GOOD AND A GOOD STORY

/

"Let's watch 'Garfield'."

"No, 'Sonic'!"

"I want 'Lyle, Lyle Crocodile'."

"We watched that last time."

We had three of the Grands spending the night with us. We had just finished the buffet that Mimi fixes because there is no concensus among: quesadillas, scrambled eggs, corn dogs, sloppy joes, and spaghetti. The last word of one of the parents after delivering 2/7 of our bundle of joy: "They've probably had enough sugar already today."

So after lemonade and ice cream sandwiches, it's movie time.

Cutting off a filibuster by the five-year-old, I offer the solution. "Let's watch 'Karate Kid'." The aforementioned 5YO tells us he knows karate and starts his demonstration on his brother, his cousin and his Pops.

"Is this a good choice?" My Amazing Missus asks, but means, "This is not a good choice."

"Is it appropriate for kids 5, 8, and 10?" she asks.

I explain that it is rated PG-13, which in my interpretation stands for "Pops' Guidance" and I can give 13 reasons why this will be fine, and besides they're going home tomorrow and their parents can debrief them.

It proved to be an excellent discussion starter--not about the key issues of things like: intergenerational friendships, balance, focus, looking deep enough to see the morsels of beauty in life, being able to catch a fly with chopsticks, but still...

The questions were more like: why is his mom making him move from his home? Where is his dad? What is a bully? Isn't that a bad word? Then why does he keep saying it? Can we switch back to "Lyle, Lyle Crocodile?" Can I have another ice cream sandwich? Why is Mr. Miyagi making him do all that work?

"Just wait and you'll see!" I tell them, giddy for the moment that Mr. Miyagi reveals his subterfuge and demonstrates that by building muscle memory with stuff like wax-on; wax-off, sand-the-floor and paint-the-fence, he has in fact taught him karate. I look at them carefully in that moment to watch their eyes when the eureka lightbulb comes on for them. NOTHING. No "aha". The connection fails. Maybe later at the finals of the "18 and Under All-Valley Tournament."

We all cheer for and celebrate Daniel's win; for various reasons.

As Mr. Miyagi beams with pride for his young student, as the dark husks of Cobra Kai slink back to their dojo. As Daniel San hoists the trophy and finds balance with Ally, his tormentors and himself, I wipe a tear from my eye. The Grands don't notice. They're too busy practicing the "Crane Technique" on one another.

Reflecting on this movie that I've seen too many times, I can't help but draw comparisons between the “No Mercy, Sir” essence of the Cobra Kai dojo and the meaner side of The Whitehouse. I can't cleanse from my psyche the image of J.D. Vance in a karate costume with that smirky grin, along with Musk and his chainsaw, yelling "Sweep the leg Donnie!" in a trumped-up fight with PBS, NPR, The Kennedy Center, public education, higher education, The National Endowment for the Arts, The National Endowment for the Humanities, and all things that can enrich and inspire, which we've apparently taken for granted. This fight, it seems to me, isn’t so much between left and right, or good and evil. It’s about illumination vs. darkness.

The youngest of our group won the battle for the next feature of movie night: Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile. Turns out there are lessons to be learned here too. Consider Mr. Grumps who hides his manipulative ways behind the persona of being a good neighbor. It's a cautionary tale to be wary of those whose ruse is "keeping things right" or making something nebulous great again. Watch out Mr. Grumps, we see you for who you are. Even your cat has turned against you.

I have a friend, Alissa Wilkinson, who is a movie critic at The New York Times. She has a new book out called, We Tell Ourselves Stories: Joan Didion and the American Dream Machine.

In an interview with Sojourner magazine about her book featuring the writer Joan Didion, Alissa is asked:

You write, “We seek meaning and order in the world by creating story arcs that tell us why things happen and how they will sort themselves out.” What is one of the prevailing stories you continue to tell yourself today?

So here’s the thing: You don’t know that you’re telling yourself that story. That’s kind of the point that she (Didion) makes throughout her work, starting from when she is writing The White Album where she writes the line, “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” But she was saying this much earlier than that, just not crystallized yet.

Everyone tells themselves stories, whether it’s stories like “this person deserves to experience this political repercussion because they are bad in this particular way,” or simple ones that the movies are always telling us like “good things happen to good people” and “follow your heart” and “don’t let anyone tell you who you are, be yourself.” Those are stories that we make up. They’re longer in story form, but those stories tell us how to live.

I think for Didion, the thing that you had to do if you were a person of any moral seriousness was to try to see the story and continually try to figure out where it came from and whether it is the right story or whether it needs modification.

I love stories and seeing the stories we live. But, I realize we have to be careful. To Alissa's point, if we hear a story, for example, about a young leader in Ukraine being an aggressor, subjecting his country to death and destruction, we are hearing a false narrative. It's told for truth and it's told again and again and again until it sounds plausible. We need "to see the story and continually try to figure out where it came from and whether it is the right story or whether it needs modification."

Objectivity is not a strength for me. For some reason I cannot see black and white exclusively and distinctly. Like the days of TV when I grew up, when our TVs were called black and white but in reality they were shades of gray. Now I still see those shades; and colors too. I hope that each story will end with: "and they lived happily ever after." But I'm older now and more calloused, and jaded, and starting to think not all stories end as I had hoped. But, still...

BONSAI DANIEL SAN. BONSAI!

Why does Mr. Miyagi yell Bonsai to Daniel?

Mr. Miyagi yells “bonsai” to express his enthusiasm and appreciation for tasks done exceptionally well. The phrase implies that the task has been completed with precision and care, much like a bonsai tree is sculpted into perfection over time. He also uses the phrase as a motivator, encouraging those around him to strive for excellence in their craft. Beyond this, he likely uses it as an expression of pride at having passed down his wisdom and skills to others who can now use them to find success. --bonsaitreehelp.org.

EASTER IN 2025

/

From my earliest memories, our family was fully immersed in Easter celebrating: the bunny, the eggs, the vinegar smell, the hunt, the candy, a hollow chocolate bunny and of course, Peeps. New, scratchy, stiff clothes and uncomfortable shoes, extra butch wax to keep unruly hair in check. Pre-Sunday school threats about not getting dirty or wrinkly. And as we emerged from the car in the church parking lot there was a last minute spit and polish. Mom would literally spit on a tissue and wipe our mouths and pluck the "sleep" from the corners of our eye sockets. Into the church we would march with the throng that was extra large because it's Easter, and everyone goes to church on Easter.

My Amazing-Missus was raised in the same traditions so it was easy to lead our boys in that path. We didn't hesitate to let the Bunny and stuff be a part of their Eastertime experience. I know some today worry that having Peter Cottontail, Santa, and The Tooth Fairy in the childhood narrative will cause doubts in adulthood about the reality of the stories of faith. Honestly, I never remember feeling bamboozled by the mix of fiction and non-fiction gift-givers. To this day, I readily accept the truth of Jesus' having lived and living still. Of course there are still those beyond-understanding parts that I need a deep faith to accept. I'm like that guy in the Bible that said: "Lord I believe! Help me with my unbelief."

This morning, I read an article in the New York Times that included what we might call testimonies from people of some renown. This one from Andrea Bocelli, the 66 year-old, blind, Italian singer struck a chord with me:

As a boy in a Tuscan hill town, I went to the local Catholic church for the organ. They let me play it once a month. There, in that small church, in that cobbled, orange town, I fell in love with music.

My belief in God came later, when I read Blaise Pascal’s idea of a wager: He writes that we all have a choice; to believe or not to believe. Given the uncertainty, how little we know about the world, he argues it is a better bet to choose belief, to embrace mystery. That made sense to me. So I decided to dedicate my life to my faith.

My career is my offering. Saint Augustine is quoted as saying that those who sing pray twice. If that is true, I have prayed much of my life, and I am in a constant dialogue with God. --NYT. 4/19/2025.

I'll admit it. I do not like the uncertainty we are living in in 2025. I do not like the distorting of the message of Jesus. I'm in a bit of despair, but not without hope. I choose belief and embrace the mystery.

Here's an image I found on some social feed. My first thought: That's what it feels like to be a Peep in 2025.

"DOES ANYBODY REALLY

/

KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?" asks the lyrics of the "Chicago" song. And then: "Does anybody really care?"

This is a post--about time. I'm going to borrow some of Chicago's lyrics to add a bit of poetry to this one.

As I was walking down the street one day
A man came up to me and asked me
What the time was that was on my watch
Yeah... and I said

(I don't) Does anybody really know what time it is?
(Care) Does anybody really care?
(About time) If so, I can't imagine why
(Oh no, no) We've all got time enough to cry

Maybe it's inevitable that us old guys spend time wondering about time and wandering through those pleasant, peaceful places of reverie. It doesn't take much to push me there. According to notes written on my grade school report cards and whispered to my parents at Parent/Teacher Conferences, I am a master daydreamer. A waste of time? Certainly not! But, even if it is: so what?

I was listening to my "Heavy Rotation Mix" on Apple Music--songs that I play over and over. The song playing was "Living On Tulsa Time" by Don Williams. Immediately I was a kid again in my home town. I spent my first twenty-ish coming-of-age years Living On Tulsa Time. Happy days indeed; at least as I choose to remember them. Where did the time go? Really. Where DID the time go?

“The happier the time, the shorter it seems.”
— Pliny the Younger. 105.

And I was walking down the street one day
A pretty lady looked at me
And said her diamond watch had stopped cold dead
And I said

(I don't) Does anybody really know what time it is?
(Care) Does anybody really care?
(About time) If so, I can't imagine why
(Oh no, no) We've all got time enough to cry

Jerry Seinfeld, in a video sharing his "essential" stuff, explains his favorite way to brew coffee: using a Moka Pot. He explains that it is complicated and time-consuming but that's what he likes about it. In the video he shares this viewpoint: "The secret of life is to waste time in ways that you like. You spend all your life trying to save time but when you get to the end of your life--there's no time left--then you'll go to heaven and you'll go: 'but wait I had velcro sneakers and no-iron shirts and a clip-on tie. What about all that time?!' It's gone." --Jerry Seinfeld

Let's look at that one part again, the part where he says, "The secret of life is to waste time in ways that you like."

Maybe you've heard: I got a new globe. It's wonderful. Our GrandGuys (ages 7 and 5) came for a visit the other day. They noticed the globe right away. Aha, this will be my chance to teach them a bit of geography. They were fascinated! Not by my grasp of geography, but "Hey let's see how fast we can spin it!"

"Don't," I say, lovingly and instructively. "If you spin it too fast all the little people all over the earth will go flying off into space." A quick lesson on gravity and basic physics? Not interested. We did take time to find Oklahoma and the United States. "It's kind of small." says the seven year old. In the scope of the whole big ball, it is, kind of small. I explained that some day we might also have this part (pointing at Greenland). "What do you mean?" the five year old wonders out loud. Good question.

It was fun and time well-spent and it went by in a blur like a spinning globe. BTW: it will spin really fast; and sometimes it feels like it is spinning really fast. (Weird thought: Wouldn't it be crazy if God just got fed up with us and decided to give it a good spin and we would all go flying off into space along with parts from one of Elon's blown up rockets.)

And I was walking down the street one day
Being pushed and shoved by people
Trying to beat the clock, oh, no
I just don't know, I don't know, I don't know-oh

And I said... yes, I said
People runnin' everywhere
Don't know where to go
Don't know where I am
Can't see past the next step
Don't have time to think past the last one
Have no time to look around
Just run around, run around think why

“Time is like a river made up of the events which happen, and a violent stream; for as soon as a thing has been seen, it is carried away, and another comes in its place, and this will be carried away too.”
— Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

I think I get what Marcus is saying, but what about reverie Marcus? Things don't get carried away all together. Something is left behind. I remember friends and loved ones who have gone before me. I remember living on Tulsa time. I remember our first date, our first kiss, the births of our sons... Know what I mean.

Sometimes I wish I could make time slow down, but if Pliny The Younger is right: that happy and fleeting go together, I'll take that. Like Jerry, my morning coffee routine is time consuming, but it makes coffeetime sweeter. Treading in the dark land of politics and its sordid affair with religion makes four years seem like an eternity. Realizing how fast the Grands are growing is dizzying but glorious. Watching them become the beautiful people they are: worth it. Marcus' time-as-a-river metaphor has sent me to remembering another--from one of my favorite books/movies of all time: A River Runs Through It.

“Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.

“Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t. Like many fly fisherman in western Montana, where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

"I am haunted by waters.”

EARS TO HEAR

/

I NOW SHARE SOMETHING in common with Malchus, Evander, Vincent and Donald.

Like Vincent; unlike the others, my wound is sort of self-inflicted. But still I understand our common wound at a deeper level. Malchus, Evander and Donald, you might say were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it." --Atticus Finch

I hope you've had the blessing of reading Harper Lee's "To Kill A Mockingbird" or seen the film adaptation starring Gregory Peck. The quote is from a life lesson that Atticus is teaching his young daughter, Scout. It's an important lesson.

It's about empathy. That's right; I said it! EMPATHY! There, I said it in ALL CAPS and I punched the keys hard when I typed it.

Have you heard the latest load of steaming, stinking arrogance coming out of the far right white evangelical camp? That "Empathy Is Sin". They even have a manual for this distorted worldview--a new book called--without nuance or apology--"The Sin of Empathy", written by a guy named Joe Rigney who apparently somehow has become an expert on the relationship between God and us humans without ever experiencing mercy and/or grace, or without understanding that the model Jesus set for us in living in humility; and that empathy, compassion and unconditional love spring out of that humility. The premise seems to be that if one shows empathy, they are weak and condoning of sin. Not sure what they do with that Good Samaritin story Jesus left us with.

I'm not a theologian or one to toss around scripture like I might know what I'm talking about, but consider this from the second chapter of Philipians:

If you’ve gotten anything at all out of following Christ, if his love has made any difference in your life, if being in a community of the Spirit means anything to you, if you have a heart, if you care—then do me a favor: Agree with each other, love each other, be deep-spirited friends. Don’t push your way to the front; don’t sweet-talk your way to the top. Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead. Don’t be obsessed with getting your own advantage. Forget yourselves long enough to lend a helping hand.

Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion.

When it comes to humility I'm a beginner. That sounds a lot better than someone saying, "when it comes to humility I'm the greatest ever." You would think that at my age I would be better, but empathy is hard. I don't know much but I know this: for these zealots to contort something as beautiful as empathy into something as vile as a false supremacy and self-righteousness is to turn apathy into a virtue. In that beautiful metaphor that Atticus taught to Scout, being able to walk around awhile in someone else's skin takes a lot of humility and vulnerability, and yes, empathy. Apparently now though it's being seen as something horrible and weak and "woke". BTW, I have absolutely no empathy for the un-woke, nor do I have any desire to feel what they feel. That's how bad I am at this whole deal.

Because empathy requires a sense of shared experience, I can't empathize with those folks. I grew up learning to follow a God that SO loved the whole of humankind that He gave and gave and gave and gives and gives. Didn't the fact that the "Word became Flesh and dwelt among us" make the metaphor of walking around in someone else's skin literally real and alive?

So, back to my story of shared experience with what I'm calling the Clan of the Mangled Ear. In chronological order let's start with Malchus. Remember he was the servant of the high priest who had his ear cut off by Simon Peter during the encounter with Judas and Jesus in the garden.

"Just then Simon Peter, who was carrying a sword, pulled it from its sheath and struck the Chief Priest’s servant, cutting off his right ear. Malchus was the servant’s name.

"Jesus ordered Peter, “Put back your sword. Do you think for a minute I’m not going to drink this cup the Father gave me?” (John 18)

Next up: Vincent van Gogh, who reportedly cut off his own left ear when tempers flared with Paul Gauguin, the artist with whom he had been working. Van Gogh’s mental illness revealed itself: he began to hallucinate and suffered attacks in which he lost consciousness. During one of these attacks, he used the knife. He could later recall nothing about the event.

Some are old enough to remember Mike Tyson biting off part of Evander Holyfield's ear during a boxing match. My empathy can only extend so far.

By now, we all know the story of Donald Trump's close call when an assassin's bullet nicked his ear.

And finally, Old Pops here. I'm writing this all bandaged up like Van gogh with 30 some stitches in my right ear following a successful surgery to remove the "good" kind of cancer--apparently the outcome from many summers spent in the swimming pool and on the tennis courts without a hat or this new-fangled stuff called sunscreen.

I've learned a little something about the ear: not much skin there but they bleed like a stuck pig. Also, they are great for hearing and listening which comes in real handy when using our God-given ability for empathy. As with each new experience, my capacity for empathy has grown a bit. And, funny thing; it doesn't feel sinful at all.