We officially started school, or at least preparations for school, this week. (Now, now, all of you who have been in school for two weeks and are screaming at me because our students do not start for another week and a half, don't hate the player; hate the game.) We have been discussing on our vision, our desire to help our students become positive world changers. I am excited for the year. Football is in full swing as we near the end of the first week of two-a-days, and despite the heat, our young men have been pushing themselves, sweating, bleeding; they have impressed me with their efforts and their attitudes as we begin the quest to defend the title. On the field and inside the yet unfinished schoolhouse walls, I am blessed to work with some truly fine people, both students and colleagues. Let me repeat: I am blessed.
Positive World Changers. That may seem like a lofty goal. "Just get them readin' and writin' and figurin' right, and that will be enough," some might say. I say you are short-changing our young people if you take that approach. Positive World Changers. When we begin discussing that goal, that vision, we can hold up many fine young people who have taken their experiences at BHS and begun to make an impact on the world. Students who have aided charities in creating educational opportunities and clean water sources in Nepal or who have traveled to Central America to build homes for those in need. These are terrific examples, but I sat here last night and wondered if they were the best examples. I do not want to in any way diminish the extraordinary things those individuals and group achieve; they are amazing and should be celebrated. However, I was pleased to hear a colleague mention today that we need to celebrate those young people who change the world one person, one smile, one encouraging word at a time. Those who impact and influence those around them, those who lead those with wide eyes to be just like them. When I think of positive world changers, I think of those special young men and women who change the world in their way, in the way that best fits them. So many kids have passed through our walls who have made and will continue making those positive world changes.
There is a young man currently completing his training to become a paramedic. My brother is in the profession, and he knows about this young man because of me and because he has watched enough Crusader football to recognize some of the players I talk about. He asks about him when he speaks to the man in charge where this man is training, and he is doing well. While I hope to never see him in his professional role, I can honestly say that if I need emergency assistance, I want his face to be the one I see, or that my family sees. He will be amazing, partly because of his intelligence and dedication, more because of his character and caring. He is a family man, and was long before he met the girl he will marry and begin his own family. He is a positive world changer.
There is a young women who impressed me on a daily basis as she grew up from a freshman to a senior and now beyond. Do you know what she did to change the world, top change my world and the worlds of so many of her classmates? She was herself. She was a genuinely happy and sincere young lady who looked at a person when they spoke, unless that person was speaking about her, at which point she would look down, embarrassed to hear someone compliment her. She smiled as much as possible, and her bright outlook was contagious. She once called a bus driver at home one evening because she was concerned about him after there had been an accident in which a teen driver ran into the back of the bus. She helped students in class when they struggled, not to show she was bright, but because she wanted those around her to succeed. Humble, caring, and sincere, combined with intelligent, thoughtful, and compassionate can be a powerful mix. She was and will continue to be a positive world changer.
Sometimes it is even smaller, or seemingly so. Once, a student in my class was struggling emotionally, as sometimes tends to happen. She was supposed to present to my class upon returning from lunch, but as she stood up, she was unable to contain her tears.Something had happened in the cafeteria, and it had hit her quite hard. She left the room, with me a few steps behind. I walked back into the classroom a moment later, and she followed shortly after. Before anyone could speak, a girl from the back of the room boldly said, "Hey, I would really rather go first if I could Mr. Kohls, if she doesn't mind. That would be better for me" As she stood up, she continued, "There a seat at my table if you want to sit here." She then walked to the podium. She changed the world that day in less than 15 seconds. It may not have been a global action, but in that little world that is my classroom, she changed our world by being an example and a light. She was trying to change the world, but she was a positive world changer.
I could keep going with example after example. This year, I am sure I will will be amazed again by the people I am blessed to work with. I only hope I can live up to my end of the bargain to help give them a truly exceptional educational experience, to give them everything I can to aid them as they go from our little world into the wider one, that big, scary one, and do their thing. I am ready to go.
Let's change the world.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Demons
Robin Williams committed suicide earlier this week. It is easy to say that the entertainment world, the world in general, lost a talented, brilliant man. We also lost a tortured, troubled soul who leaves behind a family, a deep well full of laughter, and a lot to think about.
I loved watching Robin Williams when I was a high school and college kid. His standup was energetic and frantic. He was goofy and awkward on Mork and Mindy. However, he was not solely a slapstick buffoon whose pratfalls made people chuckle. He was witty and intelligent, and he created characters who made audiences laugh, often through tears. Good Morning, Vietnam! was one of the first movies I ever owned. VHS cassette. I owned the soundtrack on cassette tape as well. The film had a basis in real life. Most people who remember the film know that Williams ad-libbed his way through many scenes, cracking jokes and improvising as he modeled the character of Adrian Cronauer, the Armed Forces Radio DJ whose antics ruffled feathers and raised morale. He was funny. However, the character was so much more than that. He tried to encourage and lift up Edward Garlick, played by Forest Whitaker, because he sees something positive inside the young enlisted man that he doesn't know is there. He befriends a young Vietnamese man, at first because he finds his sister to be incredibly attractive, but later because he feels for this boy who has grown up amid such violence and hardship. He is betrayed and tortured by the fact that his naive approach to his world may have led to a tragic result, and he cannot accept the fact that the betrayal actually occurred. A barrel of laughs, right?
Another film I always found interesting came out in 1991 and was titled The Fisher King. The movie focuses a shock jock who inadvertently encourages a listener to commit a horrific crime. The DJ then spirals into an alcohol-soaked depression and eventually stands on the edge of suicide to end the pain of guilt. That character is not played by Robin Williams. Williams played a homeless man who rescues the DJ from a beating by two punks trying to punish homeless people for "dirtying up" their neighborhood. He appears as a brave knight dressed in filthy, tattered clothes, carrying a trashcan lid shield, and brandishing weapons such as suction cup arrows and baseballs in tubesocks. As he steps in to stop the beating, Williams' character, named Parry, calls in an "army" of homeless heroes who break into an off-key song. It seems kind of strange when written out, but the scene is pretty neat. Did I mention that the character's wife had been killed in the horrific crime prompted by the words of the DJ he saved? Parry is tortured by a frightening vision of a red knight who appears from the foggy subconscious of his mind to steal away any happiness Parry might feel and replace it with pain and regret. It is a story about salvation. Williams is funny at times, awkward and smiling, and the laughter and grins veil the pain and anguish inside. Maybe that was a little more true than anyone realized.
Of course, I have to mention Dead Poet Society. I have used clips from the film in class, and even had students examine Mr. Keating, played by Williams, as a tragic hero of sorts. Once again, the laughter and humor is evident and strong, but it also cocoons anxiety and self-doubt, not only in the students Keating attempts to push to become men, but also in the teacher himself.
I don't know if any of this is interesting to anyone else or not. I guess I just want to tip my hat to a man who made me laugh and forced me to think with portrayal of round and dynamic characters. Awakenings, Patch Adams, Good Will Hunting, Insomnia. Death to Smoochy. The Best of Times. Pull one of them up in Netflicks or from the shelf at Hastings. None of them will be a waste of time.
This week, someone said, "How can someone like him kill himself when he has everything?" That is a common question when someone famous, someone as successful as Williams steps through that tragic door. Just like the brave, tortured man in The Fisher King, everyone has his demons. Sometimes the demons are on the face and obvious, and causes are clear. For others, the demons are deeper, hiding within shadows within, with eyes that burn and frighten us, often at times that should be carefree and joyful. For whatever reason, the demon just cannot allow that to happen. The saddest part of the loss of Robin Williams is that he was very open about the fact that he had demons. The "signs" were not interpretive, like Chris Farley's weight or John Belushi's drinking. He actually said he had issues. We selfishly enjoyed the talent and creativity that sprang from that dark place. We took what we wanted; we let him rant and rave and bounce from topic to topic because it made us giggle. We applauded and pondered and appreciated. Somehow, it was not enough. The demons won this time.
I know at times I question myself and what I am doing. I doubt myself and almost encourage my demons to feed, to strengthen themselves. If that sounds goofy or cheesy, then I apologize, but it is true. And yet, I have everything. I have a beautiful family, more perfect than I could ever deserve. I have interesting, talented, and sincere people around me on a daily basis. I get to do what I love and what gives me a sense of fulfillment and call it 'going to work'. Despite this, demons raise their heads and breath fire now and then. I am blessed to have people around me who extinguish those flames without even realizing it. Uttering a sincere word. Sitting down and sharing a moment. Listening and not even responding. Laughing along with me so I am not the only one. Those things, while often everyday and seemingly insignificant, sometimes are all that I need. Who can know what someone else might find to be that shield or that lifeline he or she needs at a given moment?
So, please, kiss someone a little more warmly today, embrace just little bit longer. Ask how someone is doing, and actually listen to the response. Laugh along and smile when that cheerful girl prattles on, but look into her eyes and see if they sparkle or hold back tears. Who knows? Maybe you will help shed light on some shadow and banish the demon, for a little while at least, and that might be all she needs.
I loved watching Robin Williams when I was a high school and college kid. His standup was energetic and frantic. He was goofy and awkward on Mork and Mindy. However, he was not solely a slapstick buffoon whose pratfalls made people chuckle. He was witty and intelligent, and he created characters who made audiences laugh, often through tears. Good Morning, Vietnam! was one of the first movies I ever owned. VHS cassette. I owned the soundtrack on cassette tape as well. The film had a basis in real life. Most people who remember the film know that Williams ad-libbed his way through many scenes, cracking jokes and improvising as he modeled the character of Adrian Cronauer, the Armed Forces Radio DJ whose antics ruffled feathers and raised morale. He was funny. However, the character was so much more than that. He tried to encourage and lift up Edward Garlick, played by Forest Whitaker, because he sees something positive inside the young enlisted man that he doesn't know is there. He befriends a young Vietnamese man, at first because he finds his sister to be incredibly attractive, but later because he feels for this boy who has grown up amid such violence and hardship. He is betrayed and tortured by the fact that his naive approach to his world may have led to a tragic result, and he cannot accept the fact that the betrayal actually occurred. A barrel of laughs, right?
Another film I always found interesting came out in 1991 and was titled The Fisher King. The movie focuses a shock jock who inadvertently encourages a listener to commit a horrific crime. The DJ then spirals into an alcohol-soaked depression and eventually stands on the edge of suicide to end the pain of guilt. That character is not played by Robin Williams. Williams played a homeless man who rescues the DJ from a beating by two punks trying to punish homeless people for "dirtying up" their neighborhood. He appears as a brave knight dressed in filthy, tattered clothes, carrying a trashcan lid shield, and brandishing weapons such as suction cup arrows and baseballs in tubesocks. As he steps in to stop the beating, Williams' character, named Parry, calls in an "army" of homeless heroes who break into an off-key song. It seems kind of strange when written out, but the scene is pretty neat. Did I mention that the character's wife had been killed in the horrific crime prompted by the words of the DJ he saved? Parry is tortured by a frightening vision of a red knight who appears from the foggy subconscious of his mind to steal away any happiness Parry might feel and replace it with pain and regret. It is a story about salvation. Williams is funny at times, awkward and smiling, and the laughter and grins veil the pain and anguish inside. Maybe that was a little more true than anyone realized.
Of course, I have to mention Dead Poet Society. I have used clips from the film in class, and even had students examine Mr. Keating, played by Williams, as a tragic hero of sorts. Once again, the laughter and humor is evident and strong, but it also cocoons anxiety and self-doubt, not only in the students Keating attempts to push to become men, but also in the teacher himself.
I don't know if any of this is interesting to anyone else or not. I guess I just want to tip my hat to a man who made me laugh and forced me to think with portrayal of round and dynamic characters. Awakenings, Patch Adams, Good Will Hunting, Insomnia. Death to Smoochy. The Best of Times. Pull one of them up in Netflicks or from the shelf at Hastings. None of them will be a waste of time.
This week, someone said, "How can someone like him kill himself when he has everything?" That is a common question when someone famous, someone as successful as Williams steps through that tragic door. Just like the brave, tortured man in The Fisher King, everyone has his demons. Sometimes the demons are on the face and obvious, and causes are clear. For others, the demons are deeper, hiding within shadows within, with eyes that burn and frighten us, often at times that should be carefree and joyful. For whatever reason, the demon just cannot allow that to happen. The saddest part of the loss of Robin Williams is that he was very open about the fact that he had demons. The "signs" were not interpretive, like Chris Farley's weight or John Belushi's drinking. He actually said he had issues. We selfishly enjoyed the talent and creativity that sprang from that dark place. We took what we wanted; we let him rant and rave and bounce from topic to topic because it made us giggle. We applauded and pondered and appreciated. Somehow, it was not enough. The demons won this time.
I know at times I question myself and what I am doing. I doubt myself and almost encourage my demons to feed, to strengthen themselves. If that sounds goofy or cheesy, then I apologize, but it is true. And yet, I have everything. I have a beautiful family, more perfect than I could ever deserve. I have interesting, talented, and sincere people around me on a daily basis. I get to do what I love and what gives me a sense of fulfillment and call it 'going to work'. Despite this, demons raise their heads and breath fire now and then. I am blessed to have people around me who extinguish those flames without even realizing it. Uttering a sincere word. Sitting down and sharing a moment. Listening and not even responding. Laughing along with me so I am not the only one. Those things, while often everyday and seemingly insignificant, sometimes are all that I need. Who can know what someone else might find to be that shield or that lifeline he or she needs at a given moment?
So, please, kiss someone a little more warmly today, embrace just little bit longer. Ask how someone is doing, and actually listen to the response. Laugh along and smile when that cheerful girl prattles on, but look into her eyes and see if they sparkle or hold back tears. Who knows? Maybe you will help shed light on some shadow and banish the demon, for a little while at least, and that might be all she needs.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Proud
I will say, boldly and without reservation, that this post is about my kids, and I am going to brag about them. Deal with it. This is my blog, and I can do what I want. I f you feel differently, write your own blog. No, really. Write one. It is neat.
The other evening, my daughter Emily came downstairs and began searching through the bookshelves in the basement. I asked her what she was looking for, and she told me she was looking for Johnny Got his Gun. She knew I had a copy, and she just wanted to read it. I am proud of Emily for countless reasons, and one of the qualities that makes Emily Emily that I am proud of is a thoughtful, intelligent young woman. She thinks about things. Not with an elitist effort to place herself above others, but with innocent and sincere wonder. She considers her favorite music and ponders why the artists might have written the way they did, about from where the words and emotion might have sprung. She thinks about how people behave, and what might be behind their actions. She examines history and wonders what motivated the players on the world stage. And she reads with that same thoughtful approach. So, when she asked for one of my favorite novels, for no other reason she wanted to read it, was proud. It could not find my copy, and I am hoping I lent it to someone who has been enjoying it, but I do not remember. To rectify the problem, I gave Emily some cash and told her that having a copy of that book on our shelf was a must. Within two hours, she had a copy of Johnny Got his Gun.
Johnny Got his Gun is an amazing novel by the way. Would you like to know what trigger my desire to read it? I really don't care if you answered in the positive or negative; I am going to reveal this monumental piece of information. One word. "One". That is the word. "One". Metallica put out a song titled "One" while I was in high school. It is a dark and somewhat disturbing song. It confused and intrigued me. I discovered that the song was based on a novel titled Johnny Got his Gun. I found a copy of the novel somewhere in Ellsworth High School and read it. I loved it. It was dark and disturbing. It made me think.
The other evening, my daughter Emily came downstairs and began searching through the bookshelves in the basement. I asked her what she was looking for, and she told me she was looking for Johnny Got his Gun. She knew I had a copy, and she just wanted to read it. I am proud of Emily for countless reasons, and one of the qualities that makes Emily Emily that I am proud of is a thoughtful, intelligent young woman. She thinks about things. Not with an elitist effort to place herself above others, but with innocent and sincere wonder. She considers her favorite music and ponders why the artists might have written the way they did, about from where the words and emotion might have sprung. She thinks about how people behave, and what might be behind their actions. She examines history and wonders what motivated the players on the world stage. And she reads with that same thoughtful approach. So, when she asked for one of my favorite novels, for no other reason she wanted to read it, was proud. It could not find my copy, and I am hoping I lent it to someone who has been enjoying it, but I do not remember. To rectify the problem, I gave Emily some cash and told her that having a copy of that book on our shelf was a must. Within two hours, she had a copy of Johnny Got his Gun.
Johnny Got his Gun is an amazing novel by the way. Would you like to know what trigger my desire to read it? I really don't care if you answered in the positive or negative; I am going to reveal this monumental piece of information. One word. "One". That is the word. "One". Metallica put out a song titled "One" while I was in high school. It is a dark and somewhat disturbing song. It confused and intrigued me. I discovered that the song was based on a novel titled Johnny Got his Gun. I found a copy of the novel somewhere in Ellsworth High School and read it. I loved it. It was dark and disturbing. It made me think.
While I am bragging about how proud 'i am of my kids, I have to throw out some kudos to my boy Dylan as well. Last week, I left my wife, son, and daughter for a few days to spend a little time with a family of a different sort as Coach Warner and I headed to the mountains of Colorado with our seniors. It was, as always, a terrific trip that allows us to learn a great deal about the young men who will lead our football brotherhood this fall. At our campsite, phone reception is unreliable, to put it mildly. At one point, my phone rang with my Motley Cru "Home Sweet Home" ringtone, but when I answered, the call broke up and was lost. I texted my wife Heidi, as well as Emily and Dylan, in case something was wrong. Dylan responded that he wanted to make sure everything was ok and that I had made the trip safely. There was also a car parked in front of our house, and he wanted to know if I knew whose car it was and why it was parked there. You see. Dylan was man of the house, and he was taking that role quite seriously. The next day, Emily had gone to out, and she had told her Mom she would return around 5. It seems that at 5:15, Dylan tok it upon himself to call his oder sister and check on her status. He just wanted to be positive that she was safe and sound, since she was late, after all. Dylan is thoughtful, much like his sister. He is also a very serious soul. If he is given a job, he will do it, and he will do it as well as he possibly can. That is just how things should be, at least in his mind. He is 13. I am not saying the kid is perfect, but he is someone to be proud of.
I could rattle on and on about these two fine young people. All I can say is that they have been raised well. Seriously, they have somehow managed to take the good things their mother and I do and insert those seeds within their minds and hearts and nurtured them, while ignoring the failings in us (ok, more in me). They have been blessed with great examples and guides outside our home, from their grandparents to amazing teachers, and they have had the intelligence and discrimination to choose the examples they value well. That is something else I have to be proud of. I have not even scratched the surface of all of the reason I have to be proud.
So there you have it; my kids are amazing, and I am proud of them. How could I not be?
Sunday, August 3, 2014
The Top Five Utterances That I Do Not Want to Hear Again
Inspired by Samantha Neill's blog post, which was inspired by an Andrew Bauer suggestion, which was prompted by a Samantha Neill lamentation about writer's block, which might have been stirred up by guilt ELA team members' cast upon one another regarding blog proficiency, I offer you my own "Top 5" list. Sam was doubly ambitious in her "Top" list post, so you should go read it at Random Thoughts and Then I Found Five Dollars. You should also check out Andrew Bauer's Ya Nerd... and Greg Froese's "This might be off-topic but..." They are all pretty neat. Another team member, John Knapp, has choosen to make his Facebook page his bloggish post of choice, so you might check it out as well. Kiley Porter does not seem to blog in any way, which is incredibly weak, and she will be ridiculed mercilessly if she does not get off the schneid soon. Our newest member, Amber Neighbor, has a brief grace period, but we expect her to dazzle us as well. Mary Devries, BHS French teacher, posts under the title of The Muse Meanders.
Anyway, when I read one of those other writer's musings, they tend to make me think, and they inspire me to write more. So, I apologize for often borrowing my topics form those sources, and I thank those colleagues and friends for giving me ideas. So, here are my "Top Five Utterances That I Do Not Want to Hear Again".
I cannot believe the summer is almost/already over.
Really? You cannot believe the summer is almost over. You no longer recognize or comprehend the concept that time passes, and as a society, we mark that progress on a device known as a calendar, one of which can be found on your smartphone, and that said calendar marks the upcoming conclusion of the season known as "summer"?
I understand hyperbole and that this statement falls into that category, even if those who use it may not recognize it. I just wish people would stop saying it. Every year, summer draws to a close, and while most of us (teachers) have been working in some way all summer, we look to the turn of the page that reveals the new school year. And each year, around the third week of July, people will begin uttering this annoying statement, as if this year is somehow different from those in the past. Actually, this summer has been different from my past twenty or so summers because we had a summer that began, in principle, in early May, and truly will not wrap up until mid-August,, which should make the sunset of summer even more believable. Despite this, someone will walk up to whatever group of colleagues I am standing with on the first day of staff orientation, sipping the teacher's elixir of power, strong coffee, and he will sigh and say, "Wow, can you believe we are back already? I can't believe summer is already over." I will not lose my cool at that point and punch him in the face. I will save that for the seemingly inevitable following statement that begins with "I seen..."
I seen...
I see. I saw. I have seen. Perhaps I had seen or I will have seen.
Do I need to go any further? This one I do not understand, honestly. It cannot even be blamed on laziness; see and saw are each shorter and require less effort to say. So, can we make the effort to be lazy enough to use the correct form of see and end the madness?
The Greatest Thing Since Sliced BreadI see. I saw. I have seen. Perhaps I had seen or I will have seen.
Do I need to go any further? This one I do not understand, honestly. It cannot even be blamed on laziness; see and saw are each shorter and require less effort to say. So, can we make the effort to be lazy enough to use the correct form of see and end the madness?
This phrase truly does not bother me much, but Jimmy Fallon, in his recent "Thank You Notes" informed us all that sliced bread came out the same year as the first television. How many of you have spent hours this week staring at a loaf of store-bought bread? Besides that, is that new Lays Potato Chip flavor really that great?
No offense, but...
I am guilty of this utterance. I hope to never use it again. Let's be honest here: if someone says "No offense, but..." something offensive is sure to follow. If it needs to be said, let's just say it. No qualifier, no cliched preface, no half-hearted noneffort to soften the blow. If it cannot be said without that lead in, don't say it.
YOLO
Stop. Just stop.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Pause on the Patio
I sat on the patio last night and enjoyed that slice of time that rests between day and night, a time, much like dawn, that poets find inspiring and enlightening. I understand why. The only question I have is why more poets have not haled from our fine state of Kansas and filled volume after volume with verse sprung from those daily respites alone, for I honestly believe there is no better place to enjoy those meaningful moments than right here, nestled securely in the heart of this land. As I sat, my phone rang, and the voice on the other end, which belonged to Steve Warner, asked if I could see the sunset from my chair on the west side of my house; he too had been struck by the sunset and the scene it painted.
"So what?" you may ask, especially if you are one of those poor souls who has decided that our fortunate geographic niche in the universe is simply too boring, or too "Kansas" to be amazing. I offer for you exhibit A, proof positive that this land of the brave is in fact anything but boring. Just because life may move at a slightly slower pace here than on the coasts or even in those Midwestern cities does not mean nature is less enticing here. We simply have to allow that pace to take hold and work its magic. Sit on your back porch, or your front steps, or take a walk as the sun glides behind the western horizon. As the light fades, life buzzes, if you listen and look. It may not slap you in the face like a neon light or rush of isolated crowds on their ways to late dinners, but it hums around you and wants to be heard. Lightning bugs zip from below cottonwood branches, and the leaves that adorn those branches turn to listen to the whisper of a breeze. Somehow here, voices carry, and you hear the lady a block over laugh at whatever it is that makes her laugh as she stands in the drive of her neighbor, pausing to see how the week went as she drops off extra tomatoes from her garden. It is not all nature and naturalism, for you also hear the gravelly scrape as tires skid across pavement. Usually those tires come in pairs; kids still ride bikes here, at least on their own block, and if the tires propel a four-wheeled vehicle, the driver will most likely raise a hand from the steering wheel as he passes, often accompanied by a head nod, as if to say, "I don't know your name, but you live around here, so it's the least I can do."
Still not convinced? Consider this: variety is the spice of life. Do you want variety? You have it here. Last week I stepped onto my patio a little later, around 10:30 so, and the neighborhood had in fact grown much quieter. It was 91 degrees. That is warm, especially since the sun had been down for some time. Last night, while not chilly, was perfectly pleasant, and I even stoked a fire in my recently acquired chiminea, not because it was uncomfortable, but because I just wanted to, and there is something about a flickering flame that adds a sense of serenity to an evening as the sun says, "So long." Tonight, it might be raining, a pleasant shower that falls peacefully and rolls from the roof, or it might storm and rattle the windows with thunder sent down by electric flashes that illuminate the entire world for an instant and reveal ropes of water that turn gutters into gushers and streets into canals. Who knows? Some of you who have lived here for a while might be saying, "It might do all of those, as a front rolls through dropping the temperature from blazing to brisk in an instant and rolling in waves of thin clouds, clear skies, and rolling thunderheads, all within an hour or two.
It is Saturday. and while you may have missed a morning that offered a cool and calm sunrise, take the time today to allow your life to fall into sync with the world around you. You don't have to wax poetic if that is not your style, but you will most likely breathe somewhat more deeply, not with that frustrated sigh of a harried week, but with satisfaction that this really is a place worth enjoying, even if just for a moment.
That is what I will do. Have a great weekend.
"So what?" you may ask, especially if you are one of those poor souls who has decided that our fortunate geographic niche in the universe is simply too boring, or too "Kansas" to be amazing. I offer for you exhibit A, proof positive that this land of the brave is in fact anything but boring. Just because life may move at a slightly slower pace here than on the coasts or even in those Midwestern cities does not mean nature is less enticing here. We simply have to allow that pace to take hold and work its magic. Sit on your back porch, or your front steps, or take a walk as the sun glides behind the western horizon. As the light fades, life buzzes, if you listen and look. It may not slap you in the face like a neon light or rush of isolated crowds on their ways to late dinners, but it hums around you and wants to be heard. Lightning bugs zip from below cottonwood branches, and the leaves that adorn those branches turn to listen to the whisper of a breeze. Somehow here, voices carry, and you hear the lady a block over laugh at whatever it is that makes her laugh as she stands in the drive of her neighbor, pausing to see how the week went as she drops off extra tomatoes from her garden. It is not all nature and naturalism, for you also hear the gravelly scrape as tires skid across pavement. Usually those tires come in pairs; kids still ride bikes here, at least on their own block, and if the tires propel a four-wheeled vehicle, the driver will most likely raise a hand from the steering wheel as he passes, often accompanied by a head nod, as if to say, "I don't know your name, but you live around here, so it's the least I can do."
Still not convinced? Consider this: variety is the spice of life. Do you want variety? You have it here. Last week I stepped onto my patio a little later, around 10:30 so, and the neighborhood had in fact grown much quieter. It was 91 degrees. That is warm, especially since the sun had been down for some time. Last night, while not chilly, was perfectly pleasant, and I even stoked a fire in my recently acquired chiminea, not because it was uncomfortable, but because I just wanted to, and there is something about a flickering flame that adds a sense of serenity to an evening as the sun says, "So long." Tonight, it might be raining, a pleasant shower that falls peacefully and rolls from the roof, or it might storm and rattle the windows with thunder sent down by electric flashes that illuminate the entire world for an instant and reveal ropes of water that turn gutters into gushers and streets into canals. Who knows? Some of you who have lived here for a while might be saying, "It might do all of those, as a front rolls through dropping the temperature from blazing to brisk in an instant and rolling in waves of thin clouds, clear skies, and rolling thunderheads, all within an hour or two.
It is Saturday. and while you may have missed a morning that offered a cool and calm sunrise, take the time today to allow your life to fall into sync with the world around you. You don't have to wax poetic if that is not your style, but you will most likely breathe somewhat more deeply, not with that frustrated sigh of a harried week, but with satisfaction that this really is a place worth enjoying, even if just for a moment.
That is what I will do. Have a great weekend.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Just Some Random Thoughts (It Started That Way Anyway)
I realized I had not written in a while, and since this whole blog adventure was undertaken, in part anyway, to force me to write more often, I felt I had to put something down. Actually, I did not feel I had to put something down, I wanted to put something down. I truly do enjoy writing, and it serves a plethora of purposes for me. Sometimes I write to find catharsis, sometimes I write to argue a point, sometimes I write purely to communicate a thought, and sometimes I write to develop a thought in the first place. Therefore, it is always good for me to write. However, I do not have many deep, meaningful thoughts that I feel I must communicate, argue, or develop at this point, so I have had trouble pinpointing a blog-worthy focus. Therefore, I will not have one. Instead, you will have the misfortune of stumbling through a random collection thoughts that are groggily stirring in my brain on this fine Saturday morning.
---
My Dad turned 70 last weekend. That does make one pause when your parents start hitting some of those milestone numbers, doesn't it? My brother Darrel (but not my other brother Darrel), my sister Kim, and I made a pilgrimage to Ellsworth to play golf with Dad on Tuesday. The golf outing, also known as the Annual Delmar Kohls Invitational Event, has become an annual summer tradition in which my siblings and I have the pleasure of playing a round of golf together with our father. It is always an adventure, and definitely is worth the time. Somehow, we manage to select the hottest day of the summer each year, and we stayed true to that pattern this year. Of course, we could not have gone a week early, when highs were in the low 70s. Oh no, even though Darrel was in the process of loading his vehicle and heading north last week because he forgot what week it was. Regardless of the heat, it was a great afternoon. At one point, Dad commented on how certain people ignore the ropes the greenskeeper has put up around one of the tee boxes to allow more grass to take hold. "The seniors tee off from the yellows, and they like to drive right up to the box." It took me a moment to process the statement, and then it hit me. "Dad, your just turned 70. I like how you say the seniors are still somebody else." He then told me that out there, seniors means 80. At 85 you can tee off from the reds. So many people say that age is just a number, but I am really beginning to buy into that concept. Dad has retired twice already, once form his life-long profession as a carpenter, and then as an assistant manager at the lumberyard. Of course, since his is retired, his has now taken on painting jobs. Damn Dad, sit down for a minute.
(On that note, Mom retired after 25 years in the offices of B&B Plumbing so she could clean used golfballs, sell drinks, and give duffers a hard time at the Ellsworth Municipal Golf Course club house. Hey, it's just part time.)
---
I know this makes a little mood shift here, but I told you this was random. The buzz lately on sports talk radio and ESPN has been about the Ray Rice, the running back for the Baltimore Ravens. Ray Rice was charged with third degree assault after an incident in which he admits to knocking his then-fiancee unconscious while riding in an elevator (Erb). The assault itself created quite a stir, as one would expect. However, the punishment handed down by the NFL has raised even more of a fervor. And this uproar is the only thing right about the entire incident. Rice is a great running back. He is a Superbowl champion. Ironically, he is a face used by the NFL to promote the sport to female fans. He's hit among the ladies. Literally. I know; that is tasteless, nut not nearly as tasteless as the apparent lack of respect the commissioner has for women. I love the NFL. I am a Chiefs fan, I have framed collectors cards of Derrick Thomas, Walter Payton, and Brian Urlacher on the walls of my basement. I will not condemn the league as a whole. The NFL is a microcosm of the society in which we live. There are good guys who take care of their families, who perform great plays on the field and admirable acts in their communities. There are also jerks. Some are harmless and ignorant, but only embarrass themselves from time to time with their behavior, and usually their mouths and tweets.. Others are criminals who have blood on their hands. Some repent and clean themselves up, while others dig holes so deep they should never escape them. It is a violent sport, and there are violent men in the arena. It is expected. However, even for NFL athletes, there are boundaries. In recent years, a players have been suspended for multiple games and fined amounts many times more than my annual salary for testing positive for marijuana. These penalties were justified and appropriate. Mike Vick was suspended a quarter of a season after leaving the NFL for two full years following conviction for his involvement in a dog fighting (Erb). Many groups cried foul when Vick was allowed back in the league after serving his time for his wrong-doings. It seems that arranging dog fights and cruelty to animals is wrong. It would seem, that in 2014, beating a woman unconscious is not quite as dark a deed. At least not in the official eyes of the league office. Rice admitted to the act and has entered a deal which allows him to avoid jail time by entering a diversion and treatment program. I am glad he is getting help. Any man, let a lone a man as muscled and strong as Rice, who strikes a woman, let alone strikes her so violently that it knocks her unconscious, is less than a man, regardless of his testosterone levels, and he needs help. However, the NFL commissioner's penalty of around $58,000 and two games (repeat TWO games) for violating the NFL's player conduct policy and placing the NFL in a poor light is not quite as admirable. It is embarrassing for the NFL. Players in past have been punished three times that game penalty for a violating the policy, even though they were not even charged with any crime. Rice's guilt has never been questioned In fact, he admitted it. I guess "oops" was a good enough defense to remove the "bad light" crushing a woman in the head with your fist might cause the NFL.
Consider this: players have been fined 10 times the amount assessed to Rice for hitting a receiver coming across the middle too hard.
Now, I wonder how many games the commissioner will assess himself for the bad light he has now cast on the league with his decision?
----
Ok, I guess I did have a couple of thoughts to churn over here today. Since those ideas developed a little further than I thought they would, I think it would serve to let this post end. It is Saturday and I have things to do. The Shrine Bowl is on tonight, and I want to be able to sit down and watch as my good friend Steve Warner coaches on the West sideline. Riley Allen is also on the West roster.
It will be fun to enjoy a little July high school football.
Have a great weekend.
________
*Erb, Kelly. "NFL Fines, Suspends Ray Rice: Is The Hit To His Wallet Tax Deductible?." Forbes. Forbes Magazine, 25 July 2014. Web. 26 July 2014. <http://www.forbes.com/sites/kellyphillipserb/2014/07/25/nfl-fines- suspends-ray-rice-is-the-hit-to-his-wallet-tax-deductible/>.
---
My Dad turned 70 last weekend. That does make one pause when your parents start hitting some of those milestone numbers, doesn't it? My brother Darrel (but not my other brother Darrel), my sister Kim, and I made a pilgrimage to Ellsworth to play golf with Dad on Tuesday. The golf outing, also known as the Annual Delmar Kohls Invitational Event, has become an annual summer tradition in which my siblings and I have the pleasure of playing a round of golf together with our father. It is always an adventure, and definitely is worth the time. Somehow, we manage to select the hottest day of the summer each year, and we stayed true to that pattern this year. Of course, we could not have gone a week early, when highs were in the low 70s. Oh no, even though Darrel was in the process of loading his vehicle and heading north last week because he forgot what week it was. Regardless of the heat, it was a great afternoon. At one point, Dad commented on how certain people ignore the ropes the greenskeeper has put up around one of the tee boxes to allow more grass to take hold. "The seniors tee off from the yellows, and they like to drive right up to the box." It took me a moment to process the statement, and then it hit me. "Dad, your just turned 70. I like how you say the seniors are still somebody else." He then told me that out there, seniors means 80. At 85 you can tee off from the reds. So many people say that age is just a number, but I am really beginning to buy into that concept. Dad has retired twice already, once form his life-long profession as a carpenter, and then as an assistant manager at the lumberyard. Of course, since his is retired, his has now taken on painting jobs. Damn Dad, sit down for a minute.
(On that note, Mom retired after 25 years in the offices of B&B Plumbing so she could clean used golfballs, sell drinks, and give duffers a hard time at the Ellsworth Municipal Golf Course club house. Hey, it's just part time.)
---
I know this makes a little mood shift here, but I told you this was random. The buzz lately on sports talk radio and ESPN has been about the Ray Rice, the running back for the Baltimore Ravens. Ray Rice was charged with third degree assault after an incident in which he admits to knocking his then-fiancee unconscious while riding in an elevator (Erb). The assault itself created quite a stir, as one would expect. However, the punishment handed down by the NFL has raised even more of a fervor. And this uproar is the only thing right about the entire incident. Rice is a great running back. He is a Superbowl champion. Ironically, he is a face used by the NFL to promote the sport to female fans. He's hit among the ladies. Literally. I know; that is tasteless, nut not nearly as tasteless as the apparent lack of respect the commissioner has for women. I love the NFL. I am a Chiefs fan, I have framed collectors cards of Derrick Thomas, Walter Payton, and Brian Urlacher on the walls of my basement. I will not condemn the league as a whole. The NFL is a microcosm of the society in which we live. There are good guys who take care of their families, who perform great plays on the field and admirable acts in their communities. There are also jerks. Some are harmless and ignorant, but only embarrass themselves from time to time with their behavior, and usually their mouths and tweets.. Others are criminals who have blood on their hands. Some repent and clean themselves up, while others dig holes so deep they should never escape them. It is a violent sport, and there are violent men in the arena. It is expected. However, even for NFL athletes, there are boundaries. In recent years, a players have been suspended for multiple games and fined amounts many times more than my annual salary for testing positive for marijuana. These penalties were justified and appropriate. Mike Vick was suspended a quarter of a season after leaving the NFL for two full years following conviction for his involvement in a dog fighting (Erb). Many groups cried foul when Vick was allowed back in the league after serving his time for his wrong-doings. It seems that arranging dog fights and cruelty to animals is wrong. It would seem, that in 2014, beating a woman unconscious is not quite as dark a deed. At least not in the official eyes of the league office. Rice admitted to the act and has entered a deal which allows him to avoid jail time by entering a diversion and treatment program. I am glad he is getting help. Any man, let a lone a man as muscled and strong as Rice, who strikes a woman, let alone strikes her so violently that it knocks her unconscious, is less than a man, regardless of his testosterone levels, and he needs help. However, the NFL commissioner's penalty of around $58,000 and two games (repeat TWO games) for violating the NFL's player conduct policy and placing the NFL in a poor light is not quite as admirable. It is embarrassing for the NFL. Players in past have been punished three times that game penalty for a violating the policy, even though they were not even charged with any crime. Rice's guilt has never been questioned In fact, he admitted it. I guess "oops" was a good enough defense to remove the "bad light" crushing a woman in the head with your fist might cause the NFL.
Consider this: players have been fined 10 times the amount assessed to Rice for hitting a receiver coming across the middle too hard.
Now, I wonder how many games the commissioner will assess himself for the bad light he has now cast on the league with his decision?
----
Ok, I guess I did have a couple of thoughts to churn over here today. Since those ideas developed a little further than I thought they would, I think it would serve to let this post end. It is Saturday and I have things to do. The Shrine Bowl is on tonight, and I want to be able to sit down and watch as my good friend Steve Warner coaches on the West sideline. Riley Allen is also on the West roster.
It will be fun to enjoy a little July high school football.
Have a great weekend.
________
*Erb, Kelly. "NFL Fines, Suspends Ray Rice: Is The Hit To His Wallet Tax Deductible?." Forbes. Forbes Magazine, 25 July 2014. Web. 26 July 2014. <http://www.forbes.com/sites/kellyphillipserb/2014/07/25/nfl-fines- suspends-ray-rice-is-the-hit-to-his-wallet-tax-deductible/>.
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