PEW PEW PEW

IN THE CHURCH tradition I grew up in we didn't have reserved seats per se. There were no lettered rows and numbered seats like you would find at a concert or ballgame. But make no mistake: seats in a church have been claimed, if only by a binding understanding that says: this is the pew where I sit, always have, always will.

There may not be a rational explanation for someones seat choice like Sheldon's place on the couch in the apartment he shared with Leonard. Sheldon placed this location "in a state of eternal dibs". When Leonard questions him, he says: "Cathedra mea, regulae meae. That's Latin for 'my chair, my rules'".

As Sheldon explains to Penny, "In the winter that seat is close enough to the radiator to remain warm, and yet not so close as to cause perspiration. In the summer it’s directly in the path of a cross breeze created by open windows there, and there. It faces the television at an angle that is neither direct, thus discouraging conversation, nor so far wide to create a parallax distortion, I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point."

In one episode he even establishes his seat by putting it in mathematical terms: "In an ever-changing world, it is a single point of consistency. If my life were expressed as a function on a four-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system, that spot, at the moment I first sat on it, would be (0,0,0,0)."

While not that extreme, I do have a mostly unspoken claim on a few seats, I would say they are mine; but I share (if necessary).

There are two places to sit in my little study at home. One is an extremely comfortable gray leather swivel rocker and ottoman. This is where I watch movies, sports, reruns of Big Bang Theory, Seinfeld, and Frasier. I also sit there to listen to my lovely HiFi system. I read in that chair and take wonderful afternoon naps. The other chair is a black leather office chair. It was going to be cast out from the office I used at work, so I took it home when I retired. It's in rough shape but after years of sitting there it fits my backside like hand and glove (not O.J.'s though). It's here at my desk that I read the news, watch YouTube videos, and write: things like this blog post which I'm typing right now. Here's a photo.

Back to church. I too, have a certain spot on a certain pew there. Here's a photo of where I sit.

This spot is special to me for several reasons: Those beautiful stained glass windows are on the south side of the building. This time of year the tilt of the earth at the time of our morning service sends warm sunlight in. The windows around the sanctuary are a timeline of the life of Christ. Obviously this window represents the infant--the early days of The Light, the Word become Flesh.

At our church our hope is still there: in that message, and like the light that breaks through that colored glass, that message is the one that will change the world. I don't pretend to speak for our church, the congregation or the people who compose it. But, in the sermons and songs I hear, in the numbers of people who humbly give and serve, Christ is still alive and my hope is there. I fear that some have given up on the Good News to bring peace, to change the world. So, they've chosen instead to align with a religion of political power. I'm glad I have a place in a church with light and enlightenment, where an open mind is not something to condemn but to celebrate.

HEAR YE HEAR YE

HENCEFORWARD, I, Pops, will be issuing an occasional "Executive Order". Why? Apparently we septuagenarians can be someTHING vibrant and virile by casting out a wordy, and often silly and irrational edict with all kinds of magisterial pomp, adding the flourish of a giant signature written with a Magic Marker, as if the marker and the mark it makes are somehow magically magical.

WHAT GOES IN TO A GOOD EXECUTIVE ORDER? Based on my own biased and baseless research: it needs to sound bold and brash. Sometimes it moves things forward with some expediency. Sometimes it shines a light on a need, or a problem needing a solution. Sometimes it offers a "solution" looking for a problem. Sometimes the Order is demagogic--stirring the pot and firing folks up for popularity's sake whether the idea serves any virtuous, just or moral purpose or not. Sometimes though, the Order can set in motion steps necessary to right the ship; or sink it--intentionally or not, maybe in hopes of setting a new one, a gaudy and golder one to sail across the waters in the Gulf of Whatever.

As I was thinking through what my first few Executive Orders would be, it dawned on me; I'm not an executive. I don't have a merry band of minions to execute any order. I don't have supporters, loyalists, an electorate, or a population of citizens: legal or not, whose lives might be improved or unsettled and altered--consequences be damned. I do wield some authoritarian sway over our GrandKids--wait, ignore that! It's actually the other way around.

So maybe "executive order" isn't what I'm looking for. How about this idea: I will issue DECREES! Sound the bugles! Unfurl the banners.

Maybe that's too regal. Maybe you have to have loyal subjects. [Shhh] (Don't mention this word to the current executive-orderer-in-chief. I have a feeling he might like the sound of handing down a Royal Decree or 200.)

Well, if not an EO, or a Decree, what's left for me. Surely at seventy-something I should be able to make a ceremonial something, something official if only because I've written it down and signed and sealed it and put it out there. Afterall I’ve been writing posts for this silly blog for more than ten years. At least it should be something that other like-minded beings could say: "Right On Pops!" "I'm with you." "Let's do this."

Then, I found it. From time to time I will be proclaiming A DECLARATION--an official announcement from POPS-DOM, a humble, peaceful, happy, funny little kingdom without a king, just a silly old man with enough time on his hands to actually ponder stuff like this.

Soon now I will be doing my first official Declaring ceremony, presenting the Declaration, signing the document and offering to any and all (for a small token to cover shipping and handling), a signed copy of the Declaration in a lovely presentation folder, along with the pen I use to sign it . But wait! That's not all. For a limited time, while supplies last, I will include a copy of my award-winning chili recipe which will come in handy when I Declare that any frigid frosty, cloudy, drizzly day with "feels-like" temps below zero(f) to be a good day for Chili, Tulsa style of course, with spaghetti noodles and saltines. Verily, Ye Verily.

I may not be Declaring for a few days. On this day after President’s Day 2025, our little village is iced over. I can’t get to the office supply store to get official pens and Declaring paper until The Thaw, because I do declare: that 70-somethings and frozen sidewalks are a hazardous combo. Stay safe and warm my friends.

MY GOOD FRIEND DOUG

If you have had a conversation of length with me since the early 70s, you have probably heard me say something like:

- My good friend Doug says...

- My good friend Doug tells this story about...

- My good friend Doug wrote in one of his books...

Doug Manning was our pastor when we were newlyweds. And, he has been our "pastor" until his passing on January 27, 2025. The fact is though that he will continue to be our pastor as long as we both shall live--and maybe beyond. Our kids and grandkids have heard so many Doug stories; they're like an ingredient baked in to who we are.

I'm using the word "pastor" here in the sense of a shepherd, a guide, a spiritual mentor. I have been so fortunate to have had a few of that type in my life. The first was my father. Dad and Doug were both pastoring churches in Tulsa when they became friends. Doug spoke at Dad's memorial service. I remember the entire sermon: "We don't need a sermon today. If you are here then you knew Bill Fuller. And, if you knew Bill then you knew his life was the sermon." And he sat down.

There have been two times that Doug was also our pastor in a church leader role: in the 70s at Southern Hills Baptist Church in Tulsa, and then in the early 20-teens we started a church together in Oklahoma City. Doug wanted to call it "The Church of the Pissed-Off Baptists", but we figured we wouldn't be able to find a building large enough, so we went with Kindling Community. It was a wonderful, eclectic group with wildly and widely diverse faith views and worldviews, all focused on the exploring of ways to be followers of Jesus in the 21st century. It was amazing, and endured until Doug's eyesight made it nearly impossible for him to read and prepare.

It was the pastoring in between the church gigs that have come to mean the most to me. My Amazing-Missus and I met with Doug almost every Friday night for many years for dinner and to spend the evening discussing life. No subject was off limits.

When Covid forced all indoors, we started a group that met once a week through Zoom, the online meeting utility. I have long been fascinated by a group called The Inklings. They met regularly in a pub in Oxford, England. The members included J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. We decided we would fashion our Covid-era Zoom meeting after The Inklings. We called it the Quarantine Tavern and although the pandemic has subsided we still meet nearly every Sunday night. Doug has missed the last few meetings. The cancer that had come on him with vengeance caused him pain and fatigue.

My last communication with him was a text he sent to me Sunday afternoon, January 26, just hours before he passed. In the text he told me the doctors had no good news for him and he ended with these words: "the cancer is back and it’s very very very, very growing very fast so Tuesday I have another CAT scan and Wednesday I have an appointment with him and then he made me go ahead and get an appointment with my another appointment with my radiologist so I don’t know where we are, but he did end up by saying I don’t think I can give you a good outlook or a good answer so that’s where I am. I’m not in as much pain. I’m happy I’m relaxed and I’m not bored a whole lot about anything, but I thought maybe the group should know where things are. Hope y’all have a good meeting tonight."

So this guy who has authored more than 50 books, traveled the world speaking on the issues of death and grief, is taking the time to tell a group of friends the truth and then wishing us well on a meeting he won't be able to attend.

I could go on and on and on, so I decided to boil it down to a Letterman-style Top 10.

Things I learned from Doug:

#10. Pay close attention.

#9. Listen carefully and deeply.

#8. When it comes to regrets, learn the lesson and move on.

#7. Hurt people hurt people.

#6. Barbara Streisand was right: "People who need people are the luckiest people in the world."

#5. Keep your cussing current.

#4. You can't behave your way into a relationship with God. You just have to believe and deeply hold on to the fact that He loves you and see what that does for your behavior.

#3. There's more good theology in "The Velveteen Rabbit" than is delivered in many pulpits on any given Sunday.

#2. Be wary of those who only quote scripture from the Old Testament and Paul's letters.

#1. Don't forget to write.

Let me say this about that last one. It is a line from the movie "Finding Forrester". It's about an older man and a younger one. They both want the best for each other. Their common ground is writing. Doug and I shared a love for writing. In the movie, the older man is going off on a trip and the younger one tells him, "Don't forget to write” - using the old line offered so many times in a farewell, but with the twist of holding one another accountable to write, to create, to strive to be a better version of ourselves. Often we would say goodbye, one of us would say, "Don't forget to write."

That is who Doug was to me. How can you not love someone who you know cares for you unconditionally? How can you not be broken hearted at their passing? It's selfish I know. But it's real. I hurt for his amazing family. They have generously shared Doug with me, My Amazing-Missus, and all the others he touched so deeply.

Doug was the last of a generation for me. It makes me miss my father even more. Now I'm the old guy for sure. I have no one left who is older that I can call on. But I do have the treasure of having had those people in my life. That's enough for now.

Old men ought to be explorers
Here and there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For another union, a deeper communion
--T.S. Eliot

GRAND THEFT PICKUP

I'm sipping a hot, homemade cortado; working on a New York Times puzzle. "Where's your truck?" My Amazing-Missus asks. "Parked on the driveway where I left it."

"No, it's not!"

I dashed out the door, thinking she just happened to not see a huge Ford F150 SuperCrew sitting there minding its own business.

We bought the truck back in 2023. At the time the young salesman began to try to convince me to get this app called "FordPass". "The app will show you your vehicle's tire pressures, gas level and mileage. It will allow you to remotely lock and unlock the vehicle. And, it will show you the truck's location."

I told him I didn't want the app. I had no interest in being tracked. If I wanted to stop by an Andy's Custard for a large hot fudge sundae, it's nobody's business. He explained that if I signed up I would get $250 in "Ford Bucks" that I could use for oil changes and stuff. So, I signed up.

-- "Shawnee Police, how can I help?"

-- "My truck has been stolen out of my driveway."

-- "Address? Make? Model? Color? Do you happen to have an app that will show you the vehicle's location?"

YES!. Yes I do!

She told me they have officers enroute and another arriving at our house. We stayed on the line and I kept her updated on the truck's location. It had come to a stop at the city park in Tecumseh. The officer came to the house and we monitored the chase on his radio. Now the Tecumseh police and the county sheriff had joined the chase.

It sounded like they had them surrounded at the park but they took off again. Then--over a bit of radio static-- "They've crashed out in a ditch." A long pause. "They've managed to get out." "The vehicle is stopped and they're fleeing on foot. We need a canine unit."

We called both of our sons. Corey, who lives in Shawnee, decided to join the pursuit and arrived at the final resting place of the vehicle as the perps (police talk) were being taken into custody. It was such a relief to see a familiar face there. Our youngest son, Kyle, who worked for several years in law enforcement was on the phone with me, calming me down by walking me patiently through the possible scenarios. Such a gift.

Corey called to say he was talking with police, and while the truck was clearly damaged it seemed to be drivable. So we headed south to the crime scene. As we got closer it looked like every available law enforcement unit in the county was there. They had apprehended all three, two sixteen year-old boys and an eighteen year-old girl, at various locations near Tecumseh lake.

Police had searched the truck. "Mr. Fuller did you have handguns in the vehicle," they asked. "Only if they have an orange tip at the end and shoot water," I offered in full disclosure. They recovered two real guns, a backpack, a filthy coat and one glove from the truck.

One of the fugitives, just a kid, the same age as my oldest GrandGirl, was sitting on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back, his head between his knees. I wanted to go over and tell him I was sorry for whatever had happened in his young life that had brought him to this point.

My initial reactions to it all were an adrenaline-filled frustration--thinking about the hassle of dealing with the fallout of some stupid kids stealing a vehicle and going for a joy ride. But when I learned that they had guns in my truck I was sickened--for the kids and by them, also by the horrible scenarios of what might have been. Now I pray there might be a turning point soon for these three, maybe a hope of what might could be.

P.S.: The truck is only marginally drivable. It shimmies and shakes and now sits and waits for the police and insurance company to tell us what's next.