"We must find the time to stop and thank the people who have 

made a difference in our lives."

--John F. Kennedy

It's Thanksgiving week.  

This is a week that I always look forward to for a variety of reasons.  As a middle school band director, I would have the entire week off from work, which was great.  For the past 18 years, working at the college, I have worked a few day during the week, but classes don't meet, so it's always a nice break from instruction and rehearsal.  Plus, I like to take some time and look back over the semester and look at what I've accomplished, what the Ensemble has accomplished, what my kids have accomplished. It's a time of reflection.  

This week is also a time of family.  The kids are out of school and are at home.  This year is somewhat unusual as Grant is at Camp Geiger completing infantry school and Jack has lived in Pensacola since August, but he's home as of this writing, and it's really nice to have him at home for a few days. 

Of course, there is also the Thanksgiving meal.  I mean, who doesn't love turkey and dressing?? Well, Frank Shaffer doesn't like dressing, so Jeremie makes stuffing for him.  But other than him!! LOL.  Oh, and cranberry sauce.  And dumplings.  And sweet potatoes.  And everything else!  It's just grand!

But above all this, Thanksgiving always makes me think of my Aunt Doris and Uncle Lloyd Langham.   

Always! 

My mom had four aunts: Mary, Doris, Abbie, and Ruby.  There were actually five, but the oldest (after my granny) died when she was 12.  Mom was closest to Doris, and so every year, when the invitation came to drive down to Bay Minette, we always went.  I still remember counting train cars as the trains would pass by between Atmore and Bay Minette.  One time we counted over 150 cars in one train. 

I can still remember the house where they lived.  It was a grayish-blue, on the right side of the road as we approached it, and it had a carport on the back.  You always entered the house from the carport and immediately in front of you when you walked in was a white freezer, over which were a couple of Lloyd's guns--a rifle and a shotgun, I seem to recall.  Two steps up from that level, and you were at the dining room/kitchen.  To your left was a small den which also was a step up.  

In that den, there were two recliners, on either side of the door, as well as a couch and a television, and on that television, on Thanksgiving day, was the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  Uncle Lloyd was usually in the chair on the left, if my memory serves me correctly, and he was always smiling.  Always.  

Doris and Lloyd had one son, John.  John and his wife Jamie, and their daughters Janet and Kathryn, and later on Susan and Mary would be there also.  I remember Janet was enough older than me that we didn't really play together, and Kathryn was way too fast for any of us to catch her playing hide and seek. John was a math teacher and like most of the men descended from Oscar Brown (my great-grandfather), he was very tall.  Mom always admired how smart he and Jamie both were.  She also taught math.  They would later go on to work for Faulkner Community College, now Coastal Alabama, part of the system I work for now.  Small world, huh?  

Lloyd had been a butcher and always had an awesome garden and he'd send things back with us.  He had a genuine heart and was a giver. Aunt Doris had owned a salon and I remember her reminding me of my mom's sister Laura: full of sass.  I guess Laura got it from her.  LOL.  I also remember my mom sitting at the table talking with Doris and laughing for what seemed like forever.  I think mom saw her as a mother figure.  

The food was always delicious and it seems like we'd stay til shortly after lunch, and then we'd drive 31/29 back to Andalusia.  Back to the house where the four of us lived.  Back to my small, little world on Perry Street.  Back to reality.  

Several years later, in 2019 to be specific, I was driving my motorcycle home from Gulf Shores.  For whatever reason, I decided to try to find that house where I spent so many Thanksgivings.  I messaged Kathryn and she gave me the address, and a few minutes later, there it was.  It's no longer in the family, but it's still there.  I parked my bike in the street and just looked at it.  And remembered.  I remembered faces.  I remembered memories.  And I was thankful.  

I was thankful that someone included us.  Standing there, 47 years old, having lived through enough stuff to understand what life is really about, I was mature enough to appreciate family.  I was old enough to appreciate inclusivity.  I was mature enough to see what REALLY happened each time they invited us down for lunch.  Lloyd and Doris were showing compassion.  They were sharing what they had with us.  They were being FAMILY.  It is only now that I'm a parent myself, that I can truly appreciate someone looking out for a single mom and three small children they way they did.   I never got to thank them for their kindness, but I do thank them.  I appreciate it more than I can say.  

When we share what he have with others, we are sharing more than things.  We are sharing more than food.  We are sharing more than clothes.  We are sharing ourselves.  We are making a connection.  We are drawing closer.  We form community by sharing, and if there is anything this world needs more of, it is community.  

I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving.  Share something with someone if you get a chance.  Invite someone into your home, even if Covid restrictions suggest you shouldn't.  You never know when someone will be blogging about you 40 years later, thanking you for having done so.  

God Bless. 

 "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you 

don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

--J.R.R. Tolkien

This is the story of a shutdown.  

Thursday, March 12, 2020.  At 9:00 AM, the LBW Ensemble performed at Andalusia Elementary School for over 1000 screaming kids.  They made us this sign, which still hangs in our practice room.  It would be our last show of the year.  

Little did we know that the administration at Red Level School had already begun thinking about heading off the possibility of coronavirus contamination.  It was already in my mind that we should probably cancel the show, so I called out to the school and Principal Randy McGlaun agreed that we needed to cancel our show on the 13th. 

At this point in the story, there were still MANY unknowns.  Looking back, there was no way I'd have guessed that all that transpired over the next seven months was even remotely possible.

It wasn't long before toilet paper started flying off the shelf as well as anything that had Clorox or lysol in it.  My friend Dell Trotter posted this hilarious picture. 

If you know Dell, you know this is perfectly typical of his humor:  truth with a side of laughs.  It's about how we all felt at this time:  just sanitize EVERYTHING and let's be done with it!!  But we were far from done with it.

We quickly realized what was truly the hot commodity....hand sanitizer.  This bottle could probably have been sold on Amazon for billions and billions and billions and billions.....

Social distancing became the "thing."  It'll probably be the Time Magazine "Word of the Year," although it's two words.  We had to find ways to be apart from each other.  Several of my friends and I would meet for lunch in a local park with take-out food because we could't sit down in a restaurant for what felt like would be FOREVER.  On my own, I usually did a lot of social distancing on two wheels, often through the woods of the Conecuh National Forest or by kayaking either the Conecuh River or the Sepulga River. 

Bear in mind, that all this time, all I really wanted to be doing was performing with the Ensemble. But alas....

April rolled around and by now, we were usually found at the house, hanging out all day, learning how to "Zoom" or just chilling.  I have to admit that the time we spent at home, while trying, was also incredibly wonderful in another way: I got to spend more time with my kids than I have ever had the chance to during the school year prior to this.  It really was great!

My friends and I joked that, during this time of staying home from work, we'd all have the best lawns we'd ever had because what else were we gonna do???  Jack and I got quite a bit of stuff done around the house.  Every day, it seemed like we figured out something else to check off the list.  

By mid April we were already pretty damn sick of COVID19....we had no idea what lay ahead of us, but we found ways to laugh.

That's just funny.  

2020....what a year you had been already.  But wait...there's MORE!!!

On Sunday, April 19, a tornado passed directly over my house, but we were fortunate that it didn't touch down there.  Many in Andalusia/Covington County were not so lucky.  You can stop, 2020.  

I don't even have good photos of the destruction that County Road 70 sustained.  But it was BAD.  Ashlyn and I tried to drive there to see if we could help, and nearly ran into a spider web of power lines in the process.  We decided it was best if we head on back to the house.  All in all, I lost 3 shingles.  My next door neighbor, Donald Knox, lost about 15 trees.  He'd later lose his precious wife, Judy.  It seemed that the farther we went into 2020, the worse it got.  I guess that depending on your perception, that's probably true.  I know I sure felt like I was ready to see 2020 hit the road.  But in all the struggle and mess and cleanup, there were also things like this. 

The guy who carved this in what's left of a giant oak tree and I, along with about 10 other guys cut trees out of Antioch Road for over an hour that night just so fire trucks and ambulances could pass.  Ashlyn would later tell me she was scared that night.  I was too.  They say tornadoes sound like freight trains.  Wrong.  They sound like the engines of F22 fighter jets.  LOUD!!

April came and went.  May brought Mothers Day, and there was no way on God's green earth that COVID19 was shutting down Mothers Day!! My sister, Jeremie, had us all over, and it was a great day!

We were finding out what living in a pandemic was like.  We didn't like it.  We adjusted to it, but we didn't like it.  No one liked it.  And no, we didn't wear masks.  

One of the biggest challenges for me was watching Grant's senior year end in complete dissolution.  No senior parties.  No baccalaureate.  No commencement, at least we thought.  But the city of Andalusia, and parents of the senior class did a really remarkable thing, and I'll never forget it.  They created banners which hung along East Three Notch Street.  I still remember seeing Grant's for the first time.  

29 years prior, I wore the same cardinal robe.  My mother wore it in 1965.  Grant was a third generation graduate, and there were even a couple of fifth gens as well.  Andalusia has a long-standing tradition of traditionalism, and our commencement ceremony is on par with the Ivy League.  If you've seen it, you know.  I was slated to perform the prelude, Trumpet Voluntary.  I had been looking forward to this for MONTHS.  But...nope.  Or so I thought.  

The administration at AHS was brilliant.  They figured out how to give the class of 2020 a commencement that adhered to all social distancing (groan) protocols.  To my knowledge, Andalusia had never held commencement on the football field, but we didn't care! We wanted to see our seniors receive their diplomas.  They even got Skip Enzor to record all the music ahead of time and had it blasted over the Jumbotron in the stadium.  

I didn't want to intrude on my son's event, as I tend to despise the idea of living vicariously through my kids.  But...I couldn't help myself.  I snapped this photo during the rehearsal the night before.  

And then this one, the day of....

I was, and still am, so proud of you Grant Brewer.  I'll see you soon, son.

The next week, Nann took the kids to Texas on a trip, so I hit the road on the bike.  I intended to drive to Key West, but made it to Orlando.  It was then I realized that while I love my bike, 400 miles is all it's really comfortable for in one day.  

 It is now hilarious to me, but wasn't at the time, that I somehow, in heavy traffic in Tallahassee, inadvertently hit the kill switch with my right thumb, and the bike DIED! LOL.  Cars were beeping their horns.  I had no idea what was wrong.  I never use the kill switch...always the key.  I pushed it under an overpass and called Jackson Honda. The guy said "uhhhh...did you hit the kill switch without realizing it??"  Why yes. Yes, I did.  Did I also mention that it was storming????

It was on this trip that I learned of the George Floyd incident.  I called my brother and we talked about it.  I was in Perry, Florida.  I told him that I thought the US was about to be in a MESS.  I was right, it turned out.  So...COVID....tornado...mass hysteria...churches closed....and now we're on the brink of civil war.  Good times. 

June arrived.  LBW employees were largely still at home.  Grant was now an alumni of AHS.  My twins were now HS students.  This is where it got challenging for real.  Jack was moving to Pensacola to live with his mom, and was going to attend Pensacola HS.  2020....the gift that keeps on giving.  For full disclosure, I am OK with his being there.  I also miss him.  All is well.

June means beach trips.  Thankfully, we were able to make that happen!  

There's a diner in Gulf Shores that is straight out of the 1950s.  The food is great, and it you're lucky, you can sit in the booth that looks like an old Cadillac....and play on a cell phone whilst doing so.  LOL.

We knew Grant's ship date for the Marine Corps was getting close, and I wanted to do something special as a send-off.  I gathered together about 15 of the men who had been a part of his life, and we had a cookout for him at Frank's house.  I also gave him this rifle. 

"This is my rifle.  There are many like it, but this one is mine." Now, it's his.  I love you, son.

We spend the rest of June planning a vacation that I wasn't exactly sure would happen....a road trip to Colorado.  A few things...

1.  I40 across Arkansas sucks.  

2.  Oklahoma didn't give a rip about covid! LOL.

3.  Kansas is FLAT FLAT FLAT.

4.  Denver was all boarded up from riots.

5.  It was 40 degrees in Grand Lake!

6.  Nebraska is just as flat as Kansas.

7.  It's a LONG WAY FROM COLORADO TO ANDALUSIA.

8.  This was one amazing trip!  

July arrived and for me, this meant two things.  One was going back to work.  I joked that I was almost certain I remembered how to do this.  The other thing was  that Grant was leaving for the Marine Corps.  He'd been waiting for this for a year.  The day before he left, we rode motorcycles to Huggin' Molly's in Abbeville.  They have a hamburger that's so large that if you eat the whole thing, your whole table eats for free.  

Grant would later tell me in a letter from boot camp that he thought he could eat that entire burger in about 10 minutes!  

On July 12, 2020, we took Grant to Dothan, Alabama to his recruiter's office.  This was the last time I saw Grant (as of this writing). 

He went to MEPS at Gunter Air Station in Montgomery, and then on to The Citadel where he'd quarantine for two weeks before shipping to Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island and begin his journey by standing on one of these footprints.  

Since Grant's departure for boot camp, I have gotten about a dozen letters from him.  Each one paints a picture of a young man changing into a new type of man.  It's been joy to witness.  We have no idea exactly when we will see him, but we will eventually.  

Did I forget murder hornets?  I think I did.  How in the world did I forget murder hornets??? Hornets? That murder??  Far out, man.

Also, this meme appeared in my news media, and it sums up 2020 pretty nicely, I think.

  

Yeehaw!!!

Stephen Pearce and I joked about how the black helicopters were going to soon be swirling around our houses, so I wanted to make sure he knew how to identify them when they show up, so I shared this handy little chart.  

Personally, I hope it's the Blackhawk or the Chinook that shows up at my house. You hear me, NSA??? A Blackhawk, I say!!!  Jed Blackwell hasn't been any help at all in getting me a ride in one.  Jerk. Kidding, man.

School actually opened up, to my surprise, and Ashlyn joined the marching band.  I used to teach that band and then instructed the drumline several years after that.  It's nice to just sit in the stands and be just dad.  Yeah, like that's ever gonna be possible.  LOLOLOL.

Adjusting to wearing a mask every day at work has been....well....

The eyes are the window to the disgust, right?? I mean the soul!! The soul!!!!!

Hurricane Marco decided to come ashore right over Cameron, Louisiana.  My father died in Cameron on February 23, 1977.  I haven't been to Cameron in a number of years, but I'd like to go visit again.  After landfall, it passed directly over Lake Charles.  My dad's best friend and his wife, Monroe and Tina Wicke lived in Lake Charles for years.  I last saw them in the fall of 1996 when the Sound of the South travelled to Texas for a football game and we stopped in Lake Charles to eat at a Ryan's Buffet.  In the wake of Marco, I was able to reconnect with their son, Greg, and his family.  To quote Greg, "God truly works in mysterious ways."  Hopefully, I can see them soon, and catch up.  

2020 was far from finished....Hurricane Sally was up next.  It has been a long time since a hurricane or tropical storm passed directly over Andalusia, but here she came.  We got about 15 inches of rain but not much wind.  Other places weren't so lucky.  Gulf Shores and Pensacola and that whole area was a wreck.  The 3-Mile Bridge over Pensacola Bay, which was nearly $600,0000,000 is now in at least three pieces and Skanska is taking HEAT over their being barges being literally all over the bay.  

And then October arrived, and with it, Homecoming, at Andalusia High School.  Aaaaaand....my 30th high school reunion.  Wow.  30 years.  Kinda surprised I'm even still alive.  Some of my classmates aren't. May they rest in eternal peace.  This was Ashlyn's first homecoming at AHS as a high school students.  The theme was fairy tales.  Ashlyn's freshman class float was based on Cinderella.  Watching them build the float was like a medicine to the soul.  A little bit of normalcy has finally returned.  

Normalcy.  What exactly does that mean?  I mean, sure, it's weird to me that the two choices.....TWO....for president are a man who is in the early stages of dementia and a blowhard.  And yes, we had a tornado and a hurricane pass over our place in the same year.  And yes, my son graduated under weird circumstances and left for the Marine Corps.  And yes, 6-feet-apart has become a mantra for some.  And toilet paper disappeared off our shelves.  And we burned our country in places.  And things got cancelled.  And looking back, I can't believe we shut the whole country down over a virus.  Now, granted, I don't know much about pandemics, and I'm not arguing whether or not we should have shut the country down.  The point to all of this is simply this:  GOOD GOD WHAT A YEAR!!!  

There is no doubt in my mind that our mental health has suffered through this.  I recently told someone that I would be totally content with it if we shut down again.  I then explained why.  But that's insane!!  We are meant to be social.  We are supposed to interact with others, face to face.  And to think that I could feel OK with being isolated again tells me that something is off, and I suspect something is off for most of us.  

I think one of the biggest challenges we face is the constant attempt we make at having "normal."  What even is that?  Do we really mean "privilege?" And I don't mean "white privilege," so don't assume that.  What I mean is do we just.....expect.....things to go our way simply because we want them to? Isn't that called entitlement?  And isn't entitlement exactly the thing that so many of us (Hey! how ya doing? I'm Johnny) preach against??? And if so, isn't that hypocrisy?   Woe unto you, scribes, and Americans.  Or something like that.

I struggle with this so much, but isn't it enough that we woke up today??  I mean, yes, I am thankful that I can go get a cup of coffee without even having to make it myself...but won't it be OK if a day comes when I can't?? And I mean really OK! Not this "oh it's OK" crap...I'm talking "water off a duck's back" OK!!!

So we had to stay at home for a few months.  So.  

So one of my kids moved to another town.  So.  I miss him, yes, but so.  I ain't dead yet.  

I think that if 2020 has taught us anything, it is that we should NEVER say or think "oh, it won't happen here."  Because it can, and it will, and it did....to each of us, in some way or another.  

God bless you all.  

Have a great day.  

"A father is neither an anchor to hold us back, 

nor a sail to take us there, 

but a guiding light whose love shows us the way."

--Anonymous

Today is Fathers Day.  

As a matter of complete transparency, I have to admit that Fathers Day and I have a love/hate relationship.  Fathers Day has been a struggle for me at times, and it has been a day of overwhelming happiness, and sometimes, both of those occur at the same time.  

Like anyone who misses his or her father, Fathers Day sometimes has a little sting to it...if you let it...and I admit I often let it.  But Fathers Day also has some absolutely blindingly awesome joy to it, as well!  

Today, I went to church with Jackson and Ashlyn.  It was the first time we've all three been at church together since before the COVID-19 shutdown.  It was completely amazing to be there with them.  In addition to being there with them, we got to watch Alan Lindsey baptize his youngest daughter, Audrey.  I remembered baptizing my children, the twins in the very baptistry in which Audrey was baptized today.  As I watched, I thought about how special it was to get to baptize your child on Fathers Day!!! But then I thought about how special it would be to get to do that on most any day.  I don't mean to lessen or demean the experience that Alan and Audrey had today, but rather I am trying to point out that getting to be a father is special EVERY day.  

During the service, Troy Jones read something that made me laugh, out loud, and loudly.  It was an excerpt from a book by Max Lucado.  In the passage, Max was discussing how children view their dads--as DADDY...not as FATHER.  

He described one kid as the typical kid who is excited to see his daddy!  Lucado then says this:

"What I didn't hear was this: 'Father, it is most gracious of thee

to drive thy car to my place of education and provide me with

domestic transportation.  Please know of my deep

gratitude for your benevolence.  For thou art splendid

in thy attentive care and diligent in thy dedication.' "

Not a one of us would talk to our own fathers that way...because they are daddy....but we sure do talk to God that way, and we do it out of "reverence" and "piety."  Give me a break.  If my kids saw me after a brief absence and talked to me that way, it would kill me.  And if I were to get to see my dad after what is now 43 years of absence, you bet your paperless hymnal I wouldn't be all KJV with him.

Getting to be a daddy is special.  The years fly by as your kids grow up, and it often goes by in a blur.  But it is a beautiful, spellbinding, hold-on-for-dear-life kind of blur.  And I wouldn't trade it for anything.  

I became a daddy on March 19, 2002.  Jonathan Grant Brewer was born that Friday and my world changed forever.  Then it changed again on January 6, 2006 when Jackson Graham and Ashlyn Reagan Brewer were born.  If you three ever read this, I hope you know/remember how much I love you, and how you are the apple of my eye.  

In thinking of my own dad, I have done more wondering than I have remembering.  I was so very young when he passed that I really don't have many memories of him.  

I wonder if he ever just wanted to sit and watch me and Thomas play.

I wonder if he ever told his friends "hey, man...that's my boy!"

I wonder if he wondered what I would grow up to be.

I wonder if he would have been proud of me.

I wonder if he would have worried about me.

I wonder if he would have been at a loss for words sometimes because watching your children grow up is just so freaking amazing.

I wonder if he would have felt like he failed me.

I wonder if he ever wished he'd done this or that differently.

I wonder if he ever had that feeling at the end of the day, when your kids drift off to sleep, that today was a good day.

I wonder if he ever daydreamed about the future of his kids.  

These are all things I do/have done.  

Fathers...your role in your children's lives is immeasurable.  Sadly, you live in a world in which masculinity has been made a punch-line in sitcom television and where the male in the family is often more of a motley fool.  Sad really....because our role is vital in the development of our children.  It's not more important that the role of a mother, it's just a different role.  Both are important.  

And to Johnny R. Brewer, Sr....wherever you are out in the infinite cosmos of God's existence...I hope you know I'm proud you were my dad, and I'm proud I'm your son.  I'll see you one day.  

Blessings.

"There's no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one."

--Dr. Seuss

I haven't blogged in a while.  

Tonight, I resume blogging with a post that I already feel will fall short of capturing what I intend to capture....in any case, here goes....

On November 10, 1972, my mom became a mother.  As a father, I witnessed the birth of my three children.  I was there.  I was mere feet away from the amazing Dr. Michael Wells when he cleaned my kids mouths out, and they cried, and he said "Roll Tide."  But I didn't birth them, so I only know indirectly what my mother went through on that Friday in late 1972 in Columbia General Hospital.  Sure, there were probably epidurals and such, but she did the work of birthing me, and she would do the same when Thomas and Jeremie came along....and she did it alone. 

On February 23, 1977, my father died on the quarter boat "Dan" in the Gulf of Mexico, a mile or so off the coast of Cameron, Louisiana.  When my mother got the news, she had two small boys at home.  She didn't even know yet that she was pregnant with my sister. But she picked out the suit dad was buried in, and the color of his casket, and probably even what kind of flower was pinned to the lapel of his jacket, and she buried my dad a few days later....and she did it alone.

In June 10, 1979, my mom lost her father.  My papa had a heart attack and died suddenly, long before anyone could have revived him.  My grandmother had a severe case of dementia, and probably Alzheimer's--I'm not sure if that was a diagnosed illness in 1979.  Mom, Thomas, Jeremie, and I lived across the street from my grandparents on Perry Street, and my parents were constants in our lives, but mom now had to bury another man in her life, and because of my granny's mental state....she did it alone.

My grandmother would die about 16 months later, leaving my mother by herself to raise three small children.  Just typing that sentence stopped me from writing for a moment...just an absolutely astounding feat...yet so many women do this....

My mother would go on to witness and endure so many things all on her own, and I don't say any of that to pity her, but rather to point out her strength and her courage.  

Just thinking back, a flood of things come to mind....

I wonder how she handled it when she had to go confront my first grade teacher over some remarks on report card by herself....alone.

I wonder how she handled it when she had to make lunches for us for school DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY....alone.

I wonder if she worried if she could afford the first trumpet she bought me?  My mom worked part time when we were kids.  The downside was that even coupled with survivor benefits from Social Security, the part time work she did didn't generate tons of money, though we NEVER went without.  The upside was that mom was home every morning when we left for school, and she was home every afternoon when we got home.  Mom was just THERE.  And she did it alone.

I wonder how she got me to ball practice, and Cub Scouts, and Camp Wiregrass...or paid for it....alone?

I wonder what it was like to look after me in the hospital when I broke my arm, and there were two other kids at home to take care of also??

I wonder what it was like to worry about her teenagers when we got our respective driver licenses?

I wonder what it was like to have to handle every discipline situation on her own???

I wonder what it was like to get a few hours of peace in a hotel room when she would take us to Fort Walton Beach and we'd stay at the Greenwood Motel on Okaloosa Island....alone.

I wonder what it was like having to raise rebellious (me) teenagers...alone.

I wonder what it was like when she watched us each leave the house as adults....alone.

I wonder what it was like when she watched Thomas join the Army with no mate to talk to about this....alone.

I wonder what it was like for her to sit in the audience for my first band concert as the director of the middle school band and wish that my dad could see it....alone.

And I wonder what it's like to this day for her to enjoy her kids and her grandkids....alone.

And I wonder ABOUT EVERY OTHER FREAKING THING SHE DID....alone.

My mother, as far as I'm concerned, is 10 feet tall and bullet proof.  The truth, however, is that she's really just 5'10" tall.  And maybe bullet resistant.  

My mom's a tough woman.  She's been through a lot of pure hell on earth, and she stands tall amidst it all.  She isn't, however, the only one of her kind.  There are countless women just like her in this world.  I know many of them personally.  They walk through things that we don't even know about. Maybe we have seen inside their world a little bit, but I suspect that, just like the experience of birthing a child, we can never fully understand what it's like to be a mother unless we are one. 

Mom...I can never repay what you've done for me, and I know that you'd never want me to--that's the beautiful thing about good mothers--the selflessness with which they do all that they do.  But I thank you.  I thank you from the deepest parts of my soul for everything.  I would be nowhere had you not been my mother.  The foundation you gave us, first at home, then at church, then through a world of experiences that still blow my mind to this day, have been the bedrock of my life.  I'd simply be nothing without you.  Thank you!!!

And to all you mothers reading this....the mothers who stand up and scream their lungs out when their baby makes a play on the athletic game....and to the mothers who stand up and scream their lungs out when their baby doesn't do quite what you think they should....thank YOU.  Keep doing what you do.  The world needs you.  The world is crying out for nurture. 

God bless.  

"Thank you India

Thank you terror

Thank you disillusionment

Thank you frailty

Thank you consequence

Thank you, thank you silence"

--Alanis Morrissette

Have you ever been really, really thankful...for EVERYTHING???  

Here's a short list of what I'm thankful for.....

The table on which I'm currently propping my feet.

The wool socks on my feet.

My feet.

The legs to which my feet are attached.

Coffee.

Coffee.

And Coffee.

Friends who think the wacky stuff I sometimes write on coffee cups is funny.  

The Sharpie with which I write said wacky stuff.

Cranberry sauce.  

My momma's cornbread dressing on which I pile said cranberry sauce.

The spandex that is woven into the nylon pants I'm wearing...the extra room is needed today.

Antihistamines.

Drugstores that operate under capitalism which allow for me to buy said antihistamines.

The sound of Jack laughing in his bedroom.

Jack.

His sister Ashlyn.

Their brother Grant.

All their family, for without them, they wouldn't exist.

My stopped up nose...for without sometimes being sick, we wouldn't really know what health is.

Airplanes.

People who work in airplanes.

People who know how to fly, and most importantly, land airplanes safely.  Without them, there would be no OTMD.

The Spotted Cat.

The dollar I left there.

Melaine Marcella. 

Second chances.

Music.

Getting to play music.

Getting to teach music.

Getting to watch people I taught play music.

Movie theater butter popcorn.

Coca-cola from McDonalds.

Marco Polo videos from old college friends who just wanted to say "Happy Thanksgiving!"

Books.

People who write books. 

People who recommend me books to read.

Friends who have my back.

Rides in Corvettes.

The beach.

Hammocks tied up at the beach.

Sunsets.

Sunrises.

The fact that the sun rises.

The stars.

Ham sandwiches made with the ham you cooked for Thanksgiving.

Motorcycles.

Hot showers.

Cold showers.

Forgiving.

Being forgiven.

Employment.

Ibuprofen. 

Being reminded of when I'm right and when I wrong.

The opportunity to make someone's day.

Having my day made.

Sleep.

Insomnia, for that is usually when I sort things out.

Homemade vanilla ice cream.

Homemade vegetable beef soup.

Farmers who grow the ingredients for homemade vegetable soup.

The rain that makes those ingredients grow.

Gasoline.

Comfortable bed sheets.

My new mattress.

Ice makers in freezers.

Silence.

Sound.

The sound of Ashlyn's voice when she says "Daddy."

Getting to be a daddy.

Trees.

Trees that turn color in the fall.

Trees that don't.

Spicy BMT sandwiches from Subway.

Plagal cadences. Music folks will get that one...The one at the end of Maher 5, adagietto is divine.

Watching someone be completely happy.

Watching someone struggle, for in this there is an opportunity to help.

Winning.

Losing, for in losing, I grow.

Photographs.

Mercy.

Freedom to express all this crap.

Hope.

The center biscuit.

TJ Blackburn's syrup to go on the center biscuit. 

Feeling safe in my house at night. 

Late night talks on the phone.

Schilke trumpet mouthpieces.

Harmony.

The crust on the edge of piece of pecan pie. Lord yes.  

Honestly, this could go on forever, and that's the point!  EVERYTHING is something to be thankful for...even the random "trivial" stuff.  

Confucius said "we can be thankful today because we learned a lot.  And if we didn't learn a lot, we learned a little. And if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick.  And if we got sick, at least we didn't die."  Let that sink in.  

I think thankfulness is mindset more than it is anything.  We must train our minds to find the thing for which to be thankful, because sometimes that can be very difficult.  Life can, and often will, throw some real curveballs our way.  Sometimes, they are less curveballs, and more gigantic avalanches of STUFF! And when those days come and stay and turn into weeks or months or years....thankfulness might be our only escape.  I hope I can become more thankful than I am.  For everything.  

Have a great day folks!

"I miss those days."

--Frank Foster

I'm not a big country fan, but I've heard a song several times called "Miss Those Days" by Frank Foster that is pretty good.

I guess that I, like Frank Foster, and probably everyone else, really do miss "those" days.

I miss those days when my grandparents were still living and on Saturday mornings, I'd walk across the street to their house and my papa would make coffee, always poured in that jade green cup that I hope to inherit one day, and toast and I would dip the toast in the coffee while sitting in front of the window unit air conditioner in the dining room.

I miss those days when my dad helped me learn to roller skate by holding me under my arms so I wouldn't fall as I plodded awkwardly down the walkway to the street.

I miss those days when I'd walk down the street to Desmond Mott's house or he and Jason would come up to mine and we'd play baseball in the vacant lot beside the house where I grew up and where my mom still lives.

I miss those days when Vernell Craig would beat four of us in basketball all by himself.  And I miss Vernell Craig.

I miss those days when my Aunt Doris and Uncle Lloyd lived in Bay Minette and we'd ride down Highway 29/31 on Thanksgiving and have lunch and spend time with our cousins Janet and Kathryn. Susan and Mary would be born later on after that.  I always remember the guns that Uncle Lloyd had over this freezer on a gun rack.  They looked old even then, and I miss old guns.

I miss those days when Friday nights would roll around and we'd watch the Dukes of Hazzard.

I miss those days when my brother and sister and I would lie in the floor in the front of the furnace because the warm air was like Heaven on earth on a cold morning.

I miss those days when mom would take us to Fort Walton Beach on a whim for the weekend and we'd play in the pool and not on our phones.

I miss those days when I was 13 and I mowed grass all summer with a push lawn mower, sweating like a pig and learning independence and I was awkward and girls were like uncharted territory and Valentines Day was scarier than a Steven King book.

I miss those days when  Elmore Lewis would just be Elmore Lewis.  He was so great.

I miss those days when the JCPenney or Sears "Wish Book" would come to the house in the mail and we'd fight over getting to look through it.

I miss those days when Camp Wiregrass was my second home and the friends I made there were like anchors in my childhood.

I miss those days when I got my drivers license and a car was freedom and the open road seemed endless, even it was only just a lap around the bypass or when I got rear-ended in front of the fire department and Melanie Foshee was in TC 107 with some friends decorating for a party watching the whole thing unfold.

I miss those days when Keith Grissett and Grey Sharpe and Christy Smith and David Bodie and Larry Burnette were still with us.

I miss those days when I was a senior with absolutely no sense of direction for my life...it all turned out OK.

I miss those days I played in the LBW Ensemble and Jerry Padgett would tug at his right ear every time the horns were out of tune and when he would walk into music theory, hold out his hand and say "suture," like a doctor...because he had LOTS of homework mistakes to correct.

I miss those days when Kim Dyess gave me a chance to teach the middle school band for a couple months when I was completely unqualified.

I miss those days when I joined Southwind.

I miss those days when I moved to Troy and met Susanna and Doug and Art and Michael and Sena and Casey and Rocky and on and on....

I miss those days when I graduated and my mom was in the audience but my brother couldn't be because the Army.

I miss those days when I got my first job as a band director and when I got the job at the college.

I miss those days when Grant and Ashlyn and Jack were born and the world was perfect, if only for a moment.

I miss those days when right was right and wrong was wrong and it didn't seem so convoluted as to which was which.

I miss those days when I didn't miss those days....



....................................................



The past is really all we have to look at. But I choose to believe the best days are actually ahead, so maybe one day I'll revisit this blog and write another post about things that outshine those days I mentioned above.  But until then....I miss those days.

"Could you wanna take my picture, 'cause I won't remember."

--Filter, "Take a Picture"

Recently, I noticed something strange about my Apple Music....it is FILLED with songs that have the word "picture" or "pictures" or "photograph" in the title.  To wit....

The Cure:  Pictures of You (3 versions...hey, I like the song)

Mussorsky: Pictures at an Exhibition

Flock of Seagulls:  Wishing (If I Had a Photograph of You)

Nickeback: Photograph (don't judge)

Def Leppard:  Photograph

Filter: Take a Picture

Miranda Lambert: Picture to Burn (we did it in Ensemble years ago--cut me some slack)

And then are songs that are about pictures, chief among them "In Color," by an old friend of mine named Jamey Johnson.  

We're obsessed with pictures...photographs...portraits.... Whatever you call them, we love them.  I mean, Instagram exists because we love to share our world through pictures.  

But something about pictures struck me this summer while I was on the road with Southwind.  

We were in Buffalo/Niagara Falls for a few days, and on the last day, we had some free time at Niagara Falls.  As you can imagine, everyone was snapping selfies at the falls. It's a pretty amazing place.  I had never been there, so I took some pics there myself.  As the staff and members all kinda stood around admiring the view, I thought about how I was about to catch an Uber to a hotel and my involvement with Southwind would end for 2019.  And then, I thought "well, the pictures will be a good reminder of a great week on the road."  And it was that word....reminder.....that stuck in my head for days on end.  

The truth is that a picture is just a reminder....and it is ONLY a reminder.  Nothing more.  We take photos in an attempt to stamp our place in time so we can say "I was there." But the picture isn't "there." It's a just a reminder of "there." Now, don't hear what I'm not saying!!  Take the dang picture!! Take as many as you want!! But the key, I think, is this:  don't let the camera get in the way of what is really going on, which is THE MOMENT.  Be IN the moment.  Pause for a second and look around you.  Take it all in!!! And be PRESENT in the present reality.  

You see, we can look at people's pics and we can tell "what" they were doing.  We might can tell "where" they were doing.  And just maybe, we can tell "how" they were doing.  But that's still our own inference, and our inference may be way off!! The picture is only a "snapshot" of the reality that was.  And to me, the reality that was is what is truly BEAUTIFUL!!! My memory of an event that was captured by a picture is FAR, FAR, FAR better than the picture.  A picture is two-dimensional.  My memory is infinitely-dimensional.  Pictures can't capture the smell of perfume....or the sound of a waterfall....or the freezing cold you felt on that skiing trip....or the blistering heat you felt on the 11teenth time you repped that part of the show.  

Jamey Johnson's words say it so perfectly:  "if it looks we were scared to death.....you should have seen it in color."  

The pictures of my kids that sit on my cabinet at work are all great pictures and I wouldn't take anything for them....but they pale in comparison to my kids themselves.  REAL life was found in the moment the picture captured: not in the picture itself.   If it looks like Ashlyn was beautiful in that red dress at Miss Middlusia...you should have seen her in person.  If it looks like I was happy as could be to be sharing that moment at church with Grant...you should have seen it in person.  If it looks like Jack and I were tired and worn out standing on that bridge...you should have been there to smell us! LOL!!!  

I'm sure one day, I won't be able to remember anything at all--God forbid.  But for now, my memory works, and the memories I have of all the moments these photographs captured are absolutely priceless.  The truth/meaning/significance that we infer from events in our lives is up to us to determine, and whatever that is, is our reality.  If you ask the people in a picture how they remember the moment, they'll probably all have differing stories...but they'll all be right!!  That's kinda cool if you ask me.  

Have a great day.