Random rants

 Last week I felt hurt inside that, thank goodness, I have only felt a handful of times in my life.  I saw a Facebook post from the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, NCADV.  The woman had been killed in a murder/suicide by her estranged husband. The date of the event was August 1, 2001.  Twenty years ago.  The woman killed was 18 when I saw her in 1984.  Our brief encounter left a lasting impression on me and now that impression haunts me in her death.  I succumbed to peer pressure regarding the 6 years difference in our age and did not pursue our relationship.   Six years when someone is just out of high school and the other is two states away in a career, seems unreasonable.  Six years difference in life is nothing.  We can all ponder what might have been to the point of misery. Dwelling on the past is unhealthy, dwelling on what might have been is dangerous.  However, that being said, I still have a pang of guilt that perhaps I could have changed the ending to her story. 
We do not make decisions for others.  I know I am not responsible for the decisions she made and also know there is no guarantee that my involvement would have changed anything.  Still my heart breaks for her and the three children, under 4 at the time, that she left behind.  My anger towards her assailant is echoed by many I feel certain.  Domestic violence in our society today is heartbreaking and too common.  Those involved often feel there is no way out of a relationship or that they are to blame.  We must do what we can to recognize the signs and help where we can.  Finding out 20 years after a friends’ death leaves me feeling frustrated and empty.   I need to find closure with this event and right now I am uncertain how to obtain that closure.  Putting this in print will help, talking with friends will help, becoming involved will help, but I will need to find my own way.  Hopefully, it will be sooner than later.  I know many tears will fall between now and then.

 38 years ago, in July of 1983, I stood in the front yard of my West Virginia home and told my Dad and Mom goodbye.  I had landed my first job out of college and it was taking me to North Carolina.  Nothing much was on my mind except ‘wonder’.  Was I prepared for life on my own?  I had my ’77 Datsun B210 packed with what worldly possessions I owned.  Basically, my clothes, pots and pans, and some college textbooks I thought would be useful and oh, an Igloo cooler picked up for $14.97 from K-Mart before leaving college.
As I hugged my Mom and shook my Dad’s hand, tears rolled down all our cheeks (much like now).  I walked without words out of the gate and into my car.  As I pulled away, I tapped the horn twice. As my Dad had always told me he did, to say ‘Thank you’, if someone was courteous on the road.  This time it was ‘Thank you’ for all they had done.
As my pulled away I thought I heard something breaking behind me.  I did not turn around to see but continued through the racing emotions inside my head.  I realized later that the sound I heard was my parents’ hearts breaking.  I left that day to start a life many hours away in North Carolina.  In time to come my Dad would speak to others about how proud he was of my accomplishments.  He would tell people, “He’s a boss where he works.”  It was a title he never held and was happy that I did.
Fast forward many years and a similar scenario played out in North Carolina.  My youngest son had loaded his Nissan Xterra with his possessions and Snitch, his cat, and was off to Montana.  I could do little but wish him the best as I watched the taillights disappear at the top of the street.  The thought that he may not return to North Carolina never entered my mind.
Present day.  The phone call came that said, even though North Carolina is in his soul, Montana feels like home.  He had recently visited North Carolina for his Mother’s retirement party.  He spoke of the uneasiness he felt while in North Carolina and the comfort he felt as the plane touched down in Montana. I think it was at that time he knew.  I again heard the sound of something breaking, but this time, it was my heart. 

A couple of years ago my youngest son, Chase, called and said; "Dad, I need to talk to you."  As a parent you  never quite know what that means.  As it turns out he was approaching a crossroad in his life.  He may not have known it at the time but the decision he made matured him at a rate in advance of his years.  His news was that he was moving to Montana to be with his Uncle and learn "life skills".  He came to me and said, "The only thing I can do with my hands is this", as he made a motion of using a game controller,  "You are handy around the house and Logan is good with cars.  You and Logan always talk about 'life skills', I want them too!"  And so began the journey.  He flew out for a month to have a look around.  When he returned he purchased a SUV, packed his things and he, and his cat, Snitch, headed across country to Montana.  It took him 3 days and part of another.  He had stops in Ohio, Minnesota, and eastern Montana.  On the fourth day he arrived at his destination.   Still unsure of the step he had taken, he refused to fail.  The wheels could wobble, but not fall off this grand adventure.

He has made it back to North Carolina a couple times over the past two years but has made no secret that Montana is also his home.  Through social media I have watched the change in his life unfold through text and photos.   He has indeed learned those 'life skills' and is now an outstanding carpenter as well as concrete finisher, sheet rock hanger, insulation installer, blind maker and general overall handyman. In addition he has followed in his Dad's footsteps and became a youth soccer coach.  PROUD does not describe the feeling I have when I think of his spectacular achievements. 

Now when I hear the Dixie Chicks sing "Wild Open Spaces" it takes me back to the day he pulled away.  He is not unlike I was when I left my parents in WV and moved to NC to start my life.   "Who's never left home, who's never struck out, To find a dream and a life of their own"  Now I know how my parents felt.  A piece of them gone as those tail lights disappeared.   I only hope I was as much a source of pride for them as Chase is for me.

 Ever push a door when it said pull or take an extra step at the top of dark stairs just to realize you were at the top?  Well, I had one of those moments a week or so before Christmas and I am still working through the effects.  (I will preface this by saying that earlier in the week I had picked up my puppy with one hand and without knowing, strained my lower back a bit.)  I "always" roll down the drivers side window of my pickup truck and stick my head out when backing into my driveway as I know how close the rear wheel needs to be to the pad line.  On this particular day it was raining and I thought I could just back in using my mirrors and by looking out my rear window.  As I started back the mirrors weren't working so I threw my arm over the seat and looked out the rear glass.  That is when my back reminded me it was strained.  With a sharp pain in my back and my truck still moving, I knew I needed to look out my drivers window to avoid hitting something.  I wheeled around to look out that window that I "always" put down.  Imagine my surprise when I came to a sudden stop.  Now I didn't hit the left side of my head as you might think, I swung fully around and hit the right side of my head.... HARD!  Of course my first thought was; "I sure hope no one saw me do that".  My second thought was; "I am sure that is going to leave a mark."  Well, it left a mark and some other lasting issues.  Folks were afraid to ask me what happened because they thought someone hit me.  When I told them what happened they wanted to know why I did that.  Hmmm, do people not think before asking those type questions?  The bump on my head and puffy eye, as it turns out, was the least of my worries.  My right eye started to bother me and my vision was getting blurry in that eye.  I saw my regular doctor who advised rest and Ibuprofen but I thought better of it and went to an ophthalmologist.  It was there that they discovered I had an eye infection and it most likely came when I struck my OPEN eye against my truck glass.  I am still on steroid eye drops for another week but my vision is markedly improved and the constant itching that was present has ceased.  I see the doctor in 2 weeks and hopefully will get a clean bill of health.  He said at that time we can discuss eyeglasses.  Oh the joys of growing older.   Update:  On my most recent visit to the doctor I was given the all clear for my right eye.  We checked my eyes for vision and he determined I have 'mono vision'.  My left eye sees far and my right eye sees close.  They work in unison to keep me out of glasses, at least for now.  Revisited my eye doctor in January 2016.  Great report for both eyes.  No change in vision and other than a scar on my right eye from the impact, no health issues with my eyes.   

 This could be a classic case of man bites dog.  It was early one Monday morning this past summer when I took my dog JJ out for her morning business.  I will stage this by saying that across the street and through a small stand of trees there is an open field that was once a mobile home park.  It is now void of homes and only remnants remain of what was once a busy neighborhood.  The open field is dissected by two streets and framed by trees on three sides.  It was before dawn so I had a flashlight to help me see my way.  When I exited the path through the trees I shined my light first to the left and then to the right.  About the time I saw the shining eyes, so did JJ.  I could see by the pattern of the eyes that it was deer.  Several adults and at least three fawns.  As JJ was making her way towards them at breakneck speed I was fumbling for my controller.  She wears a training collar so I started by beeping her and when that had no affect, I resorted to a shock.  She yelped an acknowledgement of the shock and stopped.  Then she began yelping again and again and again. I was unsure why until I saw two sets of eyes coming towards me.  One belonged to JJ and the other to the mother of the fawns.  JJ was making her best time and the doe was hot on her heels.  My first thought was, what will I tell them at work?  "I got ran over by a deer.  No seriously, I didn't run over a deer, the deer ran over me."  Luckily I did not have to tell that story.  The deer stopped about 15 feet from me and stomped the ground and snorted.  JJ had retreated to a safe spot behind me, offering no help.  I shined my light in the does face and waved my arms and shouted.  She stomped a few more times, snorted once or twice more, turned back towards her fawns and walked away.  JJ was more than ready to go back to the house and so was I.  Had the deer decided I needed to pay for the sins of my dog, it would have made a good story to tell.  As it were, I am glad it did not come to that. 

 What has become of kindness?  It seems that few people know how to offer kindness and even fewer know how to accept it.  We have grown into a society that believes there is always an underlining motive to the kindness we are being offered.  It is incomprehensible to us that another human being could be doing or giving something from the kindness of their heart and with no expectations attached.  I have found that in this world there are givers and takers.  Not always, but often these two end up together.  I am the former of the two, often drawing criticism from friends for doing for those that seem so unappreciative.  I can’t help myself.  I find great joy and satisfaction in doing a good deed.  I would also say that there are those that are very thankful for my friendship and kindness and tell me so.  In the words of Mark Twain, “I can live for two months on a good compliment.”  Well, perhaps not that long for me but certainly a compliment is a motivator for me.  I will challenge you to do this;  the next time you are in a fast food drive thru and there is someone behind you, consider paying for their meal.  Sure, it may cost you $5-$6 but think of the potential it holds for that person to do a good deed for someone else.  Kindness begets kindness.

November  2014

 I am a huge soccer fan, thus my site name, and I take the opportunity to attend a match when I can.  On this occasion I went to Wilson to watch the NCYSA State Cup for our older girls program in NC.  One particular match went to overtime and after two fifteen minute periods the girls were still tied.  That meant kicks from the mark for the right to play in the championship match.  Both teams went 4 for 5 in their first set of kickers, both having their kicks saved on the same round.  It was either the 8th or 9th round when the keeper from one team called out to her teammates, "Hey guys, do a good job, don't put this on me."  I was saddened.  It had been a team effort that got this team to the quarterfinals.  Why did she want to put this on her teammates at this stage of the match?  The subsequent shot went off her hands and into the goal, ending her team's bid for the championship.  

 I picked up a guitar in a Silent Auction to benefit the local high school band.  It was held as a fund raiser during their Winter Concert.  I didn't necessarily need a 2nd guitar, but I thought that, in the spirit of helping the band, I would place a bid.  Before the last song of the concert, two band parents, husband and wife, came to the stage and announced the winners of all the items from the Silent Auction.  As names were announced for various items, oohs and ahs came from the crowd as parents or siblings of band members were recognized by name.  Some winners, who had the same names as those of band members, got a chuckle and an assurance that it was the elder 'John Smith' and not the minor that would have to produce payment for the item.  This guitar was the last item announced.   When my name was announced I was a both surprised and pleased.  I knew that I had performed a good deed by helping the band with my bid and I thought that if the guitar did not play well, I could certainly pass it along.  I rushed home with my new prize and pulled it out of the case.   It wasn't quite in tune and it was late so I cased it for the evening.  Today I tuned it to my old guitar and strummed a few chords.  Songs began to pour from the sound hole.  I sang and sang and sang until my unconditioned fingers would no longer allow me to chord.  The tone of the guitar is great and matches my voice very well.  Perhaps this will encourage me to play more frequently.  Hopefully to the point that I can share the gift of song with others.  More to come ...... 

As thoughts enter my head and need to get out, here is where they will land.