. A couple days ago a new friend (Jeff) at the condo complex where we are currently enjoying a six week siesta. Yeah, rough I know. But, before you get excited, we are very service oriented when we travel. So caring about others always stands in the midst. Ok Rick, back to your point. Yaba, yaba, yaba … Anyway, Jeff invited me to play ‘pickleball’. I’ll let you take a moment and search that if you need. Or better yet, read my blog found at the link below. Before heading away Jeff said that he just got off the phone with his friend that told him where the courts were set up, and the friend mentioned that a ‘Vaccination Passport’ is required to play. Seriously ~ they realize that the game is played outdoors. Right? Oh, but we’re not always six feet apart. How silly of me.

I decided to go just in case the ACTUAL disease preventer ~~ “Natural Immunity” ~~ might be excepted. Though honestly … I was sure that I’d be turned away. And much to my chagrin I was right. I had become a ‘Second Class’ citizen!!! For those of you (even some friends & family) who say, “Just get the jab”! Sorry, but you’re viewing all of this insanity from such a narrow lens. And most who do so, will continue to. I will likely continue to respect those with dissenting opinions. But to NOT be mutually respected. No, this has gone TOO FAR!!!

Grateful that the CDC & MSM are Protecting Us ~

I hope that in the months, perhaps years ahead, those who treated me and hundreds of millions of others as ‘Second Class’ citizens will finally realize the truth of this insanity. That they in fact have been lied to. That is not to say that covid is not real. It is! But to the extent in which fear, tyranny and classing of people is concerned … It is with these that I oppose. 

Until then ~~ I will do everything in my power to withstand those who present me as the problem. And ~~ Second-Class ~~ I don’t think so... 

 

https://rikaman.blogspot.com/2013/02/can-you-saypickleball-champion.html

 

Imagination ~ Don't Lose It!

It was Thanksgiving Day in Puerto Vallarta and standing next to the pool was none other than ~ wait for it ~ Spiderman! I’d seen him before, but seldom without his mask. I asked if he’d seen the ‘Hulk’ lately. And then asked, “What color is he again”? Not giving ‘Spidee’ a chance to respond, I said, “He’s blue right”? No, no wait a minute, “Yellow”! Spidee smiled, about to say the color when I said, “No, no I, I remember, “He’s red”! “Oh, I give up, I can’t remember”. “He’s GREEN”! Spidee said with a glee in both his voice and smile that made him too proud to have something on this grandpa-like man. “Yes, yes, yes, you’re right”, I said.

Then looking at Spidee, I told him a secret. That secret still adds a bit of pride to this old guy some nearly sixty years later. When I was about Spidee’s age now ~ Oh this Spidee with whom I had the privilege to meet on Thanksgiving Day was six years old. Anyway, I was only a couple years older than he right now when I sat in the original ‘Batmobile’. Oh yes I did! Spidee, of course, was more impressed than he had been in quite sometime. Of course, through his adventures, Batman, and especially the younger Robin, were some of Spidee's acquaintances. Wait ~ has that Marvel/DC crossover ever happened? Oh baby … you bet. Anything is possible with imagination :)

The day would become night and Spidee would occasionally venture over to my table and we’d converse about the colors of other superheros. So … “What color was Groot”, he said? Or, “Captain America”? Later I asked if he knew the color of Daffy Duck. Wait, he’s not a superhero. But even Spidee’s mom was not aware that Daffy was black :) As well we chatted about ‘Thor’. Both with puzzled faces, eyebrows crunched and lips pursed … we thought for a few moments. Then I said in a question, “Wait, his hammer. It’s silver, isn’t it”? “Yes, silver”! Spidee said, with still a bit of quizzical look. But surely, he must be silver!

These masked hero's can be found roaming Nicaragua

It was nearly bedtime for Spidee, you know slightly after 7pm. Now shhh you … Yes, almost past my bedtime as well :) Just before he walked away, I thought that I’d help him out if ever he found himself in this same predicament ~ that is, without his mask. I showed him the finger position, and then turned around, only to face him again with my finger mask in place. Oh, he was VERY, very impressed! And rightly should he be. I don’t pass this secret mask on to just anyone. But Spidee, well he has always been a special friend. And to get to meet him without his mask. That just made my day.

If you have yet to pick up on the moral of the story ~~ perhaps the best way for us sixty somethings to keep that six year old self alive ~~ Have imagination, and never … no never, lose it!

 

And ~~ if you need a visual/song to help with your imagination today ~~ might I suggest ~~

 

When I Was ‘The Man from U.N.C.L.E.’

    They sat at the end of two long driveways. 

The driveways themselves were unique, those that had

only concrete for the tires alone. If my memory serves me correctly, there were two, maybe three homes toward the outside of each driveway. And between the drives were a line of deciduous trees. As a boy in the 1960’s this home holds some of the greatest of memories.

For children, likely the predominant ingredient to growth & enjoyment is merely imagination. And for a city raised boy, this home on Eucalyptus Ave in Hawthorne, California, with a field for a playground, not much more was required. Yet, more is exactly what we were about to receive!

Most adults would likely see the weeping willows that sat at the end of the driveways. Yeah, they were cool. But ~~ sitting in a ditch between the willows lay two vintage cars. I was seven, perhaps eight years old, so cars were not part of my repertoire. Not only was ‘Google’ not available, their inventors had yet to be born. So, I was up to my own to research on these fine antique cars. I discovered that they were 1930’s or 40’s Studebaker Champions¹. I’m sure that someone left these beauties behind just for Georgie and me.

Now yes, most of my spare time you’d find me outside, playing ‘Hot Wheels’ in the city that Georgie and I created within the deciduous trees. But it was the mid-1960’s and TV shows made for kids were plentiful. Whether it was the Andy Griffith Show and my favorite Don Knotts, Gunsmoke, The Addams Family or even ‘Batman’, of which I sat in the original ‘Batmobile’... Oh yes I did :) None could match my favorite childhood show ~~ ‘The Man from U.N.C.L.E.’ Such a favorite, that for one Christmas, mom wrapped the best present ever, my very own U.N.C.L.E. ‘Spy Kit’.

So with Weeping Willows, Studebaker's, my ‘Man from U.N.C.L.E’ spy kit, the only other ingredient, you guessed it ~ 'imagination'~. I became the better looking Kuryakin … I could never say his first name. So off to the Studebaker’s were Georgie, as ‘Solo’ and me (Ricky) as Kuryakin. I’m pretty sure we were able to solve and protect our country from all and every type of threat possible.

That old home ~~ now a parking lot for the U.S. Post Office. And ‘Kuryakin’, played by David McCallum, now plays ‘Ducky’ in one of my current favorite TV shows, NCIS. 

 

 RIP David McCallum ~ September 25, 2023

When 'Honoring' Becomes An 'Honor'

There are certain events in our history (both individually and nationally) which will not be forgotten. Neil Armstrong’s first step onto the moon in July of 1969 is certainly one. And his words, “That’s one small step for man. One giant leap for mankind”. Another are the events from September 11, 2001 ~ aka 9/11. Those old enough to remember that event twenty years ago this week, know exactly what they were doing. Myself, I was concluding my shift at PAF&R Station 80. We watched with numb unbelief as the events unfolded.

~ 10th Anniversary Badge ~

On the tenth anniversary we had a remembrance at Station 80, which included retirees, family, guest speakers and a ‘10^th Anniversary Badge’ that our department wore for the next year. Also included a beautiful reconditioned bell. Thanks to Rob Bigelow and Alan Lashbrook for your contributions!

So, the twentieth anniversary was approaching, and I knew that I would like to do something in order to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Having been a member of the ‘Patriot Guard’ for a few years now, I received an email which supplied several possible events in my area. I chose to honor and attend the dedication of the ‘Tyrone S. Woods’ Park in Oregon City, Oregon.

A beautiful 70’s degree day with wonderful clear blue skies and even a few new roads led me and the Yamaha FJR to the dedication event. To my knowledge, the name ‘Tyrone Woods’, meant nothing to me. That said, while aboard a flight a couple years ago, I do recall watching the movie ‘13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi’. I will watch it again with a greater sense of honor.

After parking the FJR, and before approaching the pavilion where the dedication was being held, I walked over to the monument which was created in honor of ‘Tyrone’. Looking down and reading the inscription, I had chills as I come to realize that Tyrone was one of the ‘Secret Soldiers’. I had not even remembered that Benghazi began September 11^th as well. The year ~ 2012. Tyrone, a twenty year Navy Seal veteran, had become a CIA contractor after his military service and was one of the hero’s who sacrificed his life. The bottom of the plaque reads, “More than 25 American lives were saved by their exceptional courage and heroic actions.”

Tyrone S Woods

So on September 11, 2021 I rode my motorcycle in order to honor a fallen soldier. In retrospect, the honor became mine. Listening to the speakers, and reading how this man, ‘Tyrone S. Woods’ sacrificed his life for others ~ I was honored to be in attendance.

Now when the next anniversary comes, and the one after that ~ on 9/11, ‘Tyrone Woods’ shall be a name that I’ll remember with honor. And for those of you who would likewise wish to honor Tyrone or the thousands of our fallen, visit ‘Tyrone S Woods’ Park in Oregon City, or one of the hundreds of memorials erected for our veterans throughout our beautiful country. 

              

Play Structure at TS Woods Park

                         

                                                

 

More information & Donations in honor of Tyrone and the Oregon City High School Wrestling Team can be made at: https://tswwf.org/

 

 

 

 

Another YouTube to consider from the NZ Family: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DDZVM7p7_Ac

One Corner, Two Hours, Three Men

Photo by the Cameraman :)

“So what, you checking your EF Hutton?” Why I even began a conversation with this gentleman while completing my morning walk and stairclimb exercise, well ~~ it’s just what I do.

Larry and I conversed for better than an hour, learning that his career had been as a cameraman for a local news outlet. Pretty cool learning about a trade that is quite fascinating. As well, we chatted about his preteen granddaughter who is quite the golfer. Perhaps even pro one day.

While in the midst of our chat Greg approached asking if either of us knew of a local barber. Telling us that he was new to the area, I suggested the two that I was aware of. Though with COVID, I’ve purchased a Remington palm trimmer and ~~ well, other than Mexico trips, I haven’t seen a barber for a year and a half. Perhaps it shows :)

So ~~ here were three sixty plus dudes, never having met, who carried on with conversation like we had known each other since childhood. Conversation included many things ~ hey, we’re old & we’re men ~ that’s what happens :) Anyway, our discussion veered towards our faith and relationship with Christ.

When all was said and done … on that ‘one corner’ … for ‘two hours’ … these ‘three men’ enjoyed a very pleasant morning together.

The moral of the story ~~ slow down, be available, and learn the story of another. 

 

 

Just having fun on guitar :)

 

 

The mural in the background of the photo ~~ why is it significant?

More Than ~ Kicking a Stone

Do you ever watch people? I mean in a fun way. Where perhaps families are playing together. Where people are laughing, walking or running. Or children are simply using their imagination.

I have three places from which I love to sit in my house. And while reading or studying, I’m able to enjoy the view outside at the same time. This morning I was sitting near my large living room window, which provides a view to neighbors passing by and the hillside beyond. A family with four children were strolling down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Pulling up the back of the pack was a young boy, maybe 6 or 7 years of age. Totally clueless to the rest, he was kicking a stone as he walked along. If the stone moved onto the grass he would slide over and attempt to return it to the sidewalk in front of him. He continued doing such for as long as I could see.

How is it that in a moment, a flash of time ~ a picture, a story, a song, at times a fragrance and at other times just watching others, can take us back to a memory from our past. Watching this little guy, was watching myself all over again. For years in my elementary school days, I would likewise kick a stone down the sidewalk. Even attempting to kick one all the way to school, which could be a mile or more.

The simple joys that we had as children. Might some of them continue, if only slightly, into our twilight years. Yes, sometimes I still find myself still kicking a stone. Though only a couple times, but none-the-less bringing a smile for doing something so silly. Perhaps if for nothing more ~~ a smile is more than worth the moment.

~~  Let this little one bring a smile for you today ~~ 

 

He Calls Me Son ~~ Forty-Five Years Today

They named me Ricky, but He calls me His son

Perhaps my 'testimony' could be described in Charles Dickens fashion...the journey past...the journey present...and, the journey yet to come!

T he 'Journey Past'... The oldest of four 'baby boomer' children I lived my first five years in the Southeast of the United States. We were not a family that attended church, though funny, years ago I came across this photo of our family of five at the time going to Easter Service. I have absolutely no recollection of this occasion. Shortly after this time, having moved to the Los Angeles area, my father decided that he would seek life elsewhere. He left months before my baby brother was born, I was 6 ½ years old. Though I would have some sporadic contact with my father over the years, it was the endearing spirit and labor of love of my mother that had the greatest impact on developing my character. Along with my grandmother (her mother), we were never without food, neither clothing, nor shelter. Though poor, I consider my childhood to have been a blessing. Thanks mom! As a young teenager mom married Bob Jopp, it is he who I have the privilege to call dad until this very day.

The ‘Journey Present’ began on July 25, 1976. A girl invited me to her youth group just three days earlier. Being cute, of course I said yes! Seriously though, for the first time in my life (other than family and a few friends) I really felt that I was loved. Yes, by the Lord, but by the body of Christ as well. It was on that Sunday that I acknowledged what Jesus had done for me on the cross. A sinner made clean by His blood and a hope through His resurrection, the likes of which I had never known before. Over the next month and even the next two years, the hunger for God’s word was almost unquenchable.

I would become a firefighter with the Forest Service and then the Air Force, who would take me to Alaska. It was there that I met and married my bride, Karen, of now 42 years this coming September. It was in Anchorage and later Palmer, that working with youth became a key ingredient of my life.

Upon my discharge from the Air Force we moved to Silverton, Oregon. It is here that Karen and I were the first to complete, as a couple, a two-year bible seminary degree at Canyonview, later called Biblion. Since those years we have continued to make Silverton our home, where we raised our three children. I would return to the fire service, working for 27 years at Portland Airport Fire & Rescue.

Through all these years, as with all, we have our broken moments, none-the-less Christ and His church continue to be the centerpiece of our lives. I/we continue to grow in His word. I have had the privilege to be His vessel while working with youth, leading music, and seeing how he would surprise me at using His gift of service in this soul.

Today we find ourselves at a Wesleyan Church in Salem, Oregon. And once again, you’ll find me as one of the coaches for our annual Basketball Camp in early July.

So, what is the vision for the ‘Journey Yet-To-Come’? Instead of ‘retirement’, I have called it “ReFirement”! How, where and when will the Lord ReFire this life and for what? I have found that as I wait patiently for the Lord, He provides a journey that is beyond imagination. It is a journey that often includes kids…baseball…and the gospel. My most recent lesson from the Lord, “Travel slowly, listen deeply, and wait for much more than what one can even imagine. 

 

This is the testimony of Rick. Life is not…has not always been easy, but it has been abundant.

Thank You Lord that I'm a child of Yours!

~~ ‘Thirty-Five Thousand Feet' ~~

View from 'Thirty-Five Thousand'

OMG … ‘Oh my goodness! Or, appropriate would be ‘Oh My God'!

One hundred years ago they could NEVER have imagined the beauty of creation from the height of thirty-five thousand feet. The view of mountains, channels and lakes is simply astounding.

Returning from my second “workcation' in Ketchikan, Alaska. The first was near the winter solstice in 2013, and this time arriving on the 21^st of June, 2021 … the summer solstice.

The ole 'Wollensak 6020'

Glad to help my ‘Towle' friends. In 2013, preparing their house after the death of their mother, to become a rental. This time emptying the LARGE basement, of treasures, momentos and debris, as they prepare to sell the only home that they have known since birth. Now in their sixties ~~ who can say that? I know that I can not.

As this trip concludes, I'm so glad to have assisted. Wednesday will stand as one of my top ten days of exhaustion. Ok … I'm now officially an OLD man, so these days surely are a tad more difficult.

Cessnun View

Now that we're done, and as I reflect on this week, I'm grateful for Marna Towle's direction, for Mike & Marna Cessnun's wonderful hospitality (Yes, two Marna's), and for the four ‘twenty somethings’ whom offered the strength of youth in order too accomplish this daunting task. Container is packed and ready for shipping.

As well, I reflect with a bit of emotion, as I sat across the street from their house and watched Marna while she walked around taking a video of her childhood home ~ one .. last .. time ~ . Only minutes earlier I was sitting at our cardboard box dining room table and enjoyed the breathless view through the 4 x 8' windows that Mr. Towle (her father) installed nearly seven decades ago.

A Full Container :)

One day I shall return to the mainland which was home in the late seventies and early eighties. Where Karen and I would tie the proverbial knot. For now, at least I can say that I've ventured back to Alaska twice … be it the most southern part of this most beautiful state. The view from ‘Thirty-Five Thousand Feet' ~~ priceless!!! 

 

 

 

 

 

"It's OK to cry, it's OK to grieve, it's OK to fall apart" Ryan Stevenson ~~ What a blessing to have had a parent that we so miss. "It's OK to fall apart" ~~

 

 

Third Flats a Charm ~~~

What do you think? Was it just that I got off too easy on the first two flats, or what?

In September 2020, a week after returning from our second motorcycle tour across America on US 20, I went to pull the Goldwing out of the garage, only to discover that the rear tire was flat. No worries, with nearly 10,000 miles on the tires, they were needing to be replaced. Then only two weeks later, I went into that same garage to do some maintenance on the FJR. And what did I find? You bet, a flat...rear...tire. So, having never had a flat on a motorcycle before, I now had not one, but two such beast. Though honestly, in the garage and not out on the road. Yeah, pretty simple I must admit.

But wait, the story continues. No, I’m going to sell you “Ginsu Knives”. Ha! Only a day prior I had called my mechanic in order to schedule the purchase and mounting of tires a month from now in late June, a week prior to my annual Oregon ride.

And then comes yesterday. My big plan was an attempt to confirm the mileage and time for a Memorial Day ride that I organize annually. Fueled up, my hope was to ride the entire 150 miles, stopping long enough only to write down information for a few landmarks or checkpoints. All was going as hoped until, well … it wasn’t.

Again, I’ve had two flats before, but as I mentioned above, both were in the garage. I had no concept of what a flat might feel like while riding a motorcycle. This experience to me, it was similar to driving my car while the alignment is absolutely out. I had no ‘counter-steering’ control. And honestly I was not initially thinking tires. The good news, only a short distance from my awareness of a problem I was able to pull into a service station. Immediately upon lifting the bike onto the center stand did I realize that yes, in fact, I have a flat.

At first I thought that I’d just pull up to the ‘air station’ and fill the tire. But do you know how much they charge you for air? Seriously! But here comes the second part of good news. I was prepared! :)

A couple years ago I had purchased a ‘Dynaplug’ for those emergency tire moments. The only issue is that I tried to use this device on both of the garage flats without success. I wasn’t even able to push the plug into the hole. And this even included drilling a small pilot hole. Because of this information I had chatted with my mechanic who had heard good things about a product called ‘Stop & Go’ Pocket Tire Plugger. I not only purchased one right then, I had both it and the ‘Dynaplug’ on the bike at the time of the flat.

Within the ‘Stop & Go’ kit are eight items, including more than a dozen plugs (I honestly hope that I never have to use that many ~~ just saying), as well as the pump and great instructions. The only additional item required are pliers, which should be an obvious part of anyone's tool kit. Right?

After placing a plug, I attempted to fill the tire. Quickly I discovered that a second plug would be required for this flat. The second plug proved to be sufficient! Inflating the tire took approximately 7 minutes with the pump within the kit,  and the FJR was back on the road. Sweet!

I did stop to check the pressure about 30 miles into my 75 mile return home. Only a pound or two was lost. By the following morning the tire had lost all of it’s pressure. That said, I consider the mission a success!

I’ve averaged 10,000 miles in the saddle per year over the past eight years. Whether you’re able to put on that many miles or simply a few thousand around your home, I would surely consider adding the ‘Stop & Go’ as part of your routine tool kit. For me, this kit is a definite thumbs up! 100% ... And no, I don't receive anything from the company. But ....

  

Perhaps one day I'll make my own video ~~ until then 'CherrieBee' does a fine job on this video. The only exception to my kit is that mine has the pump and not the CO2 cartridges.

 

How Did We Arrive ~~~ Forty-five Minutes with Tony

Both born in the late 1950’s ~~ but immediately in our conversation, it became evident that this is where the similarities end.

Was it because of our recent teaching at church ~~ of ‘Generosity’ – was it because I have the gift of gab – or perhaps it is because I’m your ‘non-conventional’ kind of guy, often living in places and circumstances that most would never venture and likely would not even become a passing thought.

Turning onto Sunnyview, both his sign and panhandling location captured my attention. Immediately the thought crossed my mind ~~ how could two similar aged individuals end up in complete opposite life experiences? So, I turned the car around, drove up to him and asked, “Would you like a meal for a conversation?” With a smile, he said, “Yes”! But, “It’ll have to be something soft, I don’t have teeth”.

With Taco Bell in hand, I returned and offered the passenger seat for our dining room. Over the next forty-five minutes Tony and I chatted about his birth in Astoria, to short stints in South Dakota and Iowa, about a favorite vacation with his brother into the Florida Keys, and his greatest job as a nurses assistant. I wanted this just to be what it was, that is two men in their early 60’s having a conversation. Questions weren’t such as to be prying, rather truly concerned for who he was, and how he arrived. I never sensed that he was threatened by my questions, and he rather enjoyed having a time to talk and be listened to.

He was very vulnerable with both his drug problem, and his twelve year prison sentence and why he was there. He told of life with a seven hundred dollar a month Social Security, and living in his tent. He said that he daily lives with the regret for which he was imprisoned and how he works to overcome placing himself into that position ever again. He offered without even a question that which guides him most ~~ that is knowing that Christ loves him and died for his sins, for which he says, “Are many!”

We are less than a year apart in age, but millions of miles separate our life experience. Sometimes I wonder what more can we ... can I do?

Choices ~~~ perhaps it is nothing more than choices. I don’t know. I can’t figure this one out. What I know, what I believe ~~~ is that generosity flows from gratefulness. This week marks the 32^nd anniversary of my mothers death. And I’m grateful for her choice to work hard and demonstrate it in such way that I/we were never hungry ... never without clothes … never without a roof over our heads. Never! And yet, we could have been. And I’m grateful to a God who created and redeemed this soul. My hope is that generosity will never cease to flow from the gratefulness that has been part of my life … of my living.

Cart in Tow - Tony off to Refund his Cans

I asked if I may take a picture in order to pray for him. And pray, I will! Then offered him my two bags of cans for deposit, the very reason for why I was on Sunnyview in the first place. He loaded them onto his shopping cart and away he went. Might God truly work in his life. And might we invest some moments into the Tony’s of this world. And perhaps into boys and girls, that we can reinforce life-skills in such a way that their choices will be such, as to never experience the most difficult path of Tony. 

 

 

 

Her Smile

 As usual, it was a typical sunny day in Las Vegas, Nevada towards the end of February, 2009. As I reached for the front door, I looked back one last time. Her smile, the very first during this visit, will remain as my very last memory.

She was of direct French decent, not even five feet tall, yet tougher than anyone I ever knew. My memories of this lady are very dear and fond. Especially of those from the 1960’s & 70’s. But as well, throughout her last decade of life from 1999 to 2009. During these years I would often travel to Las Vegas (her home) to check in on her, accomplish some home repairs, and enjoy both our time and chats together.

Her name was Cecile Blanche Bonnette, born to Francois and Delia in southern New Hampshire in the year 1925. Both her stories from her childhood and her marriage (to Harold) present themselves with immense struggle and heartache. That said, she was a fighter, I knew her as such, and one of those who quote, “Would give you the shirt off their back” kind of people. Many knew her as Cissy or Sis. I called her ‘Nana’, for she was my maternal grandmother.

As a child in the 1960’s Christmas was often a celebration with presents under a tree almost bigger than the tree itself. I was too young to know then, that most of those gifts were from Santa herself, aka Nana. At times they were a result from winning at Santa Anita … yes, betting on the ponies. Yet, whether from the horses, the slots, or her own paycheck, she always made sure that our Christmas was a major event for my siblings and I. Even my first car, a Plymouth Valiant, oh baby

Nana (in dark) with sisters

… Green and slant six … was from her and my grandfather Gordon.

From the late 1970’s into the early 1990’s moves between Oregon, to Alaska and a return to Oregon provided only a handful of visits. But shortly after the death of her sister and roommate Rita, from 1999 until her own death, I determined to check in on her as often as possible.

~~ A 'slugger' ~~

One of my two fondest memories during those years was at breakfast time. Though I never asked her to do this, I determined that it was her way of remembering how she would do likewise for her love … my grandfather, Gordon Menveg. With the wonderful aroma of eggs, bacon and homemade hash browns in the air, she would ask me to sit at the table, having placed the morning paper (yes, when there actually was a paper) onto the table with the sports section laid to the top. For a breakfast appetizer she would cut a grapefruit in half and delicately slice each section so that every chuck could simply be lifted with a spoon.

My second memory were of the chats that we would so enjoy. At first she was reluctant to tell many of the stories, but with persistence, I was able to convince her, explaining that I would be the last person that she would divulge them to. They told of her childhood, my mothers childhood, of hard work and a difficult life. I had come to see why she was so very reluctant. And now I know that some of those stories, they will forever die with me.

I’m sadden to know that such hardship exist. Such sadness was reinforced this past week. While searching for the spelling of her middle name I came across her divorce document from one of her marriages dated January of 1952. On this document it states, “The marriage contract annulled, for the cause of extreme cruelty”. I knew from stories told, that the particular last episode in question was on Christmas eve of 1951. Even so, to read “extreme cruelty” --- my heart aches for all that she had to endure. I’m so sorry Nana, I’m so very, very sorry!

But here I was, the end of February 2009, positive that this was my last visit. So looking back after reaching for the front door knob, God gifting me with one last smile from a lady who is remembered not for her troubled life. No, she will forever hold the memory of one who was determined, who worked hard, and endured, and gave of herself in such a way, that Nana, I hope to always do likewise.

Forever grateful,

Your grandson, Rick                                 

 

                            

 

I Want to Hurt ~~ No More!

 I watch the absolute foolishness of cancel culture, tearing down of statues, removing the likes of Dr. Seuss ~~ and think ~~ does life not have more serious issues than these? I see with sadness the attempt to make boys into girls, and the removal of “white” altogether. Have we honestly lost all sense of what it means to live ~~ and live in a manner as our Creator intended?

These are but a few of the most insane issues of our time. I hurt for these, I hurt for the political divide, but I wish to ... I Want to Hurt ~~ No More!

My morning has been deluged with bouts of intense & overwhelming grief and tears. No, not for the above, rather for the serious & honest issues in which life … true life becomes reality.

I wonder for the above how many are living in their seventh decade? How many in less than a twenty-four hour period have been burdened with not one, but three critical and personal life events? An uncle with a stroke, struggling to regain mind and strength. A close friend whose threat of suicide is such that they find themselves in a behavioral ward. Another close friend, years younger, who has been in and out of hospital Emergency and ICU departments more often in the past two years than most will ever experience in a lifetime, or even two.

Add to these, the accumulation through the years of stories, history & knowledge given in confidence ~~ the burden of such ~~ well, if you were not broken from your own challenges, these could possibly bring the ultimate in brokenness.

So Rick, what are you driving at? Are you solely unloading your burden in order to create greater burdens for the rest?

No ~~ I write this blog because of the hope that is found in the midst of brokenness. I write with gratefulness to Matthew West, to Bart Millard & Kristian Stanfill whose music, inspired by the life of Christ, this morning has so provided sips of living water and hope even the midst of this brokenness. I’m reminded that if the “Truth Be Told”, I’m broken! That, “Even If” God does not change this moment, this intense season of grief, “My hope is (in Him) alone. I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt – Would all go away if (He’d) just say the word – But even if (He doesn’t), My hope is (in Him) alone”. And Mr. Stanfill writes, “When I was broken, You were my healing. Now Your love is the air that I’m breathing. I have a future, my eyes are open – ‘cause when You called my name, I ran out of that grave. Out of the darkness, into Your glorious day”

If you’ve lived many decades ~~ yet even for some, but one ~~ and the pain, the brokenness is such that ‘You Want to Hurt ~~ No More!’ Please let the “truth be told”. Whatever brokenness that is you, I hope that you can know that He, Christ, was broken on our behalf. That He is worthy to place both our trust and hope. 

 

She Chose Me

There are times that we see… we read … or we hear that which can bring the sense of gloom, or possibly a new and clear revelation. One such reading came in September of 2010, only days after the death of my father. A story that is told of events which occurred some sixty-three years ago this month. For in January 1958, this story tells not only of my conception into this world on Signal Hill, but the ensuing months of their struggles, their decisions of life and of … a life. That life is mine.

Much could be told of that story and that time from his perspective, yet it is the likely, though fictional, story of the fifteen year old girl, of whom I call mom, that I would like to tell.

How she must have been scared. She must have wondered, why? Why, is this happening to me? How? How will I care for a baby, for this baby? What were her nights like? Could she run? Where could she run? There was no job. And there would no longer be any school. What kind of life can I bring to this baby.

Will it be a boy? Will it be a girl? Will he, will she have light hair, or dark? Will this baby love me? Or want to be far, far from me? Will this baby be a joy? I don’t want to regret this baby. Oh God, I feel like I’m lost. I don’t know what to think. This life, this life that grows within me. I don’t know how … I … don’t … know how. How can I … how will I … ever ... care ... for this baby?

Were these her thoughts? Thoughts, which I can only imagine have flowed through thousands, no … through millions upon millions of lives before.

And though … I don’t know her exact thoughts, or those fears that must have been hers during those months in 1958. I do know EXACTLY my thoughts here in January, some sixty-three years later. Mom, I’m so very glad that YOU CHOSE ME! Life, is far from perfect. But, because you touched my life … I have likewise been able to touch countless others. And I promise this to you … Because of you, because ... of ... you ... I will continue to do so until the very end … the very end of my days.

I love you mom, Your son, Ricky

This pic ... because she loved laughter

This story was inspired by that story of Kourtney Rae Chapman. Thank you Kourtney, thank you for being vulnerable to tell your story. And likewise to sing it through a most beautiful song, “Me or You”. I know that Jack … when he is sixty-three ... will look back … look back ... and say, “Thanks mom, that it was you”!