EXAMPLE SETTING

I DON’T REMEMBER the first time I was told, “you’re setting the example for others,” but I do still feel the weight of that admonition.

Recently, I had the privilege of speaking at the memorial service of a good friend, a man I hold in high regard. We’ll call him Dave. Also speaking at the memorial was Dave’s son, let’s call him Kent. Kent told this story about his dad:

One evening at meal time Mom (let’s call her Barbara) called Dave to the table and passed a bowl of mixed vegtables. “What is this!?” Dave asked and added, “I’m not eating this!” Barbara surprised said, “Why not, you’ve eaten this dish for 30 years?!” Dave replied, “The kids are grown and gone and I’m tired of setting the example.”

Example Setting is serious business. As I said, it’s weighty and fraught with danger. What if I hold myself up as an example and then prove unworthy? I mean, look at me (but don’t follow me), I watch too much TV. I need to exercise more. I don’t floss as often as I should. My attitude and outlook often is not what you want someone to strive toward. According to many I’m unpatriotic, although I disagree and therefore I am belligerent. You get the picture.

Thankfully, God provides grace and filters that somehow let our kids see a better version of ourselves than may be real. For example, look at me and then look at our two sons: they are good husbands and great fathers, they are honest, hard-working, humble and good example-setters.

I know what you’re thinking! And, you’re right! Look at their mother!

I’m trying to be a good example for our grandkids, but I’m still going to pick the mushrooms off my pizza and watch as much Sponge Bob as they want to watch.

“Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example.”

— Mark Twain

SIDE BY SIDE

USING TRAILER PARLANCE AS METAPHOR, we’ve been hitched for a few years now. Both of us, my Amazing-Missus and I, are from the Tulsa area—she, just from the south of Jenks; me, just north of Jenks. We met in Bixby.

The insightful C.S. Lewis, as far as I know, never visited Jenks or Bixby, but he did have some keen wisdom on relationships:

“Those who cannot conceive Friendship as a substantive love but only as a disguise or elaboration of Eros betray the fact that they have never had a Friend. The rest of us know that though we can have erotic love and friendship for the same person yet in some ways nothing is less like a Friendship than a love-affair. Lovers are always talking to one another about their love; Friends hardly ever about their Friendship. Lovers are normally face to face, absorbed in each other; Friends, side by side, absorbed in some common interest.” —C.S. Lewis. The Four Loves.

Let’s talk about some of the side-by-side stuff. Early in our marriage we discovered one of our favorite places to eat together was Coney-Islander, a little hot dog joint native to Tulsa. (By “little hot dog” I’m talking about the size of the establishment and also the size of their coneys. They are adorable.) It is still our favorite. It started in 1926, and in all these years, hasn’t changed much. I hope Coney-Islander doesn’t hire one of those new fangled UX specialists to “take the company to the next level”. Their level is just fine. At Coney-Islander, you sit on the same side of the booth, side-by-side. This is so you can work out the Weekly Scramble on the old blackboard on the wall. It’s a C-I tradition.

We often spend weekends in Tulsa. We’ve found a great place in mid-town where we can park our Airstream. It’s close to some of our favorite side-by-side type places: the Circle Cinema, a throwback art-movie theatre; Tulsa University, a Coney-Islander, and a short drive to downtown where you’ll find the arts district, Glacier Chocolates, Guthrie Green, Antionette Baking Company, Spinster Records and Driller Stadium, all good places for side-by-side moments.

There is a mix of blessings to traveling in an Airstream: people want to talk about it and “take a quick peek inside.” Recently we were hitched up and leaving Tulsa for Shawnee, where we were to attend a very special event—a birthday party for a five year old. Often, as we leave Tulsa, our route is via Peoria Avenue, through the narrow streets of Brookside to a Coney-Islander, before getting on the highway out of town. As I pulled into the parking lot on this particular Saturday, I noticed a fancy Mercedes following closely. Before I could hardly get out of the truck, there was a woman who looked like she had just come from the Lululemon store up the street, or the hair extension store somewhere nearby. “Can I please droll over your Airstream!?” (Her actual words.)

Sure, I say. I’ll be inside drooling over “a couple of coneys with everything.” (That’s how you order them.) She’s holding her phone in the air and explains to us that she has her boyfriend on FaceTime so he can take the tour as well. My Amazing-Missus graciously hosted the tour while I went into the air-conditioned Coney-Islander to wait. As I watched her walk toward the diner from the Airstream after the tour, I saw it all as a tableau of sorts or an Edward Hopper painting (but far less forlorn)—that silver trailer, this little hotdog joint, and her; walking from one to the other. Not to over-romanticize it, but it was glimpse of a magical side-by-side life together. Our travels: together, our favorite things to do: together, our memories: together, and our future: together.

And then I thought, I hope that if Miss Yogapants and her FaceTime friend find themselves in an Airstream someday they will have great side-by-side adventures too. Like the old song says:

Oh, we ain't got a barrel of money
Maybe we're ragged and funny
But we'll travel along, singin' a song
Side by side
Don't know what's comin' tomorrow
Maybe it's trouble and sorrow
But we'll travel the road, sharin' our load
Side by side
Through all kinds of weather
What if the sky should fall
Just as long as we're together
It doesn't matter at all
When they've all had their quarrels and parted
We'll be the same as we started
Just travelin' along, singin' our song
Side by side

---

Here’s a Coney-Islander Weekly Scramble for you. Sorry I don’t have a coney for you to enjoy while you try to figure it out. If you just can’t quite work it out, email me and I’ll send you the answer. hey.pops.hey@gmail.com.

P.S.: No Googling for the answer. You’ll hate yourself in the morning if you do.

WINTER

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

That’s how the old poem goes. The poem is, “In The Bleak Midwinter” by Christina Rossetti, c. 1870.

Winter’s not my favorite season, yet some of my favorite things are a part of this season: Christmastime, family activities, fires, hot chocolate, spiced cider, mulled wine, strong coffee and rich food. But I miss the sunshine, the leaves and being outside. I complain of humidity in summer and the dry air of winter.

Winter seems quieter, slower, more contemplative. I can almost picture the scene where Ms. Rossetti penned her poem. From that first verse you might think she was depressed or in despair. Winter can do that to you. But when you read the rest, you see she was contrasting winter with something else. Something new. Something with promise, like the coming spring. The poem continues:

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshiped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Maybe that’s the key to seasons of bleakness whether they be in winter or summer, in abundance or poverty. 2018 has had it all, or so it seems. The world seems meaner somehow, more base, more selfish, more arrogant, more misguided.

But it also seems more hopeful. I have the privilege of being around immensely creative young people and wonderful family. They seem more energized, more visionary.

I want to be among those who understand there is more to the poem, more to the story, more to this life.

Most know of the words, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” Many know these words to be the introduction to the Declaration of Independence. Many would see these unalienable (which means you can’t give them away) Rights to be the highest form of humanity. They’re good, don’t get me wrong, but there is more.

If we stop with these then we will put all of our hopes in political solutions. That’s the mold they are cast in. It should be clear to us that the ultimate answers are not in politics. There is more.

We always speak of the turn from one year to the next as the NEW year, fraught with opportunity, a new start. I am resolving to aim higher, drink deeper, see more, listen more, give more and live more. And with all that living there is a chance that at the end of 2019 I will weigh more. Just being honest.

By the way, that old poem was made into a wonderful Christmas Carol. I highly recommend James Taylor’s version of the song. You can find it on his album “At Christmas” along with a lovely version of Auld Lang Syne; perfect for midnight tonight.

At The Table

TRYING NOT TO SOUND TOO… pitiful, sour-grape-ish, sore-loser-ish…

Thanksgiving is just around the corner, pilgrim. We’ll have the blessing to sit at a couple of different Thanksgiving feasts over that weekend.

I am hoping everyone has safe travels.

I hope everyone has something good to eat.

I hope everyone has someone to be with.

I hope everyone around our table knows how much I love them and how thankful I am to be in their tribe.

I hope Ginger brings coleslaw. I hope to have a piece of pecan pie. I hope I don’t hurt someone’s feelings by not eating their sweet potato dish (even though it is covered with some marshmallow looking something). I hope they’ll understand that I don't like Jell-O that has stuff suspended in it. I like them, I like that they cared enough to bring something to the table, it’s just the idea of putting stuff in Jell-O. It’s like putting turkey organs in the dressing or the gravy. It’s just not necessary.

Another thing I hope won’t be at our Thanksgiving table: politics—red ones or blue ones, first ammendment or second, donkeys or elephants. I’m done. As I said at the top, I’m trying not to sound too… pitiful, sour-grapish, sore-loserish… I’m just done.

Not too far into our new marriage, we were at the Thanksgiving table at my Amazing Missus’ parent’s house. The food at that table was always wonderful and abundant. (Except for some strange tradition of putting oysters in the dressing.) [Apparently, I have an aversion to people putting stuff in other stuff that God never intended to go together.]

Anyway, we’re all seated, the blessing was said, and before we knew it, the conversation turned to A.I. This was the mid-70s and we were talking about A.I.?

Let me clarify: this was not conversation about the merits, threats, or potentials of Artifical Intelligence. This was a graphic dialog about Artificial Insemination. You see, I literally married the “farmer’s daughter”. The family had a long, successful history in the dairy farming business. As a city-boy of sorts, I don’t guess I had given much thought to the reproductive arts down on the farm.

A few seconds into the discussion, my Amazing-Mother-In-Law said, “That’s enough of that!” She spoke with a humble authority that everyone heard without any confusion or uncertainty. And, just like that; the conversation changed.

Oh how I hope that if politics comes up in discussion, someone with the moral certainty and authority, the clear-headedness, and the clear-heartedness of my late Amazing-Mother-In-Law will say, “That’s enough of that!”