tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68786830682226893752024-02-19T06:53:48.601-05:00Artisan Of The Human Spirit~ Awakening To Life's LessonsTony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-64118499740016101962012-03-09T10:23:00.000-05:002012-03-09T10:23:18.315-05:003 Letters to Me<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ginhuXK84anVgALf-tgZsMMHfxQJyEtm-QQj02UlBg6HUnXeIEBGwFFV7L7M3Sy1q8Sjwv894miupqoL8LqF2krNBKFFd1NrS0QfIaEv6igpdPzDX__ArDbqTmYFBNWd6X6DoxxrIBw/s1600/letterwrite.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ginhuXK84anVgALf-tgZsMMHfxQJyEtm-QQj02UlBg6HUnXeIEBGwFFV7L7M3Sy1q8Sjwv894miupqoL8LqF2krNBKFFd1NrS0QfIaEv6igpdPzDX__ArDbqTmYFBNWd6X6DoxxrIBw/s1600/letterwrite.png" yda="true" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><strong><em>"If you wrote 3 letters to yourself; the young you, the you right now, and an older you, what would they say? I did my best."</em></strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Dear younger me,</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
You were wrong. Not on everything but on many things. This is simply because you were young, idealistic, and chomping at the bit of independence. You couldn’t wait to see what “being an adult” was like and heaven forbid, you found out. Life is not easy. Success is not easy. Love is not easy. And opportunity does not plop down in your lap. Things that are worth having in your life take effort to obtain and more effort to preserve. It is in your wrongness on these things you were able to gain a strong life lesson wrapped in the sucker-punch of reality.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You were wrong to think that the clothes you wear, the things you have, the titles, the cars, and places you go make you who you are. It is your appreciation of these things that may begin to define you, but it is who you are in the absence or loss of these things that showcase your character. Your riches will be found in your relationships.</div><br />
You were wrong in thinking that there will be an age where you are too old to do anything. You are never too old to learn, fall in love, enjoy new horizons, and to start anything all over again. The chronological age of your physical body cannot deter the youthfulness of your ever-expanding mind.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You were right however, in being optimistic–optimistic by remaining deaf to the little voices that wanted to tell you that you could not do something. The “damn the torpedoes’” attitude (that often backfired) propelled you into new experiences and situations that took you too both the high and the lows that now can be considered “learning experiences.” The distance between when they happened to you then and now make them a glorious lesson that shaped who you will become.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Youth is a lesson in wasted excesses. MTV taught us, “too much is never enough.” Having once lived by this I can say that too much can also knock you for a loop. Trying to be too thin, too rich, too drunk, to crazy, too cool, too anything–is often an attempt to seek approval from those who are not necessarily in a position to give it, nor have your best interest at heart. Realize that the greatest form of approval comes from within you. </div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When you think you will never be loved¬–you will be. When you think the pain will never stop–it will. When you think that your life is ruined–it will be restored. When you think you can never forgive–just try. And remember, it is okay to be mistaken, just learn from these mistakes and do not repeat them. </div><br />
I love you; respect you, and thank you.<br />
<br />
Signed,<br />
<br />
Me the older you<br />
<br />
**************************************************************************<br />
<br />
Dear me now,<br />
<br />
I know it can be hard. I know it is hard for others to see a change or believe one is brewing as past evidence still gets in the way. But remember it is our time. I hope you have learned from the past that always seeking approval lends itself to disappointment in yourself. Others’ favor wanes and is fickle. To be truly satisfied, you must be able to feel it in your core. Check your motivation, check your intention, and check your navigation and unfurl the sails and go.<br />
<br />
As you are experiencing, and may continue to experience, you come to the realization when old thoughts and behaviors no longer serve you. You enter the chrysalis and begin a transformation. However, be humble and wise to realize there is only room for one in each cocoon. Other may not, or care not, to make the journey and you must respect the choices of others as you wish to have yours respected. Trust me, we all end up where we are supposed to, just pray that those you care about or that should be in your life have the “red X” marked on the same spot on the same map. You can dance together later.<br />
<br />
I want you to take a moment to congratulate yourself. You do not do that enough. Sometimes we get so busy looking at what we fear now that we forget to look back on all the times where what we feared did not keep us down. It did not hold us back, it taught us, and importantly it did not kill us. You should, by now, have evidence that you can do more than you ever thought you could with a lot less that you thought you needed. Also remember that what you fear or face now will someday be one of those stories you tell of how you overcame.<br />
<br />
I hope you smile when you now realize that it took the desire for the toys, the titles, and all the stuff you thought you needed to be who you are–and then to lose or no longer have those things in your life to prove to you what you had all along. Your riches are in the people around you. I think you get that. I am proud of you for that. When you look at all the times you had the most difficulty, when you thought you were alone, when you thought you were not enough, when you thought you couldn’t go on–it was not your wallet, your car, or your trinkets that came up, hugged you, and said, “I love you, and this too shall pass.” It was people. Invest in them. <br />
<br />
Enjoy this phase of your life. You would not like the alternative. I am here for you as I have always been, but I think our relationship is much better. I think we have a trust and a love, and most of all, an expanded awareness of our worth and potential. Whether you trip and stumble, or sprint through the tape, I will be here for you. I always have.<br />
<br />
I love you; respect you, and thank you.<br />
<br />
Signed, <br />
<br />
The me beside you now<br />
<br />
***************************************************************************** <br />
<br />
<br />
Dear older me,<br />
<br />
I can’t wait to meet you. I am praying that you will have a wealth of wisdom, stories, and experiences waiting on me. I can only hope that you have continued to polish the soul that I see growing inside you now. Through this diligent practice, you will be surrounded by the treasures reaped by one who has invested wisely in their contribution to others. <br />
<br />
I can’t wait to see who you are as an older man, but how you have done as a father. You planted good seeds and I am sure they will flourish. I hope that I was able to tend to my garden well now so that you can enjoy the fruits of my efforts. The children who bring you so much joy have also posed challenges, but through guidance and by example–hopefully they have come through the obstacle course with little scar tissue. I hope you have grandchildren. Maybe you do, maybe not. I know it is not up to you. Either way, you were lucky enough to get the ones you had, but I know you know that. That alone deserves a smile.<br />
<br />
I hope you now are enjoying your wife as you did when you were first married. Anyone who stuck by you like she did deserves some attention. Maybe she doesn’t want it. I think she will. Either way, continue to be there for her. She stood by you in times when most others would not. I think you now realize you needed her as she held the strengths you could not fit into your own soul. She brought to the mix what you often boastfully thought you could do alone. Have you got it yet? You needed her and were lucky to have her. I think you offered something to her too. A pretty good match indeed. I think you realized the weight of a large ego is too much to carry for too long. The heart of another is much lighter and much more satisfying to lift.<br />
<br />
Knowing you now, I assume you are in a space to be able to say, “Well done!” Maybe there are things that didn’t get checked off the list. I think you also know that given the time and interest, you could check them off. I also think you know that striving needs to take a back seat to enjoying, to cherishing, and to simply being. There does come a time when the glass has just enough. I think you realized that a while back didn’t you?<br />
<br />
I hope at the end of this ride, the old me, the me right now, and the older me get a chance to merge into what was originally intended for us to become. We are not separate people. We are simply chapters in a brilliant, emotionally driven; divinely orchestrated ride nestled between the covers of our life’s story. I hope our story inspires others. If not, like a forgotten diary that archives the whims and magic of one man’s’ journey through time, I hope simply that the world was a little bit better of a place than when we arrived.<br />
<br />
I love you; respect you, and thank you.<br />
<br />
Signed,<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Me the younger you<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpas0V5NLg-kqqIEaw-Xse2qq3UORmAYCXNP-q9ZNxgFq5wlETSYsWOZsrQaP1blXksIP_BPAcVXSRtOMJJMPgXKWfeIwoSZ5Opl-bBpnwQp7VeXfrkHuXI2vRQcd_fs18L9919NzDks/s1600/maninmirror.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpas0V5NLg-kqqIEaw-Xse2qq3UORmAYCXNP-q9ZNxgFq5wlETSYsWOZsrQaP1blXksIP_BPAcVXSRtOMJJMPgXKWfeIwoSZ5Opl-bBpnwQp7VeXfrkHuXI2vRQcd_fs18L9919NzDks/s1600/maninmirror.png" yda="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1laIiKhy6z7QY5-GR7YbGntkvvTizeiJqsMXIiZykRT37CvdYI96zquRHdrN_BfenFU3-LM-_sVcCuHC_roHkQbv0iW_1R7KMmP6r-zxqGd8xReRSeXJDwa4loxcZI9sLMyhyfgMDRE/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1laIiKhy6z7QY5-GR7YbGntkvvTizeiJqsMXIiZykRT37CvdYI96zquRHdrN_BfenFU3-LM-_sVcCuHC_roHkQbv0iW_1R7KMmP6r-zxqGd8xReRSeXJDwa4loxcZI9sLMyhyfgMDRE/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" yda="true" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-35947406031312838002011-12-29T18:37:00.000-05:002011-12-29T18:37:05.883-05:00I hate resolutions.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8IdoiRm96l6Q-nt_Fdp6BbNbuRFmN2l9WZUA9IZLkwGShg5xSNqkTQdPvmui4oMEztXKgYg80PcxO8a1hBoQOE3HP6PLdTkoWtzge89JGwaBVE_Knj3112HhCoeiwt2O84TWp4x6oA0/s1600/imagesCABD74CS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8IdoiRm96l6Q-nt_Fdp6BbNbuRFmN2l9WZUA9IZLkwGShg5xSNqkTQdPvmui4oMEztXKgYg80PcxO8a1hBoQOE3HP6PLdTkoWtzge89JGwaBVE_Knj3112HhCoeiwt2O84TWp4x6oA0/s1600/imagesCABD74CS.jpg" /></a></div>I hate resolutions. I really do. I do not like that there is a time so shortly after my overindulgence in practically every one of my vices that I have to cease and desist simply because the calendar has reached its’ last page. I know–after testing the stretch-ability of the middle of my favorite sweaters it may be time to put down the cheesecake for a while, but to simply profess I will stop doing something for ever...for ever-ever is simply ludicrous. Nothing I ever “resolved” to do stuck. At least not because I tried on New Year’s Eve. It takes something more for me. It also has nothing to do with my calendar.<br />
<br />
I remember many things that I humbly and most feebly tried to end with the beginning of a new year. Most of these ended shamefully by me resuming whatever habit, yet now accompanied by a heavy dose of guilt and shame. Neither are strong motivators for me personally. Most of the important things that needed to go sloughed off on their own time and through what I only feel is divine happenstance. It took a larger nudge than a ball dropping and Dick Clark for some of the other back-monkeys.<br />
<br />
I tried to quit smoking in the past. A lot. Many times. To no avail. I took the loss of my grandfather to lung cancer. I never saw him with a cigarette. Ever. (Haven’t touched one since ’86.)<br />
<br />
I tried to quit drugs and other self-destructive behaviors. I took a loving (but firm) intervention, a trip to “Camp Cleanupyouract” and the potential loss of all I held dear to set down that bagage. (Haven’t gone back to that either.)<br />
<br />
I resolved to get financially stable. Lost it all.<br />
<br />
I tried to diet. I got fatter.<br />
<br />
I tried to get stronger. I got weaker.<br />
<br />
I tried to succeed. I avoided the challenges necessary to get me there.<br />
<br />
You win some, you lose some. I try to keep my batting average high. <br />
<br />
I no longer “resolve” on New Year’s Eve, nor do I give a rat’s patoot about the obligatory professions of strength that are required to help me overcome what I should be tending to all year long. It is hard enough to mourn the loss of peanut brittle for another year without resisting everything else that brings me joy, harmful or not.<br />
<br />
Nowadays, I simply try to find a blanketing “concept” or category (health, finances, spirituality, relationships, etc.) that will serve me to improve. I also give myself a year (ish) to complete it. I also forgive my shortcomings. I will look back at the end of the year and fish out the accomplishments to be met with a well-deserved “atta-boy”, and put the missed goals back on the laundry list.<br />
<br />
I also realize that if a problem or issue crops up on July 17th, I do not have to wait until January to throw it on the docket for improvement. <br />
<br />
Again, I win some, and I lose some. I just want to keep it in the black.<br />
<br />
I guess for the upcoming year, I have a few things I would like to see change. Some renovations in my life. Hopefully, some good stuff coming down the pipe. I don’t know if I will start on them next week, or come spring. Maybe they will slip through my grasp. But still, I guess these things are about as close to a resolution I may get: (Don't hold me to them, okay - hold me to them.)<br />
<br />
• After trying extensively to no avail, I resign myself to the fact that I am going to have to get a job that will require me to say, “Would you like fries with that?” (At least until I graduate.)<br />
<br />
• I am also going to have to do what it takes to lower my cholesterol, stop making old man noises when I bend over, and not need a nap just because I took out the trash. Time to lose some weight and get in shape. Dimmer switches can also only do so much.<br />
<br />
• I got a 4.0 on my first quarter of school. I am going to do it again. And again.<br />
<br />
• I am going to try to become a husband that my wife is not only proud of, but will want to brag about. This may take the full year. (I know she's gonna want me to toss my "dad jeans.")<br />
<br />
• I am calm, cool, and collected in the event of an emergency and the big stuff. I can be an asshole when there is a Lego missing from the project. I need to get a wrangle on that.<br />
<br />
• I want to make more magic for people I encounter. I don’t know what that is. I just know that would be cool.<br />
<br />
* I want to continue to help those who need someone to talk to. I want to clone and expand that as well.<br />
<br />
• I am not sure what it is. I know I will find it. But I want this year to be the year that I can say, “Yep, that was the year my life took off.” (And whatever it is, has enough room for everyone.)<br />
<br />
• I’ve got some home improvements I need to get done. Dollar willing.<br />
<br />
• I want to cook more, and grow more of my own food. I love cooking for people.<br />
<br />
• I also want to continue to grow as a father. I grow as they grow.<br />
<br />
These may come quickly or slowly. I have been working on some for a while. It doesn’t take a new year to remind me that many of these needs tended to, nor are they forgotten down the road as my efforts wane or challenges increase somewhere around March. I hope if you yearn for health, money, love, happiness, or abundance you receive it. Maybe your desires fall on a more spiritual plane, and with that, I support you as well. I just found it best to keep on, keepin’ on year ‘round, and for me–my resolution is to make no resolutions.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><em>If you don't mind sharing, do you have any resolutions for 2012?</em></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGCaR5J7j5lkM5WlZEHPBT970zUGTZUh0RJOyOrBVgHqrkQDGiRwIorgXK4s8vMaSlUSbxKFBNz40V2pc6UQexcV9xCyu8DA04YgG0WAdpn1ZrJfD5BBFH-fAjYJC_YcUEwJl3-nrdmE/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGCaR5J7j5lkM5WlZEHPBT970zUGTZUh0RJOyOrBVgHqrkQDGiRwIorgXK4s8vMaSlUSbxKFBNz40V2pc6UQexcV9xCyu8DA04YgG0WAdpn1ZrJfD5BBFH-fAjYJC_YcUEwJl3-nrdmE/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-66184203969434550212011-11-13T11:43:00.002-05:002011-11-13T11:45:47.549-05:00Hope and Faith<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCDm97gb4ertEofyN0ttzhGcGsvxSJ4_q7qwe7p8UDXg6KJCxFAzZ4vi0YudlDe8QCzpNar2utjENtrwV-8_dKmCJ1jq0E18PjFTTZj07H8FDSDCVM6_5GvcJQpleMsAEwJsNcMoTACI/s1600/hope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239px" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCDm97gb4ertEofyN0ttzhGcGsvxSJ4_q7qwe7p8UDXg6KJCxFAzZ4vi0YudlDe8QCzpNar2utjENtrwV-8_dKmCJ1jq0E18PjFTTZj07H8FDSDCVM6_5GvcJQpleMsAEwJsNcMoTACI/s320/hope.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div>You would think I may come back after a break with something less cliché than this. I mean really. The reason for my hiatus from writing–the passion for it was sucked out of me by learning “how to write.” <br />
<br />
<br />
I had decided to go back to school and get a degree. It is in mental health and addiction studies. I find both fascinating to be honest. The downside is that with any degree there are certain areas of study that accompany the subjects that pertain to your chosen endeavor. Aside from Psychology (love it), I had to take Algebra (surprisingly, enjoyed it immensely), and English Composition (my current nemesis.)<br />
<br />
I love to write. What I have found is I love to write for me. Then I love to quietly share a bit of my thoughts with people and the only grade I may get is a “like” or a brief comment on Facebook. I find I could give a rat’s patoot what the Modern Language Association feels I “should” have done. It’s like being corrected when you sing in the shower. <br />
<br />
But I digress... (This line would be considered unacceptable in MLA, but screw ‘em, it’s my blog.)<br />
<br />
I guess with my recent schooling endeavor, I have also had other things going on in my life, both personal, business, and through other random things I have a tendency to get myself into. Through all these I have had high hopes of what I deeply wish would transpire. Hope...I have had and lost a substantial amount of it in my life.<br />
<br />
I often find myself trying to write the ending to a script for a movie in which I am only an actor. I hope things will turn out the way I planned. I hope the money comes through. I hope the grades are there. I hope everyone stays healthy. I hope, I hope, I hope.<br />
<br />
Hope is locking focus on a desired outcome and securing it in your core that it will manifest. Hope is often tossed about like throwing corn to chickens when faced with adversity. Hope is a desire to see beyond the current trials and settling on recognition that this too shall pass.<br />
<br />
However hope alone falls short. Hope in solo is shouldering a burden alone. Hope is often diminished by a sense of overwhelm when the obstacles step over the threshold of what we can grasp or handle. <br />
<br />
To me hope is like prayer in some ways. It must start with internal reflection, but most importantly it must be released. This is where faith comes in.<br />
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Faith is belief without seeing. Faith is a comfort in feeling deeply that there is something beyond ourselves at work. Faith is a peace that comes from a belief that things are the way they are now because that is how they should be. Faith is accepting and faith is allowing.<br />
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Faith is also the creation of a relationship with the intangible. Faith allows us to connect with the things we feel as well as the things we see. Faith is a humble request to dance with the divine...<br />
<br />
Faith is also a lesson in patience. The things we hope for must be faithfully placed in the proper hands of the capable, and then we must try to be patient as our answers are delivered. Sometimes the answer is no. Sometimes we are thrilled. We must still have faith and patience to realize somewhere down the line it will all make sense. It is what it is, and that’s okay.<br />
<br />
Hope and faith in swirling unison. (Another MLA taboo sentence.)<br />
<br />
I guess my return was prompted by seeing a relatively high amount of struggles recently in the lives of those I encounter. All of these in varying degree. Myself included in some ways. I guess my advice to myself and the others is to have a little hope, and have a little faith. (And not the stupid TV sitcom.) <br />
<br />
As I have been reminded recently, I am a student of writing as well as a student of life. Both present challenges but the latter doesn’t offer a grade. I do believe we are held accountable for what we learn in “class” and how we apply it. <br />
<br />
I do hope I get a good “grade”. I have faith I will be okay. MLA be damned. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRQjG3jYcUMGJEhJDU6bv1dgbXMAwhXfCj1nmWNM6RaZ0J1Bj01rm1rpnADg5Da9qSxnMwKqVAhUC8CCaGu7-y6qKKgafuy6E0YTIG6vmC7OL9dVdfDoE-yLlTUq52-w5hBmpd_6pHSQ/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRQjG3jYcUMGJEhJDU6bv1dgbXMAwhXfCj1nmWNM6RaZ0J1Bj01rm1rpnADg5Da9qSxnMwKqVAhUC8CCaGu7-y6qKKgafuy6E0YTIG6vmC7OL9dVdfDoE-yLlTUq52-w5hBmpd_6pHSQ/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-53551732946394614302011-08-27T21:32:00.000-04:002011-08-27T21:32:18.955-04:00There's never nothing going on<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UVZQFIjQN95_muVKCrCfhxsJOJdsTxsJp3G0rMdp9X1ujl_ZR-pUpGk87rEDO7c0buLL09e3y8lQPZpwcbjrLkCddtA2Fp9qW_AaLfkIrRcY-rwXyVTX-xzvb3vyv4pLAd4nU5RC7O8/s1600/wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UVZQFIjQN95_muVKCrCfhxsJOJdsTxsJp3G0rMdp9X1ujl_ZR-pUpGk87rEDO7c0buLL09e3y8lQPZpwcbjrLkCddtA2Fp9qW_AaLfkIrRcY-rwXyVTX-xzvb3vyv4pLAd4nU5RC7O8/s200/wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee.jpg" width="154px" /></a></div>Ever been on a break? Whether selected or imposed, I have been on a few. From events over the past year to ones recently I have found that perceptively things have been quiet–real quiet. In my life I find when I am inspired, I will take a moment to digest and reflect and then put pen to paper (or finger to plastic) and counsel myself with what I have gained. Not so much lately. It seemed like life took an intermission.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I would frequently log onto my blog page, wait for some inspiration, shake my head and say “nah”, and move on to other meaningless online diversions. It lies somewhere between boredom and having nothing worthwhile to say. Worse yet, that no one listens or no one cares. </div><br />
It also became interesting–frightening at times that it seemed the messages stopped. I would find I would squint with furrowed brow trying to connect–it was like I had an old radio and was listening to the static waiting for a broken hello. Nothing.<br />
<br />
Inspiration seemed to go “off the air”. Okay, maybe that is harsh–but at least like television in summer when all you had to watch were re-runs. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Don’t get me wrong. Just because the universe, nature, and God above don’t appear before me in a dog and pony show, I do not become ungrateful. Things just slowed down–like a long drive on cruise control. </div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Therein lies the lesson.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>There is never nothing going on.<br />
<br />
I find for me at times I must release the pedal and set my speed on cruise to get a reminder of the things that surround me continually. It is by slowing down that I get another chance to find the glory in the mundane. <br />
<br />
By taking some of the same routes at different speeds–without the pressure of waiting for the “golden ah-ha’s”, I find that some of these lie within my own backyard. It is also these little awakenings that connect the big ones. The big ones simply remind us to remember the small ones. <br />
<br />
I just returned from a bike ride at dusk with my son. We took a different route and ended up at the coffee shop where I secured a fresh pound of fresh ground. Nothing like the aroma of your favorite blend. I inhaled deeply and smiled.<br />
<br />
The cool breeze from nature and gentle humming from my son accompanied me as we took the long way home. The long way via the counter of our favorite frozen custard shop. We passed my daughter’s friends on their bikes. Well-mannered hellos were exchanged. Dusk, crickets, and the breeze in the trees. Your neighborhood changes dramatically at various times of the day. Each more glorious than the next. <br />
<br />
“Did you have fun buddy?” I asked as we pulled into the garage to park our bikes.<br />
<br />
An enthusiastic, “Yeah!!” was the reply.<br />
<br />
There’s never nothing going on. Maybe I just need to set my speed on cruise control–or maybe hop on my bike. Perhaps it’s all God’s way of saying slow down and smell the coffee.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1S4Hc0K99Hk5eax2ajT7Wu6qzszOvvboDsUGm42J5JeMCjzTGbSJXgmDNt-g3kLhGYlPT9ecNkd8NuQAddBOoUNB0CF-3gKtk-rjZcccRz837fiPVip1WWJI_41fN6MsGWTRR2hU2MA/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1S4Hc0K99Hk5eax2ajT7Wu6qzszOvvboDsUGm42J5JeMCjzTGbSJXgmDNt-g3kLhGYlPT9ecNkd8NuQAddBOoUNB0CF-3gKtk-rjZcccRz837fiPVip1WWJI_41fN6MsGWTRR2hU2MA/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=8c2178b1-1abf-41ab-a7de-36f4b040d98b" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-41494012978503054032011-08-03T10:13:00.000-04:002011-08-03T10:13:32.771-04:00In Hindsight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTv7UinRnbOVjEkcr0sJ94NjKIbtlY-hRQfnEcfgkwfzkdAWcpdVPeK92MRMXk0eQT_OP8RsujZZuXqCqOLk3wUzviwtZQlK5c7uQdQOdFDO4gzCwACErvHe6MD5sP0MHiQ9oGK0vm3o8/s1600/hindsight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTv7UinRnbOVjEkcr0sJ94NjKIbtlY-hRQfnEcfgkwfzkdAWcpdVPeK92MRMXk0eQT_OP8RsujZZuXqCqOLk3wUzviwtZQlK5c7uQdQOdFDO4gzCwACErvHe6MD5sP0MHiQ9oGK0vm3o8/s320/hindsight.jpg" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></div>I realize the effort to defend my ego is a lot bigger than the effort to simply keep quiet. I also find that in either case, I can be equally incorrect.<br />
<br />
I have found that when in my younger years, if someone said, “Here, try this”–and it was not a yummy treat, it probably was not in my best interest.<br />
<br />
Every challenge always pays off– Always. You just have to realize that in hindsight.<br />
<br />
The things I thought made me feel cool then, often make me feel silly now.<br />
<br />
I would have never gotten that perm if I could have seen my senior picture beforehand. (See previous.)<br />
<br />
Some of your best friendships do not end–they go into hibernation.<br />
<br />
Whatever people feel they need to take drugs for can be achieved without them.<br />
<br />
The best title I have ever held is “Daddy.” (And that it took my wife to achieve this title–and still does.)<br />
<br />
Upon reflection, when we say we were “born this way”– that should only pertain to the good stuff. The rest we learned.<br />
<br />
Being a loser is someone else’s opinion that I do not have to agree with.<br />
<br />
I can understand and be compassionate to something without agreeing with it.<br />
<br />
Kids and golf can be the most fun you will ever have being pissed off.<br />
<br />
God would never forsake me, I would forsake God. (God waited for my return.)<br />
<br />
It is okay to love someone and they not love you back–just don’t do it on their property after dark.<br />
<br />
I should have listened more to what I didn’t want to listen to.<br />
<br />
I also should have kept my mouth shut a lot more.<br />
<br />
Most of the worst stuff I feared I created. (Often it would never arrive.)<br />
<br />
I see that most of the stuff that I spent most of my time trying to get; I no longer have, and no longer need.<br />
<br />
I also see that most of what I ever needed was always there, I was too busy looking in the wrong places.<br />
<br />
Wounds heal.<br />
<br />
Love returns. (Not that it ever really goes away.)<br />
<br />
You can’t be totally present always looking back in hindsight.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxi-heLpPLTsAaBpaKAQm6JKacNJ0kyfBKt6aXKudBCSI6NDms3uZadxo4Sb72Q5k2sMTxjhDLNxaRtY40j5pnjQrP0CUjoZe4a-QTqNIgVo51yFApD07yytq3SDo_6hfWvUIP_tCdSEA/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxi-heLpPLTsAaBpaKAQm6JKacNJ0kyfBKt6aXKudBCSI6NDms3uZadxo4Sb72Q5k2sMTxjhDLNxaRtY40j5pnjQrP0CUjoZe4a-QTqNIgVo51yFApD07yytq3SDo_6hfWvUIP_tCdSEA/s200/tonysig3.GIF" t$="true" width="200px" /></a></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=edb912ee-cb3c-4dbc-8892-d141e538877c" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-57423856731283947002011-07-24T16:00:00.000-04:002011-07-24T16:00:28.889-04:00In the blink of an eye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGNqauCYnPa_tM9pFWR72poAwkLbkBSxY9JUEUc1mNAcQvrWKQwO2ezXG_wNF1Z53qVraQgNgb1VbtlGrjsLm9EDC4V03lGdCM5Vd-jbCFEpB1HeS06WFoLxB2SUyrpVpm06_Hh9BJLs/s1600/blink.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGNqauCYnPa_tM9pFWR72poAwkLbkBSxY9JUEUc1mNAcQvrWKQwO2ezXG_wNF1Z53qVraQgNgb1VbtlGrjsLm9EDC4V03lGdCM5Vd-jbCFEpB1HeS06WFoLxB2SUyrpVpm06_Hh9BJLs/s200/blink.png" t$="true" width="200px" /></a></div>She was only having fun–or so she thought. That is what young people are supposed to do. The fun turned to an obsession beckoning her to feed the hunger that grew within her. Once social and now insatiable she found herself succumbing to its continual call. With promiscuity and sacrifice of morals and self-esteem she found that she now looked at the self she once knew–diminishing in size as she peered upon herself in the rear-view. She can’t be pregnant, she thought. The little plastic stick told her otherwise. She opted not to be a mother. The guilt and the grief changed her–transformed her. She would have been alone anyhow. She is now alone–and hates herself as she grieves the death of the promise she once held as well as her unborn child. It happened in the blink of an eye.<br />
<br />
************************<br />
<br />
He loved her. She loved him. They started a family. Then their family grew. He dedicated himself to the vision. Her vision shifted into a wandering eye. He was told over breakfast. Feeling like the old car left behind on the lot watching the once proud owner in a new model, he sat in shock. It was not just the idea of going from an “us” to a “me”, it was that it seemed easy for her. He wondered what he must have become to make her who she had become. He became angry. He felt guilty. He felt lonely. No one is supposed to change the script while you sit and watch the movie. It just isn’t fair. From playing in the yard with the kids to sitting in the yard waiting for their arrival for your turn for a paltry couple of hours, it all seemed like a cruel joke, and he was the punch line. It happened in the blink of an eye.<br />
<br />
************************<br />
<br />
She held his hand through it all–the illness both acquired and self-imposed. She was the rock. Once we get through this, everything will be the way it was supposed to be. We will try again for another child. Maybe the first time was God’s way of saying, “not now.” He had trouble finding himself, but ironically his erratic behavior was a constant reminder he was always right there–a challenge to himself, and more so a challenge of her love. But she did love him. The vow I took said “for better or worse, and sickness and in health.” This was the worse, and this was the sickness. She went to the appointments. She held his hand. She nurtures him on the mend. Then one day he left her. He took his pain, and left enough behind for her. He just didn’t leave an answer to the question, “why?” It happened in the blink of an eye.<br />
<br />
*************************<br />
He had it all. Good pay, promise of a future, all the perks of one who entered into the family business. That is how he met his wife. Yet another perk. He saw the world. He appeared before the masses to small levels of acclaim. He desired more. He mistook the demon of narcissism as its friendly counterpart competition. The demon invited entitlement. The demon invited apathy. The demon invited fear. And they invited addiction. Gone was the career. Gone were the perks. Gone was the business. Gone was the sense of self-worth. Some of the family also went by the way of the perks and the business. It seems a long way from the top to the bottom. However you can indeed find the trip from summit to the valley below can happen in the blink of an eye.<br />
*************************<br />
In the blink of an eye.<br />
<br />
It is these “blinks”, both the good and the bad that are like the flickering frames in a movie. These individual moments that string together to provide us with the script that becomes our life. I have found that these types of episodes are the catalysts for transformation. As the eye closes to bring an end to one image, so must it open to start a new one. The process will repeat.<br />
<br />
The injustice appears in the form of someone or something changing or stopping the story we were so enjoying. After loss or in grieving we reflect on the way things should have been, could have been, or would have been. How dare someone or something change the channel in the middle of our favorite movie? But this is also where our recovery will begin.<br />
<br />
As the negative story can shift in the blink of an eye, so can our healing. The previous is tangible proof that all things can change rapidly. Our insurmountable odds become manageable as fast as they eroded beneath our feet. It is through our ability to “allow” these things to occur where the transformation shifts from our loss to the blessings of what we had when we had them. We also now have space in our empty hearts and empty hands for what is yet to come. Patience is all one needs.<br />
<br />
As when we find ourselves in the middle of a movie, and our favorite character is killed, or turns evil, or the plot twists away from our comfort levels, often we do not find that we simply curse, stand, and leave the theatre. We may curse perhaps, but we remain. We stay fixed on what is unfolding, and allow it to continue. This is not to say we endorse it or subscribe to it–but we allow it none-the less. This is because we have faith that the reasons will be revealed. We will find out in time, the lesson behind the chaos. The payoff eventually comes.<br />
<br />
Life is a lot like this. Plot twists abound. Our favorite components are removed, replaced, or transmuted into something we do not understand. By not shouldering the burden of retribution and justice seeking, I am able to realize that often there are forces more qualified than myself at work, and justice is indeed served, and the payoff presented to the worthy. I have found also that everything, and I do mean everything, does eventually provide for me the payoff of justice, wisdom, patience, or the ability to spare others a similar pain.<br />
<br />
As personal challenges can truly occur in the blink of an eye, so can healing. Sometimes through this interruption of our movie–allowance and patience is simply God’s way of saying, “sit down, shut up, and eat your popcorn.”<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLp0ntSb4Hvr9kLGQ3Ykz2k4GSGqMXsNiHyRDNmJ1Y5Bdz2Nz5R81qWZmhzMHd7FKs7Ok4r50LJurhGvfhcC6XUlqtsrLMmiCUyNr2A8KM_LTRWXv4Nt9cGJxI-UqoNqzK02Cf-WP6xpo/s1600/popcorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLp0ntSb4Hvr9kLGQ3Ykz2k4GSGqMXsNiHyRDNmJ1Y5Bdz2Nz5R81qWZmhzMHd7FKs7Ok4r50LJurhGvfhcC6XUlqtsrLMmiCUyNr2A8KM_LTRWXv4Nt9cGJxI-UqoNqzK02Cf-WP6xpo/s200/popcorn.jpg" t$="true" width="200px" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfL-JColTavyWCAeCh6QaLzFpPN4ZSyY9BRKg73CrI28mrz6fqC2DQUoU2Of-oX8Q1C4W_e5F5DO268Xy-3xHKyBLnJdGFZwp3mmhPOAgZ7cWFw49H4HBVP_h3WXo35V2BIVIKcE3TtEc/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfL-JColTavyWCAeCh6QaLzFpPN4ZSyY9BRKg73CrI28mrz6fqC2DQUoU2Of-oX8Q1C4W_e5F5DO268Xy-3xHKyBLnJdGFZwp3mmhPOAgZ7cWFw49H4HBVP_h3WXo35V2BIVIKcE3TtEc/s200/tonysig3.GIF" t$="true" width="200px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=bd7d975b-14c4-41a4-8efa-6f4f95f2a6ea" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div><br />
(These scenarios are to prove a point and do not reflect anyone's personal story. Well maybe one.)Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-56234098083899626552011-07-10T13:16:00.000-04:002011-07-10T13:16:25.775-04:00It is during the "right now's"...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_5keE7lES6bE2qvvgU3E89LymOHF0JajsK7BJvjKGWeLqchQIcsibOhQDxCoXDwok1AasTaLj0stGGlTWMfcp_cPyezV77KMhdynDYuPD4rfBOUa1wEdSyclikDpw5LzkSXvMt5wYk8E/s1600/daisy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_5keE7lES6bE2qvvgU3E89LymOHF0JajsK7BJvjKGWeLqchQIcsibOhQDxCoXDwok1AasTaLj0stGGlTWMfcp_cPyezV77KMhdynDYuPD4rfBOUa1wEdSyclikDpw5LzkSXvMt5wYk8E/s200/daisy.png" width="200px" /></a></div>It is during the “right now’s” that I find my greatest gifts. Upon this realization, I lament at the many, many “right now’s” I have let slip through my fingertips. These “right now’s” are moments of gratitude–moments where I realize I am blessed beyond my current deserving–fleeting moments to be cherished.<br />
<br />
<br />
I find the benevolent, vivid, and enduring gifts available to me when I release yesterday and stop reaching for tomorrow. It is in this state of presence my breath is taken away from me. I am also grateful to realize that it is simply my receptiveness and continual desire for awareness of these “right now’s” that will change my life from having them solely punctuate my life, to harmoniously string them together like notes in one continual glorious song.<br />
<br />
It was during a “right now” that I was able to glance to my right. My convertible top was down and the sun was shining. I watched my beautiful daughter fumble to place the Shasta daisy I picked for her behind her ear as the wind tousled her hair with a lively dance. It was “right now” I realized she was no longer my baby. It was “right now” I realized she will always be my baby. Her silhouette is still as angelic as when I held her as an infant. <br />
<br />
It was during a “right now” I released my urgency to be anywhere in particular. I decided to stroll into one of those shops–you know the ones you always pass by and wonder what the heck they sell and how they stay in business. It was in this store that had thousands of my life’s artifacts. Not mine personally, but antique and old objects from a time I have long since left in my rear-view mirror. I saw the cup I drank out of when I was a child. The cup that held jelly in our fridge before it was housed in our cupboard. I saw the tacky clock from above our couch. I stood in my childhood kitchen again. For a moment I stood in my childhood again.<br />
<br />
It was during a “right now” I remembered what it was like to feel grass under a blanket. It was during a “right now” I realized a picnic with a loved one takes only minutes to plan, and even less time to get somewhere suitable. Something about sitting next to your food on a blanket and trying to keep ants out of it rivals the finest dining. A mosaic of dancing sunbeams that struggle to find you through the branches is the only ambience one needs. You are never too old to wipe watermelon juice off your chin.<br />
<br />
It was during a “right now” that I realized that there is something divine about a group of close friends breaking bread together. I find for myself that there is something simply wonderful about sharing a meal. I also enjoy noticing that my wife still laughs at my jokes. I appreciate it is often the dynamic of the group setting that lifts the veil of the mundane and adds spark and levity to the conversation. I also enjoy confirming how much we are all really alike in many ways. We still love each other despite our differences.<br />
<br />
It was during a “right now” that I was joined by a friend on my backyard swing. It was my friend who called my attention to the cicada’s song which seems an essential part of summer. She also shared her love of the sound of lawn sprinklers. I listened. I agree. There is nothing like a swing and a friend to unfurl the sail of a “right now” moment. <br />
<br />
It was during a “right now” that I shared the moon with my daughter. She shared a star with me. Then she shared another. I found that I am still awestruck by the glory of the canopy of the heaven that is above me. I am still awestruck by the “right now’s” available to me. <br />
<br />
The “right now’s” I shared are simply my yesterday–a regular, yet extraordinary day. Placed in the context of an unappreciative eye and hollow heart, these moments could have slipped by unnoticed. It is my strong conviction that the quality of our life is weighted heavily by the emphasis on the attention we give to our “right now’s.”<br />
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Right now I leave you and I to go explore our own “right now’s.”<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1IahWtyK15OVE6l3BJFaIqX99PthMeibIHOgRm_RdxmmuVOW0Ikwm2ijCndA6UDvKk_vBjsT0GJQSePcnRchPm-THXoa_7m_e2N8M2GfHh5fko-0iMItPBzw9_MKS6SeE1QQKvciwOS8/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1IahWtyK15OVE6l3BJFaIqX99PthMeibIHOgRm_RdxmmuVOW0Ikwm2ijCndA6UDvKk_vBjsT0GJQSePcnRchPm-THXoa_7m_e2N8M2GfHh5fko-0iMItPBzw9_MKS6SeE1QQKvciwOS8/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=80fcd397-4a13-44e1-9923-3820eeab4e87" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-43358078665527245072011-06-29T22:52:00.000-04:002011-06-29T22:52:16.892-04:00What I've come to realize...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAdGgOTXR6H-3LknCejp6RM7GxRbFqd4i1evr7cfllUOPh3h_2k7tIFGQiBD6p2linJZDIl7bz8N2lxi986DldBC41gC74eMlhIAD7mZ3OCfASI6UB7ndNgzj8JN3WEFd50xpyLpm8vM/s1600/ponder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAdGgOTXR6H-3LknCejp6RM7GxRbFqd4i1evr7cfllUOPh3h_2k7tIFGQiBD6p2linJZDIl7bz8N2lxi986DldBC41gC74eMlhIAD7mZ3OCfASI6UB7ndNgzj8JN3WEFd50xpyLpm8vM/s1600/ponder.jpg" /></a></div><br />
In recent times I have endured some very trying issues. Life has taught me much. I have found out a lot about myself, others, and the world I live in. These circumstances have provided me with random insights. My eyes have been opened. These are things I have come to realize. Maybe you will agree, maybe not. I realize that is okay.<br />
<br />
• There is exhilaration in following your passion. There is also loneliness. <br />
<br />
• I am often given opinions by people who could stand to follow their own advice.<br />
<br />
• We must give up hope of a better yesterday.<br />
<br />
• People yell a lot at things that do not hear them.<br />
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• Everyone is a dimmer switch away from being a “10”.<br />
<br />
• I always seem to get exactly what I need, even if what I need is not of my own construct.<br />
<br />
• No matter how hard I try to the contrary, someone will think I am an asshole.<br />
<br />
• Money does not buy happiness, but it does put gas in the tank.<br />
<br />
• I realize I am much more powerful in ways I never knew.<br />
<br />
• I realize I am much weaker in ways I never knew.<br />
<br />
• I don’t like when the answer to my prayers is “no”.<br />
<br />
• Writing allows me to travel the world and live forever.<br />
<br />
• The people who often push my buttons are the only ones who know me well enough to do so.<br />
<br />
• I am frustrated that they can make smoke free cigarettes, but there is no cholesterol free bacon.<br />
<br />
• I always get caught when I dance like no one is watching.<br />
<br />
• Some people should be ashamed of the things they do in the name of God.<br />
<br />
• Everybody is addicted to something.<br />
<br />
• Many people live in fear that others will make them feel “different.”<br />
<br />
• The truth is we are all so much alike.<br />
<br />
• Beauty is only skin deep. Fat is just deep skin. <br />
<br />
• I spend a lot of time talking myself back into liking myself again.<br />
<br />
• When you have kids, your backseat will smell funny.<br />
<br />
• People in the small dilapidated houses are just as happy as the people in the fancy homes.<br />
<br />
• God doesn’t care where you sit when you talk to Him.<br />
<br />
• Sometimes we have to love people from a distance.<br />
<br />
• Being alone and being lonely are two different things.<br />
<br />
• Your past circumstances have nothing to do with your present identity.<br />
<br />
• Our net-worth has nothing to do with our self-worth.<br />
<br />
• Captain Crunch does cut the roof of your mouth so quit saying it doesn’t.<br />
<br />
• Naked people shouldn’t crouch.<br />
<br />
• You can’t make a “gratitude list.” You should hope you are on gratitude’s list–it finds you.<br />
<br />
• Wanna feel like royalty? Make your kids homemade ice cream.<br />
<br />
• People do not do enough of the stuff that made them happy as children.<br />
<br />
• If our enemies had puppy breath we’d all get along better.<br />
<br />
• I hope retirement doesn’t feel like unemployment. <br />
<br />
• True friends will allow someone to call them after not speaking for years and ask a favor.<br />
<br />
• It is okay to cry in your car–just dry up before the red lights.<br />
<br />
• I wish I were rich enough to be a philanthropist, so I could give it all away.<br />
<br />
• I wish I knew a philanthropist right now.<br />
<br />
• The greatest things I learned were not in a school.<br />
<br />
• The closest I have felt to God was not in a church.<br />
<br />
• The richest I have ever felt was when I had no money.<br />
<br />
• I am thankful. I am grateful. I am blessed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YkMuKQEkcsNFJDYW4iijMwn3SjaIZ3m2BPcmXXtupJDA2DY2L5hcsslqLCOxEvkZM-qLeo8QfeLC6LLg32cPQNavmq0m2Qf476XhnQqg3mddWsiCsVnTxIHwXPV6dBahu2i_R77Y2VE/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YkMuKQEkcsNFJDYW4iijMwn3SjaIZ3m2BPcmXXtupJDA2DY2L5hcsslqLCOxEvkZM-qLeo8QfeLC6LLg32cPQNavmq0m2Qf476XhnQqg3mddWsiCsVnTxIHwXPV6dBahu2i_R77Y2VE/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=eb821864-c8ae-4dbd-b4e6-716db59bba4f" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-74345424216037851352011-06-17T09:32:00.000-04:002011-06-17T09:32:53.930-04:00If it bleeds it leads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHyu4gF-sRQSz6vlkI6dKUrX_Gk0g32zMrTckkZAAN2uqtiCDITrJQlCG-LSzAsiBG3M5_eV72DUZ57CBc1Ef9BVPP2fR8jY2acz3fKBDDFFsf7XTClMDq7TdGV6S5aRh7ZiCzjhC8jQ/s1600/blood+splatter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHyu4gF-sRQSz6vlkI6dKUrX_Gk0g32zMrTckkZAAN2uqtiCDITrJQlCG-LSzAsiBG3M5_eV72DUZ57CBc1Ef9BVPP2fR8jY2acz3fKBDDFFsf7XTClMDq7TdGV6S5aRh7ZiCzjhC8jQ/s200/blood+splatter.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><br />
From my days in television (on the absolute periphery of the line up) I would hear this phrase come up from time-to-time. It refers to the hierarchy of a news program line-up. This means that no matter the content scheduled for air, if even at the last minute, a story that has “blood” (or harm, or an accident, or murder) it is bumped to kick off the program as the “attention grabber.” It captures the interest of the viewing public.<br />
<br />
<br />
The reason I have time to write is I decided to excuse myself from the morning news show to come to my “fortress of solitude.” After watching a handful of minutes that highlighted adultery of a public official, a mother who murdered her child, environmental disaster, financial disaster, overthrown governments, airstrikes from NATO, as I waited for the piece on helping out a charity that needed it, I became deflated and depleted.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQC9GRhJ0gTVuzpix3HEPcIKJb9Fq4TB4lPWPc_I0uOZNmqjnUZdRJojVez70yq5AU4kJ_hyphenhyphenedc1kLMTrxDKB_HERlNpXk4u0t_bPx3L8MH1gr4cgHw4wlCuJ81OF06iATDMI8WLQWzxs/s1600/knit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQC9GRhJ0gTVuzpix3HEPcIKJb9Fq4TB4lPWPc_I0uOZNmqjnUZdRJojVez70yq5AU4kJ_hyphenhyphenedc1kLMTrxDKB_HERlNpXk4u0t_bPx3L8MH1gr4cgHw4wlCuJ81OF06iATDMI8WLQWzxs/s1600/knit.jpg" /></a></div>Now I do not sit back and look at the world through dream catchers in a room filled with incense and wind chimes. I get the world I live in. I respect and am aware of the current situation of our planet. I do see that it can be likened to someone grabbing the loose string of yarn on a sweater and then running away as fast as they can to see it unravel exposing your naked self. We need to get out the knitting needles.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpZ3BiQ4GacP8SP1xBF-RIKvF0rWH3I-g8Po6O9m4-nvo73TH-ZjOrKgwFbyjPLaEOskpo0_-wjVrEI6SxcvSzBb_CNhvKo1lLgGdo5vUxkDQ0m2M-Oc7FiPmjMWfvtQjbDuQv4IpCoI/s1600/cat+interview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpZ3BiQ4GacP8SP1xBF-RIKvF0rWH3I-g8Po6O9m4-nvo73TH-ZjOrKgwFbyjPLaEOskpo0_-wjVrEI6SxcvSzBb_CNhvKo1lLgGdo5vUxkDQ0m2M-Oc7FiPmjMWfvtQjbDuQv4IpCoI/s200/cat+interview.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div>I just found myself asking: “What is so <em>compelling</em>?” I guess I want to know how many updates we need on the same stories. How much attention do we donate to the same drudgery and debauchery? Why do we find ways to tell the same story from a hundred viewpoints? Why do we need to interview the next door neighbor’s cat to find <em>their</em> viewpoint on the neighborhood crime?<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqFmehGUTcblv2Q9gmyctAfqn-Q-ftFkrhfLxy0pWV1bdI1sLpSN7pqzqEOpIe3Ji7y3hB2z0F8jVjw5hdnHUGKgR8CGnf4BqYYaHB0H8Pz3TXmVwmpmB_tCiHuciVrwryFDKIxnAMOo/s1600/baby+birds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqFmehGUTcblv2Q9gmyctAfqn-Q-ftFkrhfLxy0pWV1bdI1sLpSN7pqzqEOpIe3Ji7y3hB2z0F8jVjw5hdnHUGKgR8CGnf4BqYYaHB0H8Pz3TXmVwmpmB_tCiHuciVrwryFDKIxnAMOo/s200/baby+birds.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I just wonder where we transitioned into baby birds with mouths agape waiting for the next regurgitated serving of drivel. I am totally fine with being informed. I am also okay with an update on a situation. I just find it hard that recently my cell phone flashed an update of how a father crushed his newborn with a cinder block. I wish we had ways to alter the flow of what gets in. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIjRlZ3OZm0AkPYNekLQ0eF1acVVxxQqIQS-9NlkVku4ZGY0xEOvdn8Mpej1SykH0uKeQR9e2jeG3HYpmTXcrltRCoK1grF3YLpfgBiT8cEn4MKDWgFCeB9ZfZ9L9XYyOpCLq8oK6pkw/s1600/dog+eat.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIjRlZ3OZm0AkPYNekLQ0eF1acVVxxQqIQS-9NlkVku4ZGY0xEOvdn8Mpej1SykH0uKeQR9e2jeG3HYpmTXcrltRCoK1grF3YLpfgBiT8cEn4MKDWgFCeB9ZfZ9L9XYyOpCLq8oK6pkw/s1600/dog+eat.png" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>*Exhale*</em> (Puts away soap box.)</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I guess it is just another case of “feed the dog what the dog wants to eat.” We are all to blame collectively, as well as we are all praise-worthy of the efforts we make to do our part in the clean-up. I guess at times it would just be nice to wake up and hear the news anchors say, “It’s all good, everything’s cool, go back to bed for an hour!” <br />
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<em><strong>Side Note! - </strong>This song made famous back-in-the-proverbial-day by Anne Murray kind of says it all. It is called <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4lyjseJMG0">"A Little Good News"</a> by Anne Murray here sung in tandem with the Indigo Girls. I encourage you to give it a listen paying attention to the lyrics. Enjoy!</em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8cNw_9gbZjvnGcEpK02StQC3nLmEy1m4XNaZME1xoBNSVOHeVU63oVkUT_4j_09u032UXThtaSKLoOXbE2u8IMPNzcNioxITHQ-VTdO0e12vyM0whc_h9XdPO7DbLweR6aQYnISJMmU/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8cNw_9gbZjvnGcEpK02StQC3nLmEy1m4XNaZME1xoBNSVOHeVU63oVkUT_4j_09u032UXThtaSKLoOXbE2u8IMPNzcNioxITHQ-VTdO0e12vyM0whc_h9XdPO7DbLweR6aQYnISJMmU/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div></div><div class="zemanta-pixie"><img alt="" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/pixy.gif" /></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-21596794095497506732011-05-30T09:20:00.002-04:002011-05-30T09:20:49.760-04:00Taps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW9ZtxKaiys0q7vcq2iaVan8AhCBpjm6zg-oIAJxM2Wd2PG9y1qIXkv_hX1TiVZ_-E6NXiGprss67r2KYQnU17hS5MxNkgcDKnimZxiAHRxPuFG1kUP8S-VIxk9AduS-Yfms430hmStYQ/s1600/taps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW9ZtxKaiys0q7vcq2iaVan8AhCBpjm6zg-oIAJxM2Wd2PG9y1qIXkv_hX1TiVZ_-E6NXiGprss67r2KYQnU17hS5MxNkgcDKnimZxiAHRxPuFG1kUP8S-VIxk9AduS-Yfms430hmStYQ/s1600/taps.jpg" t8="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>We have all heard the haunting song "Taps". It's the song that gives us that lump in our throats and usually creates tears in our eyes. But do you know the story behind the song?<br />
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If not, I think you will be pleased to find out about its humble beginnings. Reportedly, it all began in 1862 during the Civil War, when the Union Army Captain Robert Elicombe was with his men near Harrison's Landing in Virginia. The Confederate Army was on the other side of the narrow strip of land.<br />
<br />
During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans of a soldier who lay in the middle of the battlefield. Without knowing if he was a Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain decided to risk his life and bring the stricken man back for medical attention.<br />
<br />
Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, the Captain reached the stricken soldier and began pulling him toward his encampment. When the Captain finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but the soldier was dead.<br />
<br />
The Captain lit a lantern and suddenly caught his breath and went numb with shock. In the dim light, he saw the face of the soldier. It was his son. The boy had been studying music in the south when the war broke out. Without telling his father, the boy enlisted in the Confederate army.<br />
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The following morning, heartbroken, the father asked permission of his superiors to give his son a full military burial despite his enemy status. His request was only partially granted. The Captain had asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for his son at the funeral. The request was tunred down since the soldier was Confederate. But out of respect for the father, they did say they could give him one musician. The Captain chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of the dead youth's uniform. The wish was granted. The haunting melody we now know as "Taps", used at military funerals, was born.<br />
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<div align="center">Day is done</div><div align="center">Gone the sun</div><div align="center">From the lakes</div><div align="center">From the hills</div><div align="center">From the sky.</div><div align="center">All is well,</div><div align="center">Safely rest.</div><div align="center">God is nigh.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">Fading light</div><div align="center">Dims the sight</div><div align="center">And a star</div><div align="center">Gems the sky,</div><div align="center">Gleaming bright</div><div align="center">From afar,</div><div align="center">Drawing nigh,</div><div align="center">Falls the night.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">Thanks and praise,</div><div align="center">For our days,</div><div align="center">Neath the sun,</div><div align="center">Neath the stars,</div><div align="center">Neath the sky.</div><div align="center">As we go,</div><div align="center">This we know.</div><div align="center">God is nigh.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I too have felt the chills while listening to "Taps" but I have never seen all the words to the song until now. I didn't even know there was more than one verse. I also never knew the story behind the song and I didn't know if you had either, so I thought I'd pass it along.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>* This was in our church bulletin this past Sunday. (Prepared by Pastor Dr. Art Haimerl) I hope you enjoyed it as much as I.</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY!</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FjkYnzC-jNzffSaxfrvb1zns5oZUPnzNb678CdujDvyRcrHFl9pjzaCXvHU9kf8PdKUqc_w1GpUtr9HT78K6fOfsBw43JqL46ir1mybOORrZgkBoTlMCc8YcF1XhamI6zxx9T2zNCCY/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FjkYnzC-jNzffSaxfrvb1zns5oZUPnzNb678CdujDvyRcrHFl9pjzaCXvHU9kf8PdKUqc_w1GpUtr9HT78K6fOfsBw43JqL46ir1mybOORrZgkBoTlMCc8YcF1XhamI6zxx9T2zNCCY/s200/tonysig3.GIF" t8="true" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-23250973317187974352011-05-22T19:10:00.000-04:002011-05-22T19:10:28.304-04:00Versus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbfT2hCvU2frqPU-o4bCEfRKUZBFt2awTGnLJCVSbov9h7_Y84q44_AatYjcVozzgmo_ZBMwbcHSS6YvEynnOoX9RWt2g-AgD5_hdZVryq9N7IMHSh8L4TBAWlDAhYCv5c7LhC8kwjaM/s1600/us+them.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbfT2hCvU2frqPU-o4bCEfRKUZBFt2awTGnLJCVSbov9h7_Y84q44_AatYjcVozzgmo_ZBMwbcHSS6YvEynnOoX9RWt2g-AgD5_hdZVryq9N7IMHSh8L4TBAWlDAhYCv5c7LhC8kwjaM/s1600/us+them.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A bit of fortune had found me as I arrived at my destination early. I was testing the boundaries of quantum physics at attempting to be at many places at one time. I sir or madam, am a sports parent.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyRJWyxdB_CFv_vlyojE5__5dvosMk9kiZL9T4NMtvKvcHg_ep3eGXbsTqZFbRpm1EmG2811HwxPbzIL6zq5mtnQb9AS5eeFLvA1xlRNVA4XJYjP1TpPxt8nJx6Um1BhAJnQkgHN_aKc/s1600/chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyRJWyxdB_CFv_vlyojE5__5dvosMk9kiZL9T4NMtvKvcHg_ep3eGXbsTqZFbRpm1EmG2811HwxPbzIL6zq5mtnQb9AS5eeFLvA1xlRNVA4XJYjP1TpPxt8nJx6Um1BhAJnQkgHN_aKc/s1600/chair.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After performing a perfect drop at a baseball game, then dashing to get my other to a soccer game to then meet up someplace else a few moments later, I unfolded my weathered nylon chair and assumed my position at the sidelines of the soccer field. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My daughter trotted off to meet her teammates off to the side as the other team was still engaged in their own game currently on the field. I was not aware that the typical protocol of conduct was to stand back and wait your turn to unfold your foldable chair along the sideline until the prior team has departed or at least until the game was concluded. I mean I was ealry for crying out loud. That should allow for something. I sat oblivious in the sunshine.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I did not know who was playing. I knew no one nor the team names, rankings, or favorites. I simply watched. Both teams were impressive for the young men were of approximate middle school age and played like champs. Since I was not attached to either team, I enjoyed every moment. I also noticed that my heart rate was stable as I simply enjoyed what I was in the presence of. I couldn’t label any play as “good or bad” as I was rooting for no one in particular. To me it was “X” versus “Y”.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAxNHopITZ53MkR6Rt9yMashuQsUuBrCvh_i4gsbaO5JUM_saYx06VN3x_uHVp7AZD0sNrZSh1lsqgKaAMpYndK6HGpw-BWiYGjFMe-m2HQD2SHFphSHL_jBHOw95b26CYXIR4P2B0Rok/s1600/blood+pressure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAxNHopITZ53MkR6Rt9yMashuQsUuBrCvh_i4gsbaO5JUM_saYx06VN3x_uHVp7AZD0sNrZSh1lsqgKaAMpYndK6HGpw-BWiYGjFMe-m2HQD2SHFphSHL_jBHOw95b26CYXIR4P2B0Rok/s200/blood+pressure.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I then pondered how I may be able to learn from this. I like my lessons obscure. I wondered how life may be a bit more tolerable if we were not so attached to a “side”, or an opinion, or an identity. I wondered, “Could I live without the 'versus' in my life?” I also wondered how I may be able to spend more time simply observing–living without attachment to the “score” that I may gain greater serenity and perhaps lowered stress and blood pressure–a tall order indeed. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I recalled then a glorious day from my past. I asked my then eighty three year-old grandmother to go play golf. My grandfather had passed away and she lived alone alongside a small town golf course. He was a one-time club champion that had a love-affair with the sport–she, a petite woman of small stature a competent golfer as well.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I remembered as his cancer was taking the final shreds of his memory; he was peering out his living room picture window that overlooked the town golf course. He stated longingly, “I wish I could get back out and play a round of...” He forgot what it was called. Cancer turned out the lights on the last of his favorite memories. The game was called “golf” dear sir. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9Getuu92KdvF0vRauNH481DARJGDOlxjkStmcc4MzrmGLYqE8oSr_VuQb4rakLflRWnWqJndOgLGNqXfvm7gRUe2XownwbDTutM4TqWBH0xknWbJrSoSJIyRxF7M4btnP0n8Fiel4es/s1600/golf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9Getuu92KdvF0vRauNH481DARJGDOlxjkStmcc4MzrmGLYqE8oSr_VuQb4rakLflRWnWqJndOgLGNqXfvm7gRUe2XownwbDTutM4TqWBH0xknWbJrSoSJIyRxF7M4btnP0n8Fiel4es/s200/golf.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My grandmother and I met on a sunny morning in the cart that belonged to my grandfather. My octogenarian grandmother, I called her Grandmama, slowly asserted her way to the tee. She methodically went through the motions like a champ preparing her shot. With smooth yet feeble grace she raised the club until it rested back on her shoulder. She yanked it down using her shoulder as a lever until the club connected with the ball propelling it a straight and smooth hundred yards or so. I tried to impress her and shanked it about two hundred yards into the woods off to the right. I took a drop by hers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I offered that we tear up the score card and just chat. I learned she was an artist. I heard of her young life. We shared precious company. I listened as she spoke of Granddaddy. I miss him. I heard things that I may not have heard as well if I were so worried about the score–about how I would turn out at the end of the game. I miss her also. She passed as the nasty of nasties got her too. She left me with the gift of a memory I won’t soon forget.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XAickVsUYOkUckX9dxDc1TdKEBT4_yDGNHfMirfks0c6fAKqHDUrxUhRwYMylkPHFs3Yord07B2-V9UXchBraPjOLKqu0o8dZdBV5w6KHcoGbzEMzZ3MV1CVHm-2Oki1JuTB5y48sYQ/s1600/will+farrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XAickVsUYOkUckX9dxDc1TdKEBT4_yDGNHfMirfks0c6fAKqHDUrxUhRwYMylkPHFs3Yord07B2-V9UXchBraPjOLKqu0o8dZdBV5w6KHcoGbzEMzZ3MV1CVHm-2Oki1JuTB5y48sYQ/s200/will+farrel.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As my stroll down memory lane was disturbed by the screams, taunts, and bellers from the parents flanking me yelling at or for one of the players in front of me, I became thankful for another moment I could live without the score card. I was reminded of the importance of the practice of being the observer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">By allowing and observing I find I am lesser of a victim of random circumstances as I once thought I was. People do not pull out in front of me in traffic to beat me to where I am going. I am not living without some things that I desire because others “beat” me to it. They were more adept, and it was simply not my turn yet. I am not always in the Super Bowl with me versus them. It is okay to watch without labels and opinions.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I love the thrill of a good competition as much as the next guy. I truly do. But I realize that I must try to remain aware of when there is no match, game, or competition. I must remain aware when it is okay to simply tear up the score card and try to enjoy the sport. I must try to seek out times to relax in a place where I can root for all the players playing. I will try to treat more people like my son’s baseball coach and look for the ways I can express “great job”, “nice play”, “good catch”, even when the out puts someone on the bench.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnv2Gi6Caz43lVe3sdTHUyVZau6FTQgmuATa5SCNUu4jftmVs6YQt3gP3cEjivj9L-fhRMwWWoM5VlmXUsPjqpwTkRMmzgnjSQWmVN1PTqvfA8v-DkDuf38nvJakcfAc3wS4mauBaQs-E/s1600/buck+fan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnv2Gi6Caz43lVe3sdTHUyVZau6FTQgmuATa5SCNUu4jftmVs6YQt3gP3cEjivj9L-fhRMwWWoM5VlmXUsPjqpwTkRMmzgnjSQWmVN1PTqvfA8v-DkDuf38nvJakcfAc3wS4mauBaQs-E/s200/buck+fan.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So if you see a guy sitting on the sidelines smiling, nodding in approval, or cheering on your efforts, and you have no clue at all who that could be, maybe it will be me. I could care less about your score. Just know that in the heart of competition though, it may not occur in the fall at the sideline of a Michigan and Ohio State Game. When it comes to that, it is Buckeyes all the way!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGuvsL-SaNu5_G87vwlLAUvJHBnoFLS16M28L9Gkp1dLX1oyQYET2vPmHX6VLAlyoAuCY-H7EpP4P2NF0Mix30Lf_TnAhyJng6jFaCzVHDcM_wBHrAtAsKYfZJH6b8XUMBhAqEm-2b7M/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGuvsL-SaNu5_G87vwlLAUvJHBnoFLS16M28L9Gkp1dLX1oyQYET2vPmHX6VLAlyoAuCY-H7EpP4P2NF0Mix30Lf_TnAhyJng6jFaCzVHDcM_wBHrAtAsKYfZJH6b8XUMBhAqEm-2b7M/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-29920924152094975072011-05-13T16:42:00.000-04:002011-05-13T16:42:08.151-04:00Perfectly Imperfect<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2SIekKQHVtTcYBn0_Vc4z1xCqU-CXG3bzVMjuDcF6jLpQIALpNZGLcn59_MfFiu0O1dUzBDP8Z4h5jwcrjT3DGeMeJLD9UA6SEUoK_QFwB9FhUxG59tsZfSSd7Jfu4qHavXXwAiJ1yE/s1600/cracked+vase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2SIekKQHVtTcYBn0_Vc4z1xCqU-CXG3bzVMjuDcF6jLpQIALpNZGLcn59_MfFiu0O1dUzBDP8Z4h5jwcrjT3DGeMeJLD9UA6SEUoK_QFwB9FhUxG59tsZfSSd7Jfu4qHavXXwAiJ1yE/s200/cracked+vase.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Trying to be perfect is exhausting. Searching for perfection is exhausting. It is like swimming against an infinite current with no shore in sight. What leads people to feel the need to become “perfect”? Is it to feel better than? Is it to feel separate from? Is it to feel righteously enlightened to have or know that which others do not? I’m done swimming.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJsqW4j6wfj8eAVm8TiHiqXWHRWLVrqVSxOkKHOK5Ld0CNWH1izoAvXhUyqwurNpMsnYyHyUdgxOPvQoQvFh3RVYgSoQS8PrpzTrCQ5lRRlMHqFpqYd-HsNncaYNXF1wR3TDZsOxeutg/s1600/leaf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJsqW4j6wfj8eAVm8TiHiqXWHRWLVrqVSxOkKHOK5Ld0CNWH1izoAvXhUyqwurNpMsnYyHyUdgxOPvQoQvFh3RVYgSoQS8PrpzTrCQ5lRRlMHqFpqYd-HsNncaYNXF1wR3TDZsOxeutg/s200/leaf.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I have found through my defects and challenges that I find places for expansion. For growth. Perfect would be boring. I have a feeling it would be lonely. In my own reflection I assume that the desire for improvement would wane and then I would ripen on the vine eventually falling to the ground to rot and be forgotten.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFaKo-uJCpTf2b-CDodZXmON6o8gYC48LiKQTzh_Td6voJey5mnRmE1wTWiKWo_yOlwhO7yDEVdOZQ8z3MQCfae5QzkiyNj60r8VBGZjn2eRzDmitGHd2ovxg_ymTk-mzXwh9W6BFHO0/s1600/table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFaKo-uJCpTf2b-CDodZXmON6o8gYC48LiKQTzh_Td6voJey5mnRmE1wTWiKWo_yOlwhO7yDEVdOZQ8z3MQCfae5QzkiyNj60r8VBGZjn2eRzDmitGHd2ovxg_ymTk-mzXwh9W6BFHO0/s200/table.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In searching for perfection I must look beyond where I am. In casting my gaze outward, looking for that which is not here I miss the beauty that lies within the “almost-but-not-quiteness” that connects me to the present. It is the realization of a need to become aware of my shortcomings that keeps me mindful of my bond to others and that I share their space instead of a belief that I hover above them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAZlrMBiY4sGUSEKWdXWn2t-CzHJF-ejNMf1xuR0xNEg4zBqA1jaH6jFigZcx9Le-Y06_DLAkrBhgK4gJCF6H_G5Wf410K-9Gck5gCQc4vg3REWt7mAB-VLqM146hcnIrjj1uDoRRMYE/s1600/door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAZlrMBiY4sGUSEKWdXWn2t-CzHJF-ejNMf1xuR0xNEg4zBqA1jaH6jFigZcx9Le-Y06_DLAkrBhgK4gJCF6H_G5Wf410K-9Gck5gCQc4vg3REWt7mAB-VLqM146hcnIrjj1uDoRRMYE/s200/door.jpg" width="150px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have found that spirituality is not an evolutionary process of becoming more “divine” in my nature. To me it is a realization of what I am and that there is more to be unveiled. This perpetual revealing is where I find my desire for cultivation lies. It is a profound respect for my flaws and defects that become the catalyst for growth through an unending quest for understanding–an understanding that there is beauty in the flawed. There is character in the splintered. There is grace in the disheveled. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJr1PXLI7Z0wzqTCvde9BgrF8iP0hmetfHnY33VNqpNidqUZ9Ie_mvgk0uCD8S712TAgBJFiImIsHMXHvEfRZweuNMgrVJoc7OZtQVcJy07WjmFTfisuxSf_xq0tKpscy7TYCtxZU-oT0/s1600/cups.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJr1PXLI7Z0wzqTCvde9BgrF8iP0hmetfHnY33VNqpNidqUZ9Ie_mvgk0uCD8S712TAgBJFiImIsHMXHvEfRZweuNMgrVJoc7OZtQVcJy07WjmFTfisuxSf_xq0tKpscy7TYCtxZU-oT0/s200/cups.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The Japanese concept of Wabi-sabi poetically represents this. It acknowledges that nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect. It is through this somewhat melancholy realization that a spiritual journey begins. As the perfect is elusive, the goal of improvement is engaged. The spiritual is finding the beauty in the unfinished points of interest along the way. The lessons lie in the souvenirs we obtain through life experiences–the skinned knees often relinquishing more value than the slam-dunks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQFAlIqVSI4KDPkBS8fOsNkl0vXEg6yYKIS8qVoQUArp2_7Dvc8JLSUtxzFi9RNtR7nbngij-9BOzuH24iOpRw76CzBhon5haW_3k5-vRlLXUwofud4sVlQ0qD1FVEQtXRl5u1LvNp-s/s1600/flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQFAlIqVSI4KDPkBS8fOsNkl0vXEg6yYKIS8qVoQUArp2_7Dvc8JLSUtxzFi9RNtR7nbngij-9BOzuH24iOpRw76CzBhon5haW_3k5-vRlLXUwofud4sVlQ0qD1FVEQtXRl5u1LvNp-s/s200/flowers.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">If beauty, love or spiritual connection were perfect, there would be one uniform standard. Some would have it, others would not. But as we see in beauty, love, and spirit, we can connect on a variety of levels that can only be denoted of significant value by those experiencing it. Those on the sidelines of these experiences must gain a wisdom that imperfection can at times be simply relevant to our own narrow scope of perspective, and that we may need to expand that perspective to draw closer to our own divine center.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlfZwvlf08pOPTIki_yFEunfMJMSfnH3Va208StC-ngSZbwvHv0LNBdxzPcYqla99EzxvkwGk1VkuVFzZALGWHImNwutJyZ2aRe6lHudrwhIOJEtId8FTv333fpy1m76M2Cejn40a2g7E/s1600/mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlfZwvlf08pOPTIki_yFEunfMJMSfnH3Va208StC-ngSZbwvHv0LNBdxzPcYqla99EzxvkwGk1VkuVFzZALGWHImNwutJyZ2aRe6lHudrwhIOJEtId8FTv333fpy1m76M2Cejn40a2g7E/s200/mirror.jpg" width="150px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I no longer want to be perfect. It would make me lazy. Then would I still be perfect? It makes my head hurt. I do know that I do seek a spiritual improvement on being led to a greater appreciation for the imperfection that makes life abundant with possibility, expansion, and connection. I also enjoy finding that I am not alone. We all have our nicks, dings, and dents. It is this weathering and antiquing of my soul that I feel gives me character. My trips and stumbles, falls and recoveries are simply stamps in my life’s passport. I have stories to tell. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcZBdLgeWHMO7ToPyRO3EautJ3ICfMvc1WTccULM5tlb6zr9265aygTaRZjcfZWJi2TlUnINOzaRTxtB6_07vsiL7k3ch0EjCbaX7_ZvuFlECPrAxsATXFLJvkRXocoa0yo7gctN5Zc8/s1600/sidewalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcZBdLgeWHMO7ToPyRO3EautJ3ICfMvc1WTccULM5tlb6zr9265aygTaRZjcfZWJi2TlUnINOzaRTxtB6_07vsiL7k3ch0EjCbaX7_ZvuFlECPrAxsATXFLJvkRXocoa0yo7gctN5Zc8/s200/sidewalk.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><br />
I am Wabi-sabi. I am perfectly imperfect. <br />
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<div class="zemanta-pixie"><div align="justify" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgg9HF64Wab73AQOiBbXBEDYZo0ObK56B0uBf3sgA5ppqKM26HcDg909vlHurEBK-ngO2xui6QNfvtpes8odDnyDzK99S8400PTH9LWQUv0jaJeDghvaQ5Y9vcPMygZKB5nWa5hY6F1jE/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgg9HF64Wab73AQOiBbXBEDYZo0ObK56B0uBf3sgA5ppqKM26HcDg909vlHurEBK-ngO2xui6QNfvtpes8odDnyDzK99S8400PTH9LWQUv0jaJeDghvaQ5Y9vcPMygZKB5nWa5hY6F1jE/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div><img alt="" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/pixy.gif" /></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-22885457499944101702011-05-03T22:38:00.001-04:002011-05-04T22:16:24.623-04:00Love is a Verb<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSz2D5cI19nNN_ublqoOnqtppdC3b6AoU2UOw7ub_glwmX9z7buONI53auao10lfXWz4ZafidDtGgD3GERctLbrQw0TpaUOi-gzMmQ44yNEkTuhQYzwGqATd8wmN_g-CmizI8LMCRUS8o/s1600/love+verb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSz2D5cI19nNN_ublqoOnqtppdC3b6AoU2UOw7ub_glwmX9z7buONI53auao10lfXWz4ZafidDtGgD3GERctLbrQw0TpaUOi-gzMmQ44yNEkTuhQYzwGqATd8wmN_g-CmizI8LMCRUS8o/s200/love+verb.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><br />
<strong><u>Verb</u></strong> – A word that describes <strong><em>an action, occurence, or state-of-being</em></strong>.<br />
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I am a listener. Always have been. In my professional life I spent many, many years perched alongside many who would pour out their souls in the confident embrace that only a hairdresser could provide. I have heard everything from bang trims, to back pain–from menstrual cramps to murder. <br />
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I also found that my services were sometimes a by-product of the time spent with me. People crave connection. People want to be heard, they want an audience, and they want to feel valued if even only for a brief moment. I found that people sought and desired compassion. They want <strong><em>love</em></strong>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicytqG7XpP1hfAGwIMJNhRRFH7z6iDAtumv2dDfYLRnW2-TJVwyQN3IKab-tEjpF7XeZpBon8cxAZkB9D4xdycNKn4E1flQBZm81Oigg3xEMfcJDKb2Tu2OXGdAtMKZe6LNzUalpEWIWU/s1600/hook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicytqG7XpP1hfAGwIMJNhRRFH7z6iDAtumv2dDfYLRnW2-TJVwyQN3IKab-tEjpF7XeZpBon8cxAZkB9D4xdycNKn4E1flQBZm81Oigg3xEMfcJDKb2Tu2OXGdAtMKZe6LNzUalpEWIWU/s200/hook.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><br />
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Many people would sit in front of me seeking advice or thumbing through books looking for new “bait” to put upon the proverbial hook. They sought a magnetism that would attract the attention and affection of others. They would also seek to elevate how they perceived themselves. <br />
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This lonely quest for love is perpetuated by feelings of powerlessness. We are fooled to believe that this emotion, ethereal and elusive is beyond our grasp. I found that I was saddened by noticing the proliferation of those feeling separate–a state of bottomless wanting hoping that the void would become occupied with tangible evidence that one is <em>“worthy”</em> to have this “butterfly” land upon the shoulders of the deserving.<br />
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I too spent many hours feeling defeated, deprived, and depleted in my search for this state, this “rainbow” that was colorful and brilliant, yet no matter how fast I closed in on it, the faster it seemed to move away. This love not only in an affectionate sense from a mate, but from friends, family, and others–myself.<br />
I felt that if others did not want me, I may be fractured. Maybe unable to contain the nourishing nectar love was able to provide to only the secure. How long would I have to wait? What must I do? Is there a manual? Is there criteria? Does love do a background check?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJq9sPPF83JB8E-FY_UUoTFWqp7nW8a2V01UFJxZmISWDcoRC0jbeQ7e5rwPIu3UtMeA3pgiZ1qn5E62NlSCXAIzUP2AeSMHX9zvFXqTaA_zzScNTDPfiWGgNqdlWH9hjBkYgRUl2vfE/s1600/bubbles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJq9sPPF83JB8E-FY_UUoTFWqp7nW8a2V01UFJxZmISWDcoRC0jbeQ7e5rwPIu3UtMeA3pgiZ1qn5E62NlSCXAIzUP2AeSMHX9zvFXqTaA_zzScNTDPfiWGgNqdlWH9hjBkYgRUl2vfE/s200/bubbles.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div>I would “numb” myself and saw others do the same, wallowing in a pool of shame watching my self-worth drop like stocks in a recession. I no longer took stock in myself. I grasped at love like a child trying to catch bubbles blown in a gust of wind. In my attempt to clutch them, they burst. It burst. I burst.<br />
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I turned to contempt. To loathing. To judgment. It was your fault as much as it was mine. I used to be good enough, or so I thought. If I suck, then you suck too!<br />
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I wanted the feeling of the warm and fuzzy, the connected and cozy, and it required an ingredient I could not get which another had to provide. I thought if I had that ingredient I could feel a certain way. Then and only then would all be well. I felt I had the lock but someone else had the key.<br />
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Then it dawned on me<strong><em>–Love is not an emotion as much as it is a verb.</em></strong> A shift in my perception, created a shift in my reality!<br />
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The seeds of love are steeped in action that I can activate upon my very choosing. When thinking of loving someone, I thought, “HOW do I love someone?” <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="137px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwZU2QrlYOLvE72S2ewVYtkqdnYpk-osl6rpKtY18oLrbuk1V9qPBk7hNxtzxzi2MwNXZO62NDwcjlEb4wG8VYey2ofvsqno-fVVCCG8n-0s4TBiLIdTxZBnbMhlFm9OfW6Ayf3Zmb3g/s200/free+hugs.jpg" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click to see video</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I show compassion to them. I find humor, and brilliance in who they are. I am accepting of them for their uniqueness. I offer them forgiveness, a lot of forgiveness. I desire to have them at my side. I try to connect with them on an intellectual level to better understand their world so I can seamlessly merge it with my own. I want to grow from them. I am myself with them. I do not try to control them unless I am attempting to try to elevate them. These are all actions.<br />
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I found that by engaging in the <strong><em>activities</em></strong> of love, I was planting that which I could harvest later. The more nurturing and pure the intention behind the gestures, the greater the harvest!<br />
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I also found to receive love; we must be “lovable.” Creating love through my loving actions created a source of love others gravitated towards. I no longer felt that I had to change the bait on the hook trying to <strong><em>"snare"</em></strong> someone or something with a continually changing facade. Love became gravitational and sought me out. I found myself abundantly surrounded by that which I always try to demand from others.<br />
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In practicing these loving gestures, I also found that I never had to manipulate my strategies. Since all people, even including the ones in a given relationship send, receive, and interpret love as an emotion differently, I found the actions were similar which created the desired emotional states personally tailored to the experience.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqb4P7dSAV7_VOsfiJjZ57D5caO7J_HAkDUWyS5ZqCoN5h9TNc_wSwZBBbwjbR8H4aLPHRggFvyqvl9GCebbbAX5NAc4F_0-oxLrvwIYg7XVw03fEl-w5xI0ACthInp0-9zOWu9J3dQM/s1600/key+ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqb4P7dSAV7_VOsfiJjZ57D5caO7J_HAkDUWyS5ZqCoN5h9TNc_wSwZBBbwjbR8H4aLPHRggFvyqvl9GCebbbAX5NAc4F_0-oxLrvwIYg7XVw03fEl-w5xI0ACthInp0-9zOWu9J3dQM/s200/key+ring.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div>In showing acceptance, appreciation, tolerance, absence of judgment, support, nurturing, affection, and accommodation, I find most experience their desired interpretation of love. This was so much simpler than trying to go through a huge set of keys trying to see which one opened the vault.<br />
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The beauty of all this came to me when I realized I could start with myself. I could express these actions to myself! I could become my own catalyst of love and start to develop it in myself and my space. I found that it was almost like being able to print money but the value of the minted material I found was much more valuable and brilliant.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHUPd2aUH_wzPlvzAsjtXV-w2elUyq1vvj5zVBKkJfoG4UVQHcY2upIAqCWLTXP4EYsEOdQoLHscUypPvIbiCPORjtZDe7cinMWc_BZshyphenhyphenKQ0X8z68VC-VTPXLH01vZbLeKsgBUABknrw/s1600/self+hug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHUPd2aUH_wzPlvzAsjtXV-w2elUyq1vvj5zVBKkJfoG4UVQHcY2upIAqCWLTXP4EYsEOdQoLHscUypPvIbiCPORjtZDe7cinMWc_BZshyphenhyphenKQ0X8z68VC-VTPXLH01vZbLeKsgBUABknrw/s200/self+hug.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div>I now find an absence of the destructive thoughts and behaviors that once burdened me. These thoughts based upon a low self-worth due to the absence of something I felt I was not worthy of, or was tired of having pass me by. I no longer feel separate, ashamed, hollow, or lesser-than.<br />
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I encourage people to consider HOW they love, and HOW they like to be loved, and then <strong><em>do</em></strong> those things. I guarantee you; the emotions that once shifted in our lives like the weather seem to provide much more sunshine, and the storms become that much more bearable.<br />
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Take action! Something will occur! And we will receive the state-of being!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi48lsBLK9grTRO1GiphT6lzzraJNGaXcZswMTGaAyzDHzVs80mAjS-bryUW4No4DWuJnwrs5tUalDIArQ4q542D2Lbd2vNJbVEDf07SaNcAg9Jd4pqAfaODe5hk9Qzn61tEaLuCu2jQ2k/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi48lsBLK9grTRO1GiphT6lzzraJNGaXcZswMTGaAyzDHzVs80mAjS-bryUW4No4DWuJnwrs5tUalDIArQ4q542D2Lbd2vNJbVEDf07SaNcAg9Jd4pqAfaODe5hk9Qzn61tEaLuCu2jQ2k/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-18443899097449941722011-04-22T11:11:00.001-04:002011-04-22T22:01:26.905-04:00Suffering is Optional<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpv7dx6mPLisCDz0GCjf6cqvEE11VntpAZhg-rzgmFePdvM3zr-sFf7gaiECoJNy_Hw9wpg7ZwWnD5qxz7Rh-BMduy7Xyjqe7m-x6JtlF_obekGTlJaGJmYvekih4Pajz7-uSlDtl3gkA/s1600/suffering.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpv7dx6mPLisCDz0GCjf6cqvEE11VntpAZhg-rzgmFePdvM3zr-sFf7gaiECoJNy_Hw9wpg7ZwWnD5qxz7Rh-BMduy7Xyjqe7m-x6JtlF_obekGTlJaGJmYvekih4Pajz7-uSlDtl3gkA/s200/suffering.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div><strong><em>Some of the worst things I ever experienced never really happened. </em></strong> I was real good, a “master” mind you, of being able to take a grain of pain and create a mountain of suffering. It was familiar, like a comfy blanket I could wrap myself in–one that confirmed my reality. I could lie swaddled in my circumstances knowing my role of “victim” was secure.<br />
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I have realized the universe will usually prove me right. This is a great paradigm I awakened to but only after realizing that it works in two ways. For many years I would exclaim, “My life sucks!” It would prove me right. “I am going nowhere!” It would prove me right. “The world is full of evil people.” It would prove me right. “I am never going to get out of this (insert challenging circumstance)!” It would prove me right.<br />
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It is our focus that often binds us to our perceived insurmountable obstacles. Our self-victimization that we are being caught in the crosshairs of a malicious God or universe–that our <strong><em>purpose</em></strong> must be one of suffering. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPDKoEox7gfxa3Z7WPlvxzYu7V459WEWQpW5qpE9ZFEOfxOEn1JGgxPS7nh5CzgRakZG4CWeqfjxGzChPKWxLHew1VizKBuXvJ9iODQsSlUnAhoPwmEXdpgv1zgYO9QdyKsM1lPX0dSI/s1600/gripping+bars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPDKoEox7gfxa3Z7WPlvxzYu7V459WEWQpW5qpE9ZFEOfxOEn1JGgxPS7nh5CzgRakZG4CWeqfjxGzChPKWxLHew1VizKBuXvJ9iODQsSlUnAhoPwmEXdpgv1zgYO9QdyKsM1lPX0dSI/s200/gripping+bars.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div>I lament at the awareness now that I spent so many years in a self-conjured prison with my hands gripping the bars white-knuckled and screaming to be set free. In my unrelenting grip trying to rattle the binds of my own Bastille, I never let go of the bars to realize I held the “key” in my own pocket. My focus affixed on the jailor “out-there” distracting my gaze–incapacitating me to simply reach “inside” for the key I already held. <strong><em>My focus kept me blind.</em></strong><br />
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Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. <br />
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Pain is the circumstances life bestows upon us to strengthen us, challenge us, bind us, and perhaps reconnect us to our faith. It nudges our rudder to keep our lives fresh and vibrant–although often not of our liking or choosing, inevitable none-the-less. The most righteous, rehearsed, learned, and cautious will succumb to the inevitable brush with pain. Yes it hurts, but for how long will we <strong><em>allow</em></strong> it to remain?<br />
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Suffering however is where we continue to remind ourselves that we still should be hurting. We writhe in the familiar only because we bring it along like a carry-on bag in our life’s voyage. This can occur with people who have encountered great obstacles: addiction, divorce, loss, disease. For some reason <strong><em>the obstacle becomes the "identity."</em></strong> We drop our anchor in yesterday retarding our ability to sail again. There is a difference between fear and respect. Fear paralyzes one into inactivity. Respect empowers one into seeking new paths. <em>Respect </em>your painful experiences, don’t <em>fear</em> them.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-BzNT2zHT8fEQ5BYtPEokOXP1Y7XW8mD9vzwH6VmiQj_A-krAgrIFI5QB5x_HDa2ues4dpeCpnInXfAOiea4EReCYZ2cTqwwsDQsi5N_9bTK-2ppiFfbxUhBU2BKV4MJLlGSh9TGnfw/s1600/play+button.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-BzNT2zHT8fEQ5BYtPEokOXP1Y7XW8mD9vzwH6VmiQj_A-krAgrIFI5QB5x_HDa2ues4dpeCpnInXfAOiea4EReCYZ2cTqwwsDQsi5N_9bTK-2ppiFfbxUhBU2BKV4MJLlGSh9TGnfw/s200/play+button.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div>I find that many enjoy pushing the “play” button on these little movies that run in our mind. We continually rewind, hit play, and re-experience the event over and over. At the end we say, “See, THAT is why I feel this way!” The brain cannot differentiate between the current and the movie, so you will indeed get the same biological responses repeatedly: nervousness, anxiety, heart palpitations, tears, anger, and the entire cornucopia of physical symptoms that accompanied the original event. Play a lot of movies, get a lot of responses. Pain is the original event. Suffering is the rewinding and replaying. Pain we cannot control. Suffering we can. Put down the remote!<br />
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Nowadays I dedicate myself to trying to remain aware of my CHOICE of FOCUS. I have found the simple key has been in my pocket all along. I decided to stop screaming through the bars, screaming in my pillow, screaming in the mirror and simply decide to rearrange what I focused on in my recovery from any challenging situation. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUr3e3tzfSwgT08WyaRgxFTC7HuHSkNMV1pEHImDClEJCbbugrweC3ni-TmZuZCAiAgkYZqzh61FSnPEpfPLHjiA2O4Gm7doYA0qdZyHUwqUBLUqpbEZ09TJvHVXUNnTXYM09pM90jsdw/s1600/hand+over+key.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUr3e3tzfSwgT08WyaRgxFTC7HuHSkNMV1pEHImDClEJCbbugrweC3ni-TmZuZCAiAgkYZqzh61FSnPEpfPLHjiA2O4Gm7doYA0qdZyHUwqUBLUqpbEZ09TJvHVXUNnTXYM09pM90jsdw/s200/hand+over+key.jpg" width="132px" /></a>If I decide to say, “I know I will bounce back from this!” The universe will prove me right. “There is a way out!” It will prove me right. “I am strong enough to handle this!” It will prove me right. “I am not alone in my trials and tribulations!” It will prove me right. “There are powers greater than myself at work in all of this!” Proof will indeed manifest.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Like many men, for many years I had to have my keys in my pocket, remote in hand, and know where I was going. Now I enjoy the journey knowing in advance I will eventually arrive where I should. I realize too that there are certain things I no longer need my remote for. And if you need a key, extend your hands through the bars and you can have one of mine.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTdNmI4SO7ZstJOMuuNGXP1mBGqRImOIYENh6L_KT2x-jbfF0mNftUKeaKNPDmp65_3TRqtFBdKnrs5sld20uhYoVtLh0b2yNyHgykjU4kUvlwMBXzFSd8sJ1tJTQgnmvEaGsa28sLTw/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTdNmI4SO7ZstJOMuuNGXP1mBGqRImOIYENh6L_KT2x-jbfF0mNftUKeaKNPDmp65_3TRqtFBdKnrs5sld20uhYoVtLh0b2yNyHgykjU4kUvlwMBXzFSd8sJ1tJTQgnmvEaGsa28sLTw/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200px" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-14319426300133196932011-04-11T10:25:00.002-04:002011-04-11T11:56:18.034-04:00Park Placards<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-lpf9l4ET__t2HNYC5FQaA-e2UKSSPuEr7hsi23OoB1WxcWNZ622C9qxtMBFu0buTjuvVg4uGCgADsewAur7Sjk5cnvUZFNNOWOJUbdrdfmW63hylHHMocCH7tlFC0hNURRmlUlWNIKc/s1600/Park+Bench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-lpf9l4ET__t2HNYC5FQaA-e2UKSSPuEr7hsi23OoB1WxcWNZ622C9qxtMBFu0buTjuvVg4uGCgADsewAur7Sjk5cnvUZFNNOWOJUbdrdfmW63hylHHMocCH7tlFC0hNURRmlUlWNIKc/s200/Park+Bench.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>I was embarrassed. Or was it my ego knocking at the door? Both maybe. Either way I felt uncomfortable. It had been a while. It was unsettling and yet familiar.<br />
<br />
<br />
The evening sun was lowering over the baseball diamond where my son and a collection of other young hopefuls were enjoying the first practice of the season. They scrambled about after the ball similar to the action you see when you throw a handful of corn to chickens. To many of them it was yet another step toward their image appearing on a box of Wheaties, to others–a great way to spend time with friends and family.<br />
<br />
A handful of the parents sat on the aluminum bleachers. Introductions were extended as were idle pleasantries. <br />
<br />
“That my son, the one with the blue shirt, grey shorts.”<br />
<br />
“Great! Mine is the one with the yellow shirt and baseball pants.”<br />
<br />
A smile of acknowledgment and then a reflective pause. <br />
<br />
The conversations ensued around me. <br />
<br />
“So, what do you do?” <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHyd5h-_YliYst-XD4f2QXWlddIkiqYyvW0whYTTo_Z_oT_uSj5rURqWzwvQL7x6ruSHZW-s_0ZirAvqa9qmEYBG8h3G5Lx7ffNAYBM9wQIb7aCToFkIqDWq_iA6-m2AQ3WwO1gVRWkFc/s1600/alphabet+soup.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHyd5h-_YliYst-XD4f2QXWlddIkiqYyvW0whYTTo_Z_oT_uSj5rURqWzwvQL7x6ruSHZW-s_0ZirAvqa9qmEYBG8h3G5Lx7ffNAYBM9wQIb7aCToFkIqDWq_iA6-m2AQ3WwO1gVRWkFc/s1600/alphabet+soup.bmp" /></a></div>The responses of the other parents contained a collection of letters I have not heard since my last bowl of alphabet soup.<br />
<br />
“I am an XYZ from OSU with a PHD and an MBR and MNY from BYU...”<br />
<br />
“That’s fantastic! I am an alum of OU with an MBA and a DNA from PU as well as a JKL from MNOP.”<br />
<br />
Intelligent laughter bonded the two.<br />
<br />
I put in my iPod headphones.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>In my mind it went</em></strong>- <br />
<br />
“So what do you do Tony?”<br />
<br />
“I invented space travel, post-it notes, human reproduction, milk shakes, and a cure for cancer!”<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9lQdtwrekv7WFuixgFIs7L6xqahuyPAhxNhiQsK3XRbGMxGs5ZSnWsxUCES5IcVo4WLlDKfK9pRLammiR51XmSCm9Qy5TGHZ18ooqPLeprD5QQYeUGMI6oiUYVQZnwNr-AMUrWEfgLE/s1600/PBJ.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9lQdtwrekv7WFuixgFIs7L6xqahuyPAhxNhiQsK3XRbGMxGs5ZSnWsxUCES5IcVo4WLlDKfK9pRLammiR51XmSCm9Qy5TGHZ18ooqPLeprD5QQYeUGMI6oiUYVQZnwNr-AMUrWEfgLE/s200/PBJ.bmp" width="200" /></a>“Really!!?” They respond astounded by my brilliance.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">“No. I am an unemployed ex-hairdresser who can make a killer peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”</div><br />
The laughter further crushing, making me even doubt my sandwich making prowess.<br />
<br />
I left as they discussed their achievements. They were not bragging, just bonding and sharing. I walked the circumference of the park. I enjoyed the reflection, the balmy wind, and the sunset. I felt a bit small at the moment. Here I was in mid-life with nothing going on, no business card, feeling as worthless as a breast augmentation coupon to a nun.<br />
<br />
I wrestle with where I am at times. I believe I have noble intentions. I do want to make a difference, but am I? Should I just say “screw it” and take the first job that offers a check, forget my dreams of helping others and be able to at least feel like a contributor? It’s coming way to slow for me.<br />
<br />
I am well aware that often rewards are found only a few paces beyond where the mediocre give up. I need to practice what I preach. I have always said that my greatest fear is not my inability to practice what I preach, but my inability to become aware when I am not doing so.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9fBRTDW0NWK_D223-O0MPSCzTRU7oJwSwyeoMwpSNPSVBS8LnIMwttJ15ZI4gFm-hu6T8euc47ms61G75VNbVAOMLlT-W9euFS5YdXBpJahUFNg69AaUCyVEoEzMmqlzoPjPrXN2lak/s1600/Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9fBRTDW0NWK_D223-O0MPSCzTRU7oJwSwyeoMwpSNPSVBS8LnIMwttJ15ZI4gFm-hu6T8euc47ms61G75VNbVAOMLlT-W9euFS5YdXBpJahUFNg69AaUCyVEoEzMmqlzoPjPrXN2lak/s200/Sunset.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>I continued my walk around the park. I encountered laughter, sports, children, and nature. I reveled in the brilliant orange glow of the progressing sunset. I noticed my surroundings. The park benches called to me.<br />
<br />
Each bench had its own placard at its base– a small metal plaque with the name or names of those who were to be honored or remembered upon initial glance and reflection. I wondered, “Will I ever be worthy of a park bench plaque? What does it take? Will I be easily forgotten? Do I matter?”<br />
<br />
I continued and saw each bench and many trees had a placard with yet another name or two. They must have been special people. I guess I realized that I did not need to know them or their achievements to appreciate their time before me. “Good for you,” I thought.<br />
<br />
I reflected upon the “alphabet soup” I listened to earlier. “Good for them,” I thought. They should be proud, and so should I. I refuse to compare who I am, where I am going, and the depth of the contribution I share on this planet by comparing myself to others of dissimilar paths. <br />
<br />
I am a healer, coach, mentor, father, husband, and swell guy. <br />
<br />
Earlier that day as I was having brunch with my folks, I received a random text. It was from a young lady I had spoken with about a year ago pertaining to certain challenges she faced that were harming her mentally, physically, and causing her family distress. She thanked me stating I “saved her life” in the first few months of her battle.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibNf1llRebXCfcHaDy8mK9s0iahgGqFwbqs8vi5lkQGUsh9vWOs6zmjLcH7L5Bu98a1dJh0uKoScm3ZaaKV2FxBUUG4Bet7YlMqRshtnoAZEcqDkRyctVUhDEjpPAmcOapMsbQoxKw1GM/s1600/Austin+Kite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibNf1llRebXCfcHaDy8mK9s0iahgGqFwbqs8vi5lkQGUsh9vWOs6zmjLcH7L5Bu98a1dJh0uKoScm3ZaaKV2FxBUUG4Bet7YlMqRshtnoAZEcqDkRyctVUhDEjpPAmcOapMsbQoxKw1GM/s200/Austin+Kite.jpg" width="150" /></a>Later that afternoon, I reached out to a friend who had a recent stumble in his own battles. He thanked me for making contact and for the words of encouragement. Hopefully I made a difference.</div><br />
I took my son to fly his first kite later that day watching his eyes light up as he held the power of flight in his hands.<br />
<br />
I saved lives, encouraged lives, and enriched lives in one afternoon. <br />
<br />
I don’t know what “alphabet soup” would encompass that. I do not know how I could put that on a business card. I doubt I will be issued a W-2 this year for my accomplishments. I don’t care as I do not need letters, papers, or a business card to feel like I “matter.” I will figure out how to make this financially viable someday. I feel I am still on the right path.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxHldCddVwbO4XmoUYXP3YeIfqpJvIvQNSms7LvLpd6tHxwF3coj53NU6kOLIMyQi2VLJ0tYGhuiOlkafMsTWdyOuilRXWbwUezdnckm_aRuWSDO3IzKrBv__dZi1UENGUegfrwcIg64/s1600/ardith+plaque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxHldCddVwbO4XmoUYXP3YeIfqpJvIvQNSms7LvLpd6tHxwF3coj53NU6kOLIMyQi2VLJ0tYGhuiOlkafMsTWdyOuilRXWbwUezdnckm_aRuWSDO3IzKrBv__dZi1UENGUegfrwcIg64/s200/ardith+plaque.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTuQ17-j-8O3JGqRE4Yx8hJLcSG_Bef7iW_A1YGStHphzTUhrbovSQgPtyg7fcrdbqyIkTxbKz70yUcfbv8GE_OVcP19evm3Y6TfwRF6H0yAnsdEfi8aKGD27BKAF7F0HUbDIByxJpRys/s1600/tree+plaque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTuQ17-j-8O3JGqRE4Yx8hJLcSG_Bef7iW_A1YGStHphzTUhrbovSQgPtyg7fcrdbqyIkTxbKz70yUcfbv8GE_OVcP19evm3Y6TfwRF6H0yAnsdEfi8aKGD27BKAF7F0HUbDIByxJpRys/s200/tree+plaque.jpg" width="150" /></a>As I respectfully thanked everyone for coming to my pity party, I also thanked Ardith, Byron, and Paul for sharing their benches and shade with me as I sorted out the "stuff." Although I may not get my own park bench placard someday, the couple of texts I got, and the “I love you Dads” I got that day are all the recognition I need.<br />
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<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yHa4no8tmWiWkIrzbLxX40b_w7E6_caOediC9UC1FslOl1FH7-QKbgHN9sLuowktHtoQyua7ugvIOOG9MU1CuriIax-h2VKT1O-3SDUkEihgDd_HCzeuJOv_iVPlVGDuUPUN7V9qcZE/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yHa4no8tmWiWkIrzbLxX40b_w7E6_caOediC9UC1FslOl1FH7-QKbgHN9sLuowktHtoQyua7ugvIOOG9MU1CuriIax-h2VKT1O-3SDUkEihgDd_HCzeuJOv_iVPlVGDuUPUN7V9qcZE/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-35065970448019408062011-03-31T10:52:00.000-04:002011-03-31T10:52:11.525-04:00What have you for me?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ur1h8_8CUD8V5smHXr27rp7UEdsm9m6H94sHDk5vKtLN81S_4O_zfRlPe9oa1Yghd3YXttEr9ErXvMKsuhCBWToSNfsi3xw-5s3ileW4EKBt-v1tKm6eTC5rJ_KB6ipRJOviBl47vbk/s1600/introspect.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ur1h8_8CUD8V5smHXr27rp7UEdsm9m6H94sHDk5vKtLN81S_4O_zfRlPe9oa1Yghd3YXttEr9ErXvMKsuhCBWToSNfsi3xw-5s3ileW4EKBt-v1tKm6eTC5rJ_KB6ipRJOviBl47vbk/s1600/introspect.bmp" /></a></div>I look to myself. I look into the once full well of answers, the once full well of inspiration, the once full well of confidence long since dry. The well filled endlessly by an egoic source–a source of incorrect assumptions, of false information, a source like a false prophet dragging me towards the sun–not to receive the light but to eventual incineration.<br />
<br />
I have found a new sense of navigation. An intrinsic compass that beams its beacon, however only one paver at a time. This diminished light not to blind me but to keep me focused. The light shines on the only true reality which is right Now. The fear of a blurred future now gives way to an immediate gratitude and acceptance that right here, right now is in divine design. I will remain patient, diligent, at peace.<br />
<br />
It is in this peace I find a purpose. To heal others–one must first heal the conflict in oneself. It is through this diatribe within that we encounter our inner villain, our adversary, ourself. We then burst through the chrysalis to the genesis of a fortified purpose. One that is unwavering. We become one and all.<br />
<br />
I look inside and ask myself – what have you for me?<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qac5Ey0MJgJ_f3tm5g2OSMXIVuJW5Mp2cAarlbZPRnrGv8sbKl2bMEhXRFLKFesccpHS8PbGqpfM7eVmmdBcpb9vd0rVReFOadvC6Gccm0p8L35fPUCCzjlxM2MZ6fjMwxNBRRRrTzc/s1600/earth+lying+down.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qac5Ey0MJgJ_f3tm5g2OSMXIVuJW5Mp2cAarlbZPRnrGv8sbKl2bMEhXRFLKFesccpHS8PbGqpfM7eVmmdBcpb9vd0rVReFOadvC6Gccm0p8L35fPUCCzjlxM2MZ6fjMwxNBRRRrTzc/s1600/earth+lying+down.bmp" /></a></div><br />
Emerging, peering outward while reflecting inward I gaze in wonder at the world. What has it become? What have I become? Why this once familiar blue marble has become alien, the transition occurring as I stand upon her regal face. I realize the sun shines behind the clouds in the most torrential of storms, but I wonder how wet we will become. Will we drown before the sun’s rays reach our faces once again?<br />
<br />
Are we the infestation or are we to be the eradication of the detriment and the degradation? I look in her face and I see pain. I also see hope. I see a plea. I see the plea of a mother distraught over watching her children walking in the deep waters desiring to drown succumbing to a less than noble demise. I see a mother who knows the wisdom and potential is there with a reckless disregard for the long term. <br />
<br />
How can one make a difference? I know that I can, but will it be in time? Should I turn a blind eye in effort only to expand my prayer for you feeling powerless? Something tells me no. Something tells me to persevere. Something tells me that I have work to do. Something tells me there are others. Others whose efforts combined will be an elevated catalyst to the change needed to save the life of one which will save the lives of all. I am waiting on the answer.<br />
<br />
Mother Earth–what have you for me?<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlpycSh7ZubU125suuMEHYRfFFPGrGBFHvOjZlz6Oa7mXC8JBFU_L-N1D_y7lFG6pgIGJWVSkm3g8QGiG0bw8w_Wi4mVSBVMnxc1EhdEbr7aZgXjckyAWdDOpGYjEESXvEdl2KmpVl5Uw/s1600/reaching+hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlpycSh7ZubU125suuMEHYRfFFPGrGBFHvOjZlz6Oa7mXC8JBFU_L-N1D_y7lFG6pgIGJWVSkm3g8QGiG0bw8w_Wi4mVSBVMnxc1EhdEbr7aZgXjckyAWdDOpGYjEESXvEdl2KmpVl5Uw/s200/reaching+hands.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
You are in the space between. The silence holds Your presence. I often battle this. I reach to touch Your face yet my hand passes through the ethereal mist. I once longed for physical contact, a simple hug to no avail. I wanted to cry at Your feet, to be consoled that everything would be okay. Like a fragile child I wept at being forsaken. I was looking in the wrong spaces. I see my voice did not fall on deaf ears without compassion.<br />
<br />
I find my search a test. In a universe so vast, how can one find alignment? Where are You? In stilling my quest I found the alignment everywhere; pervasive and pure. When I quieted my cries demanding manifestation I was then able to see what I always longed for was in front of me, behind me, and in me. I smile. Like bathing in a shower of divine protection, I gain security, I gain insight. I gain so that I am able to shed–shed the burden of the load that I was not able to see over blocking my vision.<br />
<br />
I pray for capability to do what is necessary and to stay true to the course presented to me now. I pray for longer arms. I want my arms to expand their reach to those who need pulled out of harm’s way and into the light of their own journey. I can’t do this alone. I find security in the evidence I now receive knowing that I am not. We have work to do. I crack my knuckles, flex my muscles, and furrow my determined brow awaiting the next assignment. I hope I make You proud.<br />
<br />
God – what have You for me?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1pK_V6ZUy2m-9-MhsY8b2r-ix5OPdwDy9cjG6VpqhYgYZqbvfifs4zOOveELh4oPyEXhhd-5puViwaIp-SVMA5ZHgD5gA3hAzbf-nVJOdwQje4-xXYE00_LGDFxLUk5I7SWFKNvYRAqU/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1pK_V6ZUy2m-9-MhsY8b2r-ix5OPdwDy9cjG6VpqhYgYZqbvfifs4zOOveELh4oPyEXhhd-5puViwaIp-SVMA5ZHgD5gA3hAzbf-nVJOdwQje4-xXYE00_LGDFxLUk5I7SWFKNvYRAqU/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-12662129793262127512011-03-09T10:44:00.000-05:002011-03-09T10:44:21.845-05:00I'm Sor...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBa6f49_Dp_s3az06OPYgEl1alY4nnjYK3rUPi0Lhe_D0aERly2D5FKWxwnFMFXHMEzQz4svgW1W6XRvHiFUTdsmAGNKB34fKfCoy7OVXznKzy8zg_AXNnA2BuohYk9D_Y3KixthgwuQ/s1600/Im+sorry+hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBa6f49_Dp_s3az06OPYgEl1alY4nnjYK3rUPi0Lhe_D0aERly2D5FKWxwnFMFXHMEzQz4svgW1W6XRvHiFUTdsmAGNKB34fKfCoy7OVXznKzy8zg_AXNnA2BuohYk9D_Y3KixthgwuQ/s200/Im+sorry+hands.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><blockquote>I don’t know how, but I just ended up there. You know, the times when you just feel agitated in your own skin. No reason. Actually no reason whatsoever. None. But I was there. I guess I had decided that I was not in the mood to have a good time.</blockquote><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcknoR2SBIDbm2zRYJs6SpfL1OW9PAygug-L-Qp3bfaAsnS4zPcyi7ZT2rQuUUC95r_Fs0SMubVsGOXPs48tseUOwYIUTqLeuY5mBb9aEqzQPd8xT35UZPPD5-stW6ArTEyTT71lDkKAs/s1600/Japanese+steakhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcknoR2SBIDbm2zRYJs6SpfL1OW9PAygug-L-Qp3bfaAsnS4zPcyi7ZT2rQuUUC95r_Fs0SMubVsGOXPs48tseUOwYIUTqLeuY5mBb9aEqzQPd8xT35UZPPD5-stW6ArTEyTT71lDkKAs/s1600/Japanese+steakhouse.jpg" /></a>The drive through heavy traffic and a solid downpour did not help. Neither did the cool temperatures which bordered on wanting to freeze the rain on the road, or just keep you nervous enough to think it was. I was brooding over the fact that the Japanese steakhouse we love had no reservations. None. At least that was what I was told. My family wanted to take me out for my birthday dinner. We did not plan well enough to make reservations, so we could either drive the thirty plus minute drive to stand in a lobby and wait on a Saturday night at one of the busiest social hubs in our city or make another selection. Did I mention it was Saturday night?<br />
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We had our kids with us, I don’t drink, so the wait to me seemed excruciating in my current disposition. Votes were cast to make the trek and take a chance to get seated and I lost; sorely I may add. My wife “helped” me drive the whole way. Thankfully she was there to point out my lack in driving skills. I darkened.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Deeply I know I was being “drug” along (aside from it was my birthday being celebrated) because we all enjoy the restaurant. My kids like seeing the “show”, and we always enjoy our meal. I guess I wanted to be right more than I wanted to be happy. Right about what? Who knows. I wasn’t.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4gWaa_HqG_QZYweioRn4L3jOoa10VqitbZWQQ0pCiHMM_-oWBkPdO-W8-TU2APEa31Upa5a2K9xVs8EmmTMsPqm-OF-mADABdgcqLpMD2YBOuWivz9992glmRUmAY4cQd_12OQedr5E/s1600/umbrella+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4gWaa_HqG_QZYweioRn4L3jOoa10VqitbZWQQ0pCiHMM_-oWBkPdO-W8-TU2APEa31Upa5a2K9xVs8EmmTMsPqm-OF-mADABdgcqLpMD2YBOuWivz9992glmRUmAY4cQd_12OQedr5E/s200/umbrella+man.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I spite parked. You know where you park further away than necessary, and walk in the torrential rain to get wet enough to have bitching leverage. It seemed like it was a mile. I dropped the family off at the door prior. I walked alone. Idiot.<br />
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We had a great meal, a great time, and cheesecake for dessert. Nope, I couldn’t admit it. I was prodded through smiles and taunts to admit it, as they knew I knew I was being irrational. I couldn’t. Not yet.<br />
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Eventually as I evened out, blood sugar raised and a good night’s sleep, I apologized for my juvenile behavior. It was met with a simple nod, and life resumed as another day progressed. I am better at apologies than I used to be–mainly because I make them now.<br />
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I used to balk at the apology as I spent many of the initial minutes or hours hoping to find another person to harbor the guilt. I didn’t want it to be me. It was you, it was the traffic, it was the world, it was the price of bread, but anything to hang the blame of behavior upon as I did not want to have to say I’m sss... Damn. (The word is “sorry.”)<br />
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I used to hope apologies were the ultimate reconciliation. That they would absolve behavior; wipe it away to be forgotten. I found I was trying to control how others digested the events or my behavior. It is not up to me how people receive the apology, only that they hear it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPU0pJcYWo43ysaI-fUHpmOQ6znayup6_OY9g428zPtkqQc7waFPnIYT1XhleXeZr6STGWw58YOqt463R1Tg-4m6KGXGLAcjiUPUYRcAhODVAbwGX7McSid0gyY0s_zmPZtgTOVu9O444/s1600/dandelion+seeds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPU0pJcYWo43ysaI-fUHpmOQ6znayup6_OY9g428zPtkqQc7waFPnIYT1XhleXeZr6STGWw58YOqt463R1Tg-4m6KGXGLAcjiUPUYRcAhODVAbwGX7McSid0gyY0s_zmPZtgTOVu9O444/s200/dandelion+seeds.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Like blowing on a dry Dandelion tuft of seeds, we are compelled to release the seeds of apology hoping they will take root in the sometimes obstinate ground of forgiveness. We can only control the gesture of the release with integrity of our intent intact. How or when the apology takes root is not for us to decide. Our sincerity seems to be the nourishing waters that will leverage a hearty harvest of the seeds of apology we release.<br />
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As I am able to make amends and apologize for my past deeds I realize it is reconciliation for an account that may need closed. The balance must be brought to zero before I can walk on. I find that waiting to reconcile my behaviors only adds interest to my human debt. In times past, I thought that time heals all wounds; all is forgotten. Not necessarily. However, even tardy amends can dissolve the scar tissue. <br />
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I have made amends to those in my past I thought I could just ignore or avoid and it would be water under the bridge–water under my bridge anyway. In some of those amends I got the scathing response I feared. However, I found the pain of the undesired response was lesser than the not knowing or projecting my fears upon the unknown and the harboring of a spiritual debt unpaid.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp724nHDVeyezeSaL818cVWwQN832bkMQN0OeQumu63ZYTH692Jzo_E9uOpbu0i3D0sdW1SaRWAQH2wCmj09JQFpwV4Qx8rlCGOwSTxqLBSy3uUj86p1CmZPXdCPqcpWscgU_zd7GV-x8/s1600/Head+up+ass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp724nHDVeyezeSaL818cVWwQN832bkMQN0OeQumu63ZYTH692Jzo_E9uOpbu0i3D0sdW1SaRWAQH2wCmj09JQFpwV4Qx8rlCGOwSTxqLBSy3uUj86p1CmZPXdCPqcpWscgU_zd7GV-x8/s200/Head+up+ass.jpg" width="166" /></a>I can make amends now as I have come to terms with the fact that I cannot control how someone receives my words. I can only control my sincerity in releasing them. Withheld amends are a burden that gains weight. I offer them now to those whom I have wronged, harmed, or owe them to not because I want off the hook as much as it is simply “right”.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>As long as my heart remains in the right place, my odds of recovering from life’s little hiccups are greater. I just need to make sure to keep my head in the right place or the view never changes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBSPaH8uzexTdPdYG0GZxJMfvB4ox0ciXfAk2vJV0kgPJkXm12G270PHdExm4Sxy-zsEbHYRmgOLN_9mjy_wvcCU_iqvfnFTBMYaVy6pplzlGcixKWkYeKdjEanNbqEKQ2LCj-GTRkhI/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBSPaH8uzexTdPdYG0GZxJMfvB4ox0ciXfAk2vJV0kgPJkXm12G270PHdExm4Sxy-zsEbHYRmgOLN_9mjy_wvcCU_iqvfnFTBMYaVy6pplzlGcixKWkYeKdjEanNbqEKQ2LCj-GTRkhI/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-81543839352604414082011-03-02T13:29:00.000-05:002011-03-02T13:29:48.580-05:00Back to School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-RMshMTBfC-ExVIuJoJnADBmboQq6hKZjgBlkfQnYpr3U2LIaf3yxbDbuWkd2kKy98ifE_lmFgzohBhydR1_C6sAujmUgjbY80nxFH41hjfsSI58_g88jSEJEcMi9turvGpE-Fw3t00/s1600/Back+to+school.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-RMshMTBfC-ExVIuJoJnADBmboQq6hKZjgBlkfQnYpr3U2LIaf3yxbDbuWkd2kKy98ifE_lmFgzohBhydR1_C6sAujmUgjbY80nxFH41hjfsSI58_g88jSEJEcMi9turvGpE-Fw3t00/s1600/Back+to+school.jpg" /></a></div>June 1983. I don’t remember the exact day, but that was the time I was no longer going to be in class. I graduated high school. Full up on smarts. I was an eighteen year old know-it-all ready to tackle the world. I thought with the fancy hat and tassel accompanied with the little scroll saying I was “done”, I really was no longer confined to having my cranium force fed with what I considered useless information. I was now liberated to exercise free-will and apply what I had learned to practical use. I was done learning and ready to start doing.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpugB_YIIzdWW_2fSDFqW73k75u9zpli2taIuLzPmIbEn_CvukpwFcJheOoyoqSE4SzoXEbiC_CR69cJKWXyMCXk_rkEwIBXuWk7IqB8zQyfvSyrLO_iFY8wXUbyQFM5KfpIMmzLA4_NM/s1600/bar.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpugB_YIIzdWW_2fSDFqW73k75u9zpli2taIuLzPmIbEn_CvukpwFcJheOoyoqSE4SzoXEbiC_CR69cJKWXyMCXk_rkEwIBXuWk7IqB8zQyfvSyrLO_iFY8wXUbyQFM5KfpIMmzLA4_NM/s200/bar.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>I went to college after that. True to my words I was “done learning.” My heinous GPA reflected that statement. I lasted three quarters. The knowledge gained mainly in reference to the “under-age” friendly bouncers who would let me in the bars. After twenty one, that type of information is rendered obsolete.<br />
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I had always associated that learning came from an academic institution. Students sat in neat little rows, teachers paced in front of the crowd fingers smudged with chalk. The information transfer based usually upon meeting some sort of criteria governed by a board somewhere. <br />
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I realize now that I am often being schooled. <br />
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I have mentioned many times my philosophy that “in life, not every classroom has a desk, nor every church a steeple.” I have found that life experience presents us with educational opportunities in random format and context. Our teachers often have no chalkboard, degree, or spend time in the teacher’s lounge. The most important and enduring lessons arrive like a sucker-punch via delivery of a formidable instructor. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GbZ_F6Gf1BmwcxdlPycP4xKGQUV-eT1ocXivLykPWT6IiyxphpG8boYp_OK1ysvnk5EWWMzP3vbExQ7ZBeCzFbMe0WSHbcEEjVHPVIiWJc25809V5LaWVgehZTBu_cqFmgmXK080BgQ/s1600/mean+teacher.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GbZ_F6Gf1BmwcxdlPycP4xKGQUV-eT1ocXivLykPWT6IiyxphpG8boYp_OK1ysvnk5EWWMzP3vbExQ7ZBeCzFbMe0WSHbcEEjVHPVIiWJc25809V5LaWVgehZTBu_cqFmgmXK080BgQ/s200/mean+teacher.bmp" width="130" /></a></div>My wife and I recently were discussing a person in her life she has challenges with. Nothing monumental, but that is often where our resolve and composure is most tested. I proposed to help her get by the animosity she can often feel in encountering the aggravating behaviors, that she considers this person her “teacher.” With raised brow she still speaks of this person as she would “Old lady so-and-so” who abrasively taught her math in elementary school. None the less, the lessons continue.<br />
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I then reflected upon my experience. I realized the faculty of the “University of Me” was vast as well. I didn’t know I was in class, but I have many diplomas. I have had many mentors, teachers, sensei’s, gurus, and coaches. <br />
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I realize all experiences past and present are presented to teach me something. Whether or not the “subject” is relative to me or another, I try to be connected to what I am supposed to gather. This is the practical side of learning I expected so many years ago. Be careful of what you ask for.<br />
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I must have failed everything I studied in my first twelve years, because I have had many remedial lessons ever since that day in 1983.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDJUv5ho4oiTCu-eAr238EAj8f77yaj3emxk-JIzpLhSnj-jd05XwuqI7Xplha_c44p0VAFVBVBPzzw3CHplSigt12hejRx4QVxkPIxQcPCOX0EcplJwGyRCBvO6rxP9jIrsH4sP36no/s1600/checkbook.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDJUv5ho4oiTCu-eAr238EAj8f77yaj3emxk-JIzpLhSnj-jd05XwuqI7Xplha_c44p0VAFVBVBPzzw3CHplSigt12hejRx4QVxkPIxQcPCOX0EcplJwGyRCBvO6rxP9jIrsH4sP36no/s1600/checkbook.bmp" /></a></div>I have had to relearn math. This painful lesson taught to me by the economy, taxes, inflation, accounting, and a budget. The funny thing is that most of the skills I needed I learned early in elementary. Recently I heard my oldest telling my youngest as he tried some awkward subtracting that he cannot subtract one number from another and go below zero. A great lesson in credit and budget. Wish I had her in sixth period.<br />
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I have learned a lot about social studies. Just watch CNN. I interact with my neighbors. I watch my kids interact on the playground. I see the social climate change. I have a feeling this lesson is going to have a tough midterm.<br />
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I have revisited Home EC and have fared well. I found self reliance and the key to Home EC has a lot to what we do in service of others before ourselves. Through practical lessons I have learned to cook, clean, do laundry, and I can sew a button. Most of these lessons imposed through the desire to eradicate hunger, dirt, sloth, and inconvenience–not only for myself, but those I love.<br />
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Shop – Stuff breaks, we must fix it. I have yet to make an ashtray or birdhouse though.<br />
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Physics – You drop something it could break. Gravity. You push something up hill. More effort. Eat too much. Mass.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Phys Ed – It is good to run around and get some exercise for a while each day. Showering nowadays is less awkward in my own shower. Phys Ed improved.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkt6Ky7WR92EqVyCkBhZ9QQ-NLx3Zyp01o01higf1cgv8lC-J5HHkU7rbjytXuapvD-Buh97kbzA-rabo-iZly5ISID38YoEn_D3E8f7-jWWy34DtuJGellz1d-XSgZCGvuzIzvrWmc4/s1600/gary+busey.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkt6Ky7WR92EqVyCkBhZ9QQ-NLx3Zyp01o01higf1cgv8lC-J5HHkU7rbjytXuapvD-Buh97kbzA-rabo-iZly5ISID38YoEn_D3E8f7-jWWy34DtuJGellz1d-XSgZCGvuzIzvrWmc4/s1600/gary+busey.bmp" /></a>Health – These lessons you learn not by a book, but by experience. I hope you all get to pass on having to sit through the lessons on cancer, diabetes, childhood illnesses, cholesterol, dementia, Alzheimer’s, and addiction. Those classes sucked.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Psychology – Some people are nuts. Some are not. Some are “quirky.” To other people you are nuts.<br />
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Government – I wish it was still only a 45 minute class every other day where the answers were in the back of the book.<br />
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Foreign language – It used to be where I was from there were two languages: English and redneck. The melting pot has obviously gotten “meltier.” And that is okay.<br />
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I guess I am thankful not so much for the lessons, but my teachers have been vast and colorful. I find those I once considered adversaries have taught me the most. I have learned patience, acceptance, compassion, humility, respect, and that if I mess up, and if I don’t agree with you, it is not your fault.<br />
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I have learned that age has nothing to do with wisdom. My kids have taught me among the most about myself. They have mirrored back to me my flaws so I can fix them in time to become the father I wish I had as well as to remember and respect the qualities in my father(s) I so dearly love. They took me back to innocence and accountability.<br />
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My wife has shown me balance, respect, humility, and that the desire to “always be right” is an unflattering trait. I realize that others can hold the key to our completion. Sometimes those we may find occasional opposition with are often our strongest allies when the real battles appear.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhplzU4bziL1ZqDEM3McMxEjFwubaSeR2r0uZWOI4mP1Y5KXXpmCUYWiMU3_vns2WdliIVGHiXXxIFa87ALSgWRUqPU-x5P7usiWcmB-_vXmznzFEXKfD9cBw3lF_W7S5P-lsdmYRPdB_0/s1600/wedgie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhplzU4bziL1ZqDEM3McMxEjFwubaSeR2r0uZWOI4mP1Y5KXXpmCUYWiMU3_vns2WdliIVGHiXXxIFa87ALSgWRUqPU-x5P7usiWcmB-_vXmznzFEXKfD9cBw3lF_W7S5P-lsdmYRPdB_0/s1600/wedgie.jpg" /></a>I like school now. I find every day I get to spend some time in the lab, the class, the shop, lunch, health, and phys ed. The syllabus always changes. So do the teachers and I love them one and all. I am also thankful for those who get to sit beside me in class every day. Some I know, some I have to get to know. The lessons are so much more practical now too. The beautiful thing is that there are no school bus rides and a lot less wedgies going on.</div><br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9gstJF0Y7U3APARHEso3Kmc9jAFYVgj9d2DWMnHcP-smuqrXNuHby7ggfSY_2PqmLakThM_5R9DhVrwbglqSj2AxlOZ61tZPTOGsdyZj4AEmn5cf8jpTZX9FOjn5MR9aljg5Olv-e6M/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9gstJF0Y7U3APARHEso3Kmc9jAFYVgj9d2DWMnHcP-smuqrXNuHby7ggfSY_2PqmLakThM_5R9DhVrwbglqSj2AxlOZ61tZPTOGsdyZj4AEmn5cf8jpTZX9FOjn5MR9aljg5Olv-e6M/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=a8660683-2f27-4835-865d-d89654fa7cda" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-50408849692952631752011-02-23T09:56:00.000-05:002011-02-23T09:56:11.885-05:00Does God do parking?<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibBeeXk9BFUmUP1CXyNstKt-WUARHdIHptnMJNh0fAtxahn3vBZ0xYGwVOOzVx3ErazLASL0afmLVIaMDetoUJjQZPHinSXistsOFZx7ASe01l8diUpQwu3bXy2o6JYuCMwQYE7rwERtI/s1600/parking+lot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibBeeXk9BFUmUP1CXyNstKt-WUARHdIHptnMJNh0fAtxahn3vBZ0xYGwVOOzVx3ErazLASL0afmLVIaMDetoUJjQZPHinSXistsOFZx7ASe01l8diUpQwu3bXy2o6JYuCMwQYE7rwERtI/s1600/parking+lot.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
“Please, please, please!” </div><br />
“Damn. They were pulling in.”<br />
<br />
“C’mon God. Give me a spot please. Just this once. C’mon!!”<br />
<br />
“Hey maybe...crap.”<br />
<br />
“Oh?!... OH!... Heck yeah! Score! Bing, bing, bing!! Thank You God!! A spot, and close to the front!” <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirE2tADNXtud_wmdqwwnrE5rN_qUL6KSHmST4SlmKS2YcMsahGYVbeJy7XA5eUWPXvyaUG1DJeKgnkgB3T5jzAIhnkNXPIN9y7oN4TEMVHXmmI8comIVgYp4J9NEAECzhIIxO7pluiVY0/s1600/GI+Joe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirE2tADNXtud_wmdqwwnrE5rN_qUL6KSHmST4SlmKS2YcMsahGYVbeJy7XA5eUWPXvyaUG1DJeKgnkgB3T5jzAIhnkNXPIN9y7oN4TEMVHXmmI8comIVgYp4J9NEAECzhIIxO7pluiVY0/s200/GI+Joe.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>I parked my car in front of the large bookstore located at the mall and proceed to the door. Prayers answered and a strong sense of smug accomplishment; happy as a kid who got the G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu Grip he asked for on Christmas in 1974.<br />
<br />
Then I thought: “Did God reaaaallly grant me a parking space?”<br />
<br />
This created a new topic to ponder as I strolled around the bookstore. I go to bookstores not always with the intent on acquiring a tome to my liking, but I like the silence. I like the smell. I like being surrounded by the stories of others presented for me to slip into. I just like bookstores.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZM1hrb9e8Uw2lEQmmsgaU2TkTtbPVe9NbfRh1yy0usyi2ImpJhYKF7A8ADbVpTb3oZD67BSYKiU6FAW-cSVJUxaoenX51QnEsUbbMUkqdiLMhHaeiFQGC4zS-yUavjvNXZHC4ByxtPkE/s1600/vending.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZM1hrb9e8Uw2lEQmmsgaU2TkTtbPVe9NbfRh1yy0usyi2ImpJhYKF7A8ADbVpTb3oZD67BSYKiU6FAW-cSVJUxaoenX51QnEsUbbMUkqdiLMhHaeiFQGC4zS-yUavjvNXZHC4ByxtPkE/s200/vending.jpg" width="200" /></a>I wondered as I flipped through the random pages about my recent “answered prayer.” I had issue with myself. Did I really spend more time and energy praying strong and out loud for a parking space? Do I consider God and all that’s holy nothing more than a simple cosmic vending machine to where I drop in a hollow prayer to immediately get my material good? Did my parking space simply get pushed to the end of the column of other vended goodies and by my selection fall to the little glass door for my retrieval? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I looked then to the other similar times of where I went into my little “fanny pack of prayers” pulling them out like the coupon lady at the grocery. </div><br />
“Please God, let the donuts be fresh!”<br />
<br />
“Please God, let there be some ink in the printer!”<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">“Please God, let us have ketchup!”</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPv8t-b1QF3Fid9MvRYgS8ZKHT86EEcu6oT5y_rC5ywjKz6br7M4sjgpbvUBYn2oOB4BrgoEPdyl4B0EzCl0leNxSQEDNwxcpfmCrKd-KNoF7N_T50QMeRzPvaq8sZkeXbwGvidCNj5A/s1600/coins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPv8t-b1QF3Fid9MvRYgS8ZKHT86EEcu6oT5y_rC5ywjKz6br7M4sjgpbvUBYn2oOB4BrgoEPdyl4B0EzCl0leNxSQEDNwxcpfmCrKd-KNoF7N_T50QMeRzPvaq8sZkeXbwGvidCNj5A/s200/coins.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>In retrospect and through introspect I find that sometimes we see prayers like coins. The pennies we toss about not even worrying if we lose a few in the couch cushions. The small prayers devalued; often unaware they all stimulate the same spiritual economy. The larger coins, the bills even, we save for the big ticket items. Overcoming illness, praying for relief from external burden and pain, oppression of others, dissolution of disasters–these are the prayers we value. I find for me that I must respect the source within me that sets the prayer in motion, and to whom I consider the recipient. It is not up to me to devalue the worth of a penny and I should spend all change wisely.</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Then I thought, perhaps these “little requests” are not even prayers. Often I find whether answered in my favor or not, the answer is part of a greater whole–one step in a journey. These little moments of truth allowing us to feel cheated or grateful are part of a bigger lesson. Maybe denial of said request is teaching me patience. Maybe fulfillment showing me I am being heard even when I feel insignificant. I am always grateful when I am given tangible evidence my prayers are being heard. I think my gratitude sends my messages clearer in the future; my lack thereof maybe slowing delivery.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqqwXTqfwhU7d6XRQ9qxPT_IW9kWTl6cN1oj3l0AFFK_dwqKHviON6Me84cyzSdfjc6NxanSRdMHE579qyEy0_DIFhoLNEd6ubJQDkaCtz6d5oQForJ5mtxbhWe8hRaE7G6ZPnvkCVKg/s1600/dominos+box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqqwXTqfwhU7d6XRQ9qxPT_IW9kWTl6cN1oj3l0AFFK_dwqKHviON6Me84cyzSdfjc6NxanSRdMHE579qyEy0_DIFhoLNEd6ubJQDkaCtz6d5oQForJ5mtxbhWe8hRaE7G6ZPnvkCVKg/s200/dominos+box.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>Today I was watching the news as I do in the morning. The major network news show had a touching story. An octogenarian woman had made it a practice for years to order a pizza every day from the same Domino’s; a large pepperoni, cooked light, with two sodas. She lived alone and somewhat in recluse. I do not know if she liked pizza that much or the company. Maybe both.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Every day at 10:00 AM when the pizza restaurant opened, the phone would ring regularly with her request. One Monday it did not–nor did it the two days prior. Upon arriving at work that Monday the manager of the pizza store mentioned to the regular delivery driver of this anomaly. The driver immediately became concerned. She exclaimed she was going to leave work to go check in on her regular customer. At the protest of the manager, the driver mentioned she would “get clocked out”, but would not be hindered in her human obligation to check on the elderly woman.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">She arrived at the house. No answer as she pounded on the doors and windows calling her name. She checked with the neighbors. No one had seen nor heard from her. They never did. The driver called 911 for an ambulance and sent it to her address in grave concern. She returned briefly to work to check in and returned again a while later to the scene where officers and EMT professionals were pulling her from her home on a gurney. Alive! </div><br />
The lady had fallen and lay injured on her floor for days. The lady asked who had called in her favor which saved her life. Emergency professionals told her the Dominos people. Her odd diet and brief daily interactions saved her life. Her prayers obviously heard. The Dominos delivery person was seemingly driven by divine opportunity or perhaps a vehicle in answering the prayers of another.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCWIAK0adMhFvKl60htEznMjpImUSXKgs1yHPnhkb1Qjw-Cc4_MjJM64s3eMTgKd-odDoXZFwqmuQniuAA3z0uN9xFpveXvhFe30ewkusWrZ197ayUnnv6wfI4-VJXJkDDii90btknio/s1600/pizza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCWIAK0adMhFvKl60htEznMjpImUSXKgs1yHPnhkb1Qjw-Cc4_MjJM64s3eMTgKd-odDoXZFwqmuQniuAA3z0uN9xFpveXvhFe30ewkusWrZ197ayUnnv6wfI4-VJXJkDDii90btknio/s200/pizza.jpg" width="200" /></a>I love these stories of the tangible symphony of the transfer, receipt, and delivery of divine happenstance. I wonder if my little requests of selfish nature are clouding the airways. I wonder if they are of any importance or if my little shallow prayers are still working out these spiritual muscles. Maybe I can simply try to become aware of my intention behind them, who they serve, and for the greater good of whom. Is there a sliding value scale of the prayers God handles? I also realize sometimes the answer is “no.” Sometimes it is “not now.” It is still good for me.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I don’t know exactly if God does parking. I like to think he may have someone else handle that for him. I don’t know. I do however think he likes pizza. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7mHhiuCtmw_3h-jAOldRQowtlSZzg_Mj2E-jRsYyvJ024wtiXbys6bQVEdAl5meFsAXPWK15ss91z5qsHVa9w7KxtYTZ5id4VC7y8pG1VO0bPz6PGaZkvQS5qRn_TnaHRDxwsw7q9y4/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7mHhiuCtmw_3h-jAOldRQowtlSZzg_Mj2E-jRsYyvJ024wtiXbys6bQVEdAl5meFsAXPWK15ss91z5qsHVa9w7KxtYTZ5id4VC7y8pG1VO0bPz6PGaZkvQS5qRn_TnaHRDxwsw7q9y4/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=1ed9ba4e-5e24-4e92-b89f-097379ecb749" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-90473906413488580132011-02-13T19:36:00.001-05:002011-02-13T19:39:32.775-05:00The bes' day ebber!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHKHrI_DfSMFiC_UUlRfIyF2ZuCBi50JI_ocIDHuJFK5L3qNMvlxYBiGkMhT-ZG6ag6e_AeqTcwAJ_nH4k2QP_9fkf2eVhBE8k5twVStyYVN38jOEqdvWsbPhYFuNOlUu3v0cTIybdK74/s1600/dog+best+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHKHrI_DfSMFiC_UUlRfIyF2ZuCBi50JI_ocIDHuJFK5L3qNMvlxYBiGkMhT-ZG6ag6e_AeqTcwAJ_nH4k2QP_9fkf2eVhBE8k5twVStyYVN38jOEqdvWsbPhYFuNOlUu3v0cTIybdK74/s1600/dog+best+day.jpg" /></a></div>Best days; I have had a few. I have been blessed to have done many things, gone many places, and met some really cool people. Those ingredients definitely can contribute to the recipe of some spectacular days. <br />
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<br />
I remember the day got accepted to the American Team to travel the country. I remember my TV debut. I remember driving off the lot in my first sports car. I remember seeing my work in print for the first time. Those were some really great days! I no longer have nor do those things.<br />
<br />
I remember my graduation day from High School. I remember my graduation from beauty school. I remember days when I completed a long task and got recognized, certified, or the “atta-boys” I thought were so important. They were...then.<br />
<br />
I also remember the first day my father told me he loved me. I was 21. There were more following. I remember when my wife agreed to marry me. We took a limo around town celebrating the fact that “this guy” got “that girl”. I remember hearing “I’m pregnant”; the kind you want to hear. I remember when she arrived. I remember when my son arrived. We became a whole family. I remember hearing news like, “She’s okay, the test came back negative”, or “the financing went through, we can keep our house”. Indeed these were “the best of days.” Gifts mind you. But we have many more.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, a Saturday, my day started as most of mine do, not sleeping in and taking care of the family needs. That’s okay. I am an early riser. My son had basketball practice and my daughter was venturing out with a friend feeding her own interests. <br />
<br />
My son plays well...for a kid who is short and slight. He is not well rehearsed in the game, but makes up for it in heart (what some may call hyper). I often read to allow me to focus on drowning out three hundred drumming basketballs being awkwardly bounced. I glance up whenever my son has the ball or it is his turn. When they play a scrimmage, the book closes. My son glances to the bleachers flashes me a smile. I return it with a “thumbs up!” He smiles bigger and returns to the game. He shoots, misses, and gets a thumbs up! Again smiling, he returns his focus to the game–both of us proud of the other. <br />
<br />
Some of the other parents berate and yell game strategies and their disappointments at these fledgling athletes. Their children look around for reassurance in a public setting to find little or none there unless a score is made. I don’t get it–they’re seven years old.<br />
<br />
The game ended. My son made a basket. I shared how proud I was of how he played. He didn’t win though. It didn’t matter. He was jazzed and we had bonding time ahead! He was panting as a pro athlete would, proud of his participation and accomplishment, satisfied of his performance of the day. His day could end there and he would be happy.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Go-J_mWT0ZACtuyalj1YQ5_AfToM4_-OYu-DnM8D4sWR_wY2XwJjZxA-RQaZbnzvAhgAjcFL_gt5MJCQ2FI_TKjiJ8Ng__4zivxwVCagaUK_GB67QHdAu_OM4OjLBM2mAiplzUwrg4Q/s1600/austin+sip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Go-J_mWT0ZACtuyalj1YQ5_AfToM4_-OYu-DnM8D4sWR_wY2XwJjZxA-RQaZbnzvAhgAjcFL_gt5MJCQ2FI_TKjiJ8Ng__4zivxwVCagaUK_GB67QHdAu_OM4OjLBM2mAiplzUwrg4Q/s200/austin+sip.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">“You hungry son?”</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">“Yep, but Dad I want the place that has the pancakes and Hi-C!”</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">“That’s what I was thinking pal!”</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">“This is the bes’ day ebber!!” he shouted. Loudly.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The game’s loss forgotten as his focus was on syrup and Hi-C, and oh yeah, they make their donuts fresh, from scratch! We always get one to go!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KFZQOmGMZ-gBfCaYh15ZCL66BR33ODOiS4rsqJs27TMRJBGXHtvFsZxbSBzGiCoqNyTlY6gqP7gcQIapSsgOTHVwNTw0YrBUXef5nx2_B8IJoq0Ac2I3KAfneGthG17XRcScpx0zAN4/s1600/before+legos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KFZQOmGMZ-gBfCaYh15ZCL66BR33ODOiS4rsqJs27TMRJBGXHtvFsZxbSBzGiCoqNyTlY6gqP7gcQIapSsgOTHVwNTw0YrBUXef5nx2_B8IJoq0Ac2I3KAfneGthG17XRcScpx0zAN4/s200/before+legos.jpg" width="150" /></a>Tired as I was from a food coma and an early rise to endure a bit of percussive thunder, I wanted a little sofa-surfing “dad-time” but was reminded of something. The new Lego set my son got the night before awaiting my plastic toy architectural prowess.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OXrc0F2XjuZT-p7bVZQ_A1Ts31IAYaKwNTuiO-EtngpBohe3j5guMiMwVAj7yGPWt2zOFjkf6DzpH9W9Uui5O0PjmY9xkGJOOOBmIr3RnIqJyZBkPFr0wmRb6ZBhVw0OwSCGVMvnjbE/s1600/skittles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OXrc0F2XjuZT-p7bVZQ_A1Ts31IAYaKwNTuiO-EtngpBohe3j5guMiMwVAj7yGPWt2zOFjkf6DzpH9W9Uui5O0PjmY9xkGJOOOBmIr3RnIqJyZBkPFr0wmRb6ZBhVw0OwSCGVMvnjbE/s200/skittles.jpg" width="150" /></a>We set the dining room table with the protective mat, place the mini bricks of aggravation into their respective piles and proceeded. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">“Wow Dad! You are Awesome!!!” (Well the directions helped a bit, but I will take the ribbon!)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQM7w-erysmocsxfXjv239XBECLO01BAYHQ_RMNO6FaK42HsnUOIBDRJB2sJAocQdIZYymM5hgGgvfI1FGtggKHqRoln27wAM0OO-VAYi9L-1nRgRvrTPZ9b7E8TGDnF5PWjX5FLkXWEU/s1600/room+destruction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQM7w-erysmocsxfXjv239XBECLO01BAYHQ_RMNO6FaK42HsnUOIBDRJB2sJAocQdIZYymM5hgGgvfI1FGtggKHqRoln27wAM0OO-VAYi9L-1nRgRvrTPZ9b7E8TGDnF5PWjX5FLkXWEU/s200/room+destruction.jpg" width="150" /></a>After an hour or so, a bowl full of Skittles and a Capri sun, our mission was accomplished. The sugar fueled venture concluded in a few battle scenes taking place in our dining room until energy was spent. My son crashed on his bean bag chair in his room, newly constructed toy in hand, smile on his face in front of SpongeBob. His room destroyed–evidence of a level 4 bes’ day ebber!</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">An evening at a friends’ house, videogames, and pizza conclude the day’s itinerary. I asked him in the car on the way home, “Did you have a good time son?” He replied again in sleepy satisfaction, “The bes’ day ebber!”</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Today. Early rise again. Coffee as the family lie in slumber. Giada DeLaurentis showing her cooking prowess on the streets of Capri. Time for church. The twenty minute drive accompanied by some beautiful music perfect for a sunny crisp morning. Great sermon. I went alone. Family slept in and went later. More good Dad time.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tm1kdMexVVEaaHHtn4-2xiIE_ZKTnBXX-6bbprgrXHt7_z4ysXG4czEmx0H8srIj7vLJc2urMDmgVzCbAMbdh9PxkRQijbMDufXWNgSYYcRqUvXnA6pGvwhv1XKpdS6P2KMtZEE1TYw/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tm1kdMexVVEaaHHtn4-2xiIE_ZKTnBXX-6bbprgrXHt7_z4ysXG4czEmx0H8srIj7vLJc2urMDmgVzCbAMbdh9PxkRQijbMDufXWNgSYYcRqUvXnA6pGvwhv1XKpdS6P2KMtZEE1TYw/s200/020.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>I studied my studies, went out for one of the best Vanilla Chai Teas in the city and returned home to spend time with family. Some couch time with the wife. She told me how much she liked our home. She also liked my recent paint job I did in the living room. I smiled. It is nice to be appreciated. I shared my Chai with her. I have her liking tea now. The dog got a bath. We went shopping for the kids’ valentines. We talked in the car. I went for groceries for school lunches as my wife returned to the kids. They were happy and doing kid stuff. I took out the trash and noticed the sun setting. The temperature here was actually pleasant for the first time in a while. The sunset beckoned. I donned my iPod headphones, put on some inspiring music and took a lap. </div></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A wave of strong gratitude came over me to remind me once again that I am blessed, I am loved, I am lucky, and I am most thankful to have been given the grace to realize this. The years I missed these moments because I was too busy being “cool”. Too busy “making it”. Too blind.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There were no certificates today. There were no crowds or cameras. No awards or honors.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFqWCjcY3AqW4AMXeQQcUK_T7fwpgNrjuVbSlewOHw3TYF7oLK4B-9EDIKCNzIWijB4MtynCNBRch2PwfM9PjRkV06xvjXIQcXQIJYjmOcCS2kW6zPIli8oDWDt62OgQM-n0FI301NCQ/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFqWCjcY3AqW4AMXeQQcUK_T7fwpgNrjuVbSlewOHw3TYF7oLK4B-9EDIKCNzIWijB4MtynCNBRch2PwfM9PjRkV06xvjXIQcXQIJYjmOcCS2kW6zPIli8oDWDt62OgQM-n0FI301NCQ/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was the bes’ day ebber!</div></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=847b0973-a21a-4a85-b633-1d6ea5df262f" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-34625269894150060252011-02-07T10:40:00.001-05:002011-02-07T13:53:28.968-05:00Drive Thru Greetings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIyjcJ90IzyjmNivKJLvoK1c48sh-algymOKvwq-TZm8SGiVLg6bg9OXMPZZCt-DM6LbhlifDvEZSz9f7-9rey5rII7ZCc0DnKyKiK4PAygpI12FUpphRYjo4hko5JL2ky7gI9kIhAws/s1600/drivethru1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIyjcJ90IzyjmNivKJLvoK1c48sh-algymOKvwq-TZm8SGiVLg6bg9OXMPZZCt-DM6LbhlifDvEZSz9f7-9rey5rII7ZCc0DnKyKiK4PAygpI12FUpphRYjo4hko5JL2ky7gI9kIhAws/s1600/drivethru1.jpg" /></a></div>This one has been marinating for a while. I typically will become inspired to write, collect my thoughts or views, and while the passion is stirring, I will put finger to keyboard. Not in this case. I decided to put my observational skills to work.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkxCTx5Lc-q1WD_jRsE0_Rc42njWmRDVD93xNTZ4P5H8QN_SPvnhfo49JlDNA_xgkBjCytRefChuloaDa4JLjiBnZC89fWBAfYMCugJ0W40CvqudYP1ruq2RoAf8-MlnLVLIK8LNZFD4/s1600/bleachers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkxCTx5Lc-q1WD_jRsE0_Rc42njWmRDVD93xNTZ4P5H8QN_SPvnhfo49JlDNA_xgkBjCytRefChuloaDa4JLjiBnZC89fWBAfYMCugJ0W40CvqudYP1ruq2RoAf8-MlnLVLIK8LNZFD4/s200/bleachers.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>I have really made it a new life practice to become an observer. You may not know I am watching, but I am. It’s a really fun show out there. Something is always going on–something we can learn from or be entertained by. I think that type of vantage point presents itself in my writing. In observing I can steep myself into the flow of what is going on around me, but as if on a raft in a river, I am not in control of the flow, but I can dip my toe in the water as I watch what unfurls around me awaiting what may lie ahead around the next bend.<br />
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I first was struck by my newest quandary as I went through a local drive thru. Initially I thought the type of business (a fast food joint-I was getting a breakfast sandwich) would be significant evidence and support to my topic, but that is where I decided to let this one simmer, or marinate if you will. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULKdUdIdaOQs89FtSF1asYUJW5Y4r5Dc9qZ1RYDiFzm3rgmEvvv-ClSO-YfKxY-c8PS6u5F3uBV7V-4_k4JNvCz3hvNc-R2-e9mUYcOMXXQtPb6YvzGePC21FWe6pA8i234lcI-We5oY/s1600/drivethru+speaker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULKdUdIdaOQs89FtSF1asYUJW5Y4r5Dc9qZ1RYDiFzm3rgmEvvv-ClSO-YfKxY-c8PS6u5F3uBV7V-4_k4JNvCz3hvNc-R2-e9mUYcOMXXQtPb6YvzGePC21FWe6pA8i234lcI-We5oY/s200/drivethru+speaker.jpg" width="200" /></a>The greeting was mechanical and rehearsed offering me a selection of something in which I had no interest. It was not human and thus forgivable to me. The human that finally spoke behind the metal screen confirmed my order, mentioned my fee, and then asked me “to move for...”. They always cut off the ending, but I knew the drill. <br />
<br />
The robotic routine of the "money taker" already had him in mid-dialogue as he was taking the order of the car behind me while reaching for my precious five dollar bill. He then grunted my amount,took my money, and dropped my change in my hand. His furrowed brow held his eyes that barely met mine. They were not warm. They were tired and alone. A man, a cash register, a headset, trapped in a small box. He missed an opportunity to make contact beyond his confines. “Thanks, you have a great day”, I mentioned as I smiled and proceeded.</div><br />
My food was waiting on me and “efficiently” pressed into my hand that was just emerging from my window. I guess this is commendable behavior when service should take no longer than 30 seconds. I was given a “Thanks” through unsmiling lips. I replied, “Tha...”, the sliding glass door slid shut. Next!<br />
<br />
Hmmm. Okay I will put customer service aside. In businesses that often have annual turnover in their staffing well over one hundred percent, I guess I didn’t expect a hug upon arrival and departure, but it left me wondering is this the norm. Is this where a lot of human contact and interaction is being reduced to? Well, kinda.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxelVVcE7e7FxfRjcnOXe9CJw-xKJTAhRXFugQ_G6WYzkBEbe9YM12ZgPFSqZDZ65oOIYzlaweqocmn1r6kZBYB4A3vRTQ89FYGrX5tSdhkFd3XUn8vaXiEDC9PZHOTAiY0ZEzm4QxYA/s1600/wag+tail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxelVVcE7e7FxfRjcnOXe9CJw-xKJTAhRXFugQ_G6WYzkBEbe9YM12ZgPFSqZDZ65oOIYzlaweqocmn1r6kZBYB4A3vRTQ89FYGrX5tSdhkFd3XUn8vaXiEDC9PZHOTAiY0ZEzm4QxYA/s200/wag+tail.jpg" width="188" /></a>I do indeed have people I encounter at certain establishments, as well as friends’ homes in which I feel like I am a celebrity. Like I am loved, or at least appreciated. I will even take tolerated at times. I think we all have those people that make us want to regularly return to where they are. Why? Because when they say “Good morning”, they mean it. When they say “thank you”, you know they feel gratitude. When they ask “how are you”, you know they really care and want to know. The words are genuine and organic. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>In my observational pause prior to writing this, I noticed how many instances I encountered “Drive Thru Greetings” from many different people and places. Greetings that left me thinking I would prefer silence to a hollow and rehearsed sub-acknowledgement of my existence. “Did I really need to turn down the stereo for that!?”<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_FaNj36k-vT1XdJO0BKy51kk9tYEfWa9XQYCA_vKxf5TOMLfyY58zUCU7PXDgmPP9HjCcZ8LmWOIQrgl8hCTndyq41MBbSnc4egQmBRcwNOQwWhZlpXBx5-4qEoCWath98GC5SLmFXiE/s1600/waitress.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_FaNj36k-vT1XdJO0BKy51kk9tYEfWa9XQYCA_vKxf5TOMLfyY58zUCU7PXDgmPP9HjCcZ8LmWOIQrgl8hCTndyq41MBbSnc4egQmBRcwNOQwWhZlpXBx5-4qEoCWath98GC5SLmFXiE/s1600/waitress.bmp" /></a>I remember one time when dining with my family; we were enjoying time out at a fancy restaurant. Our waitress arrived apparently hurried and exasperated. She made miniscule eye contact and exhaled her “may I take your order?” We ordered. She never looked up other than to nod at the next person to prompt them into ordering. At the end my father asked with a smile, “Do you like your job here?” She replied, “Yeah...sure.” He said, “Well why don’t you let your face in on it?” A smile does help.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I wonder how often we miss an opportunity to make someone’s day by recognizing them. How often do we miss an opportunity to validate someone’s presence by a smile? How genuine are the greetings and closures we bestow upon those we encounter? Don’t we deserve more than grunts, nods, and a nanosecond of pulling our eyes away from a phone or text to engage someone?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK6m0eD8raVko2Bjd8SO4Qx3Pjt6MhqVrN8eNkK124skbA8jKC50ue5dbJLmsyS00kv5Txc58vEx8kfjAnLPIHFDHHCsKZciYBUeQfaqtxffX32wIRLQXIIBNW2j_HfPL7dQab0XXyBWQ/s1600/smiling+bob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK6m0eD8raVko2Bjd8SO4Qx3Pjt6MhqVrN8eNkK124skbA8jKC50ue5dbJLmsyS00kv5Txc58vEx8kfjAnLPIHFDHHCsKZciYBUeQfaqtxffX32wIRLQXIIBNW2j_HfPL7dQab0XXyBWQ/s200/smiling+bob.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I have found through my recent observation, I can change someone’s state with a smile. I create smiles by humbly allowing people to proceed in front of me in line. I can make kids’ giggle with a goofy face. I am on continual alert for opportunities to make someone’s day. All of these people will light up, even if a little bit, and from that, I in turn gain joy. The joy replenishes my ability to continue my efforts. Interestingly too, the more sad, melancholy, or alone I feel, I have found through this practice, the negative emotion leaves me that much sooner. Weird. (But I like it!)<br />
<br />
If I ask you “How are you”, I really care. If I say “Good morning”, I want you to have one. If I say, “have a great day”, indeed I hope that is what happens to you. If I say “travel safe”, I truly want your journey unobstructed. And they say that “Thank you” can be one of the most precious prayers you offer to God thanking him for a gift divine. If it is good enough for God, it is good enough for me, so if you hear me say “thank you”..., well you know where I am going. The intention behind our brief greeting is like saying a brief prayer for that person. Hollow greeting, hollow prayers.<br />
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When you encounter people, try speaking your greetings from a place of genuineness, and listen to the responses with your heart. Sometimes it only takes 10 seconds to make someone’s day and to make them feel recognized. <br />
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And to all of you now, “Have a great day, travel safe, and most of all, Thank you!” <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTMYorrq-Kk1sRr0xQyLiZtvEfrQiUxOtT1hEzibwgVv_CNLyVmSkLWBbIAbUuixU9OPaBiRiTjV23I3Yh6c0c330TPp18Ura-uSo2D0QXizX7kvwZKIHaFW96I3o8bju69VqkG2Kusw/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTMYorrq-Kk1sRr0xQyLiZtvEfrQiUxOtT1hEzibwgVv_CNLyVmSkLWBbIAbUuixU9OPaBiRiTjV23I3Yh6c0c330TPp18Ura-uSo2D0QXizX7kvwZKIHaFW96I3o8bju69VqkG2Kusw/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=ba2820f0-0bd4-4e39-b3cc-9586ae23af54" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-40099701740468738862011-01-31T09:43:00.000-05:002011-01-31T09:43:33.144-05:00Old Habits Die Hard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZvj8h1y2wfCetNOt78y1A0IY8WuArxS6y7Ph12fm0EAYPTfmw7iTqjeJZz4wmuS2IYHIhsfQxqxiBOtL2Bpa5uyXWJ3d7wRWw6knmhB38sADSXMyxctbHNtaWDbislGlD6lEEf6gUU4/s1600/barking+dog+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZvj8h1y2wfCetNOt78y1A0IY8WuArxS6y7Ph12fm0EAYPTfmw7iTqjeJZz4wmuS2IYHIhsfQxqxiBOtL2Bpa5uyXWJ3d7wRWw6knmhB38sADSXMyxctbHNtaWDbislGlD6lEEf6gUU4/s1600/barking+dog+2.jpg" /></a></div>The Monday morning started as many do. Although the beginning of the week, I find I place no more ill-will on Monday as I do any other day of the week. The day of the week, whether Monday or Friday, should not cause me to gripe any more than any other. It is still a collection of a series of hours containing stuff that needs done to be able to eventually enjoy the relaxation that an evening with the family brings. The routine is typically the same during every other day of the week, so why emphasize Monday as being more trying? If I consider how many more days until the weekend, I am no longer living in the moment, and that can be difficult any day of the week. Ok, I still struggle.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4qFJ8froL57l-Rak5nhK8V7LxYBcgn8L4Ed-JAI47U6YP9j-_uCb1EAHz7SXT5H5qsVjL_ntq3qcIyMTFM0SkVg6e-eLRAY_XfhxGrRZ-7rJDWKDIhmAp4k1BlqAoxevtB8CnnuWvhc/s1600/meditation.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4qFJ8froL57l-Rak5nhK8V7LxYBcgn8L4Ed-JAI47U6YP9j-_uCb1EAHz7SXT5H5qsVjL_ntq3qcIyMTFM0SkVg6e-eLRAY_XfhxGrRZ-7rJDWKDIhmAp4k1BlqAoxevtB8CnnuWvhc/s200/meditation.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>I awaken earlier than I need to. Usually around 5:45 to 6:00 AM so I get an hour to myself. I call it my “hour of power.” Catchy huh? Okay so I am not a marketing genius. I call it my “hour of power” not because I work out. If you saw me currently, my midsection looks like a candy bar left on the dashboard in hot summer sun. I gotta work on that too! <br />
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Anyway, I arise, get my coffee ready, heat up a wonderful heating bean bag thing for my back, and adjourn to my office, my “fortress of solitude.” I turn on some soothing music, and then I take about 45 minutes to meditate. Time to myself. Ahhhh!<br />
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I then have about 15 minutes left for the news, traffic, weather, or whatever before I rally the kids. I am calm, relaxed, have time for coffee before they arise. A great way to start the day! The way I have time for this is that I make it a priority. Simple enough.<br />
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The troops rallied, snuggle time, pet the dog, more coffee, life is good.<br />
<br />
About 45 minutes go by and kids are dressed, car is started to warm up, lunches packed, dog has been out, backpacks being packed, same routine, same timing, check!<br />
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What I have found though is something odd. Forty five minutes ago, life was good, blissful, appreciative, and grateful. Now I am scurrying around making sure that things are going “according to my plan”, “my routine”. (Mind you – it is the same plan, the same family, the same routine, the same house, same dog, that I deal with every day for years – like overnight they all lost their minds or memory. Well...maybe.) <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKQTGM6W_A6GDZMZs1_JUTsp9uTUwAkDyQw47G0Gh-iLwTjE6puHm6fvT0Tm7x4pvXL23P6Enejy1DI9Dozy0JDlKofPLdkfcSBfvlBn-Hu7g-rU9k8AZ8-c0awuwfjrSSBpZNwrEo5s/s1600/mailbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKQTGM6W_A6GDZMZs1_JUTsp9uTUwAkDyQw47G0Gh-iLwTjE6puHm6fvT0Tm7x4pvXL23P6Enejy1DI9Dozy0JDlKofPLdkfcSBfvlBn-Hu7g-rU9k8AZ8-c0awuwfjrSSBpZNwrEo5s/s200/mailbox.jpg" width="131" /></a>“Dad, are you driving us today?”</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>*Grumble* “Yes, I <strong><em>guess</em></strong> so.” (Reminder–I have already started to warm the car.)<br />
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“Honey, will you mail this for me when you drop off the kids. It needs to be mailed this morning.”<br />
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*Gripe* “Does it <strong><em>have</em></strong> to be done at 8:00 AM?”<br />
<br />
(Two examples are enough.)<br />
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Now I have done a lot to work on my ego in the last few years. A lot...Alot! I have become very mindful of what I do, what I put in my body as well as my brain. I try to live in service of others. I work on patching my “leaks”. I mean emotionally and spiritually the proverbial “orange barrels” have been up for some time. Did I say I have done a lot of work? I did? Okay...good.<br />
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Well I still need some.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigT8DI9EHnP9OssMhozDeXleisHH36aTVb68M8_YhkW6itLGV-2qeXotGfMf-JSZR7bBVgLjC5hud4yYIa0xHCw-YK9ldEp3JuwJG-YnYC6o4C0HmljEaRQtEGSsmkgjl79g5WyBhBMgU/s1600/hostage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigT8DI9EHnP9OssMhozDeXleisHH36aTVb68M8_YhkW6itLGV-2qeXotGfMf-JSZR7bBVgLjC5hud4yYIa0xHCw-YK9ldEp3JuwJG-YnYC6o4C0HmljEaRQtEGSsmkgjl79g5WyBhBMgU/s200/hostage.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I find my ego is still lurking. Like an angry hostage tied to a chair with duct tape over its mouth, wiggling and shaking the chair to get attention, it still hasn’t given up hope for freedom. Peel the duct tape and it will spit, curse, and scream. Back goes the tape.<br />
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As I have said many times before, “it is the storms that show us where our leaks are.” These times at least keep me mindful of the importance of continual spiritual grounding, self-examination, gratitude, and awareness.<br />
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I drove the kids and noticed the other children walking in the cold exhaling small bursts of steam. I picked up two other kids in the neighborhood–proud that I could offer a warm transport for them to get their education. The happy childlike banter filled the car. The sun was bright, the energy good.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2x97arO5t206RvgffxV4D7pgUz_IySg3bvqyzBbKD-VxAAHQ9J4RCkL9B_tjMDl5eL89shAxoFWrby2WW24GpBnQmezm9rAXFXKFVhmxSoWpEUdN-oyk3ISF-s0UnYoRzf-0F-UF8H9g/s1600/hero.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2x97arO5t206RvgffxV4D7pgUz_IySg3bvqyzBbKD-VxAAHQ9J4RCkL9B_tjMDl5eL89shAxoFWrby2WW24GpBnQmezm9rAXFXKFVhmxSoWpEUdN-oyk3ISF-s0UnYoRzf-0F-UF8H9g/s1600/hero.bmp" /></a>I mailed the letter for my wife. The drive short, but refreshing. I have some great CD’s in my truck. A few more “me” minutes. The drive was pleasant. I may not have done it if not asked to run the brief errand benefitting us all.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I find my ego still likes to bitch; to makes its presence known. I also find that thankfully the “conscious” me likes to play “hero” more than adversary. The rewards are much greater. Much greater!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsvVQf3Abx03BhJCoM5wqT5Pj1LWCL1V_v1kLrQ1V6PspN6_EekIbXYr7Llnu2innt0Bh5-BMr22a57ujdESl3ZP78cpnYTTzMRpiCrsImRXPXKitT8Em22IBFtCjrKCI07mBfYh8CjY/s1600/pinch+nose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsvVQf3Abx03BhJCoM5wqT5Pj1LWCL1V_v1kLrQ1V6PspN6_EekIbXYr7Llnu2innt0Bh5-BMr22a57ujdESl3ZP78cpnYTTzMRpiCrsImRXPXKitT8Em22IBFtCjrKCI07mBfYh8CjY/s1600/pinch+nose.jpg" /></a></div>My wife mentioned to me recently after requesting (and yes, me complaining) for me to get her some creamer for her coffee at the store one morning (and me complying), “You take such good care of me!” I try. I fail at times, but I try. I just need to try to contain the griping, the <strong><em>"emotional flatulence"</em></strong> we should gain the ability to stifle more regularly.<br />
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Nowadays I find my ego is like the neighbor dog that is contained behind a secure fence. When noticed, he will bark, and bark, and bark, trying to establish his dominance, yet with little threat but great nuisance. I just need to be mindful of keeping the gate latched!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9m8-qryGtyfcEGGjbje-IevCV_R_gHVXvSsZbCTaAsn5TC1ttSLGCCnV0MAvsGUG_HbbZQ2xwEiTG22uuzTtiAM8Z-2adNxuW5bnVFKagI2xNswSiZ9OAsK_hMwQ106IS4GgU7AeKwI/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9m8-qryGtyfcEGGjbje-IevCV_R_gHVXvSsZbCTaAsn5TC1ttSLGCCnV0MAvsGUG_HbbZQ2xwEiTG22uuzTtiAM8Z-2adNxuW5bnVFKagI2xNswSiZ9OAsK_hMwQ106IS4GgU7AeKwI/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-90306581733916649282011-01-23T12:11:00.000-05:002011-01-23T12:11:29.169-05:00Gotta get me some of that!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpNzT0FHNngyQopgvHtRRg0sRkOYm9vaExJoNSMb_eyvTO-lMlufbG4ncAf9oCIFGDBKyXcTGWxsmhpbLKdZ0dt-mmVP5iiilh_ogI2eua6LQGmzQzIDxpme6eAKYy7orc-yp1LjI27o/s1600/patience+truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpNzT0FHNngyQopgvHtRRg0sRkOYm9vaExJoNSMb_eyvTO-lMlufbG4ncAf9oCIFGDBKyXcTGWxsmhpbLKdZ0dt-mmVP5iiilh_ogI2eua6LQGmzQzIDxpme6eAKYy7orc-yp1LjI27o/s1600/patience+truck.jpg" /></a></div>“Good things come to those who wait” was something I was always told. Usually as a kid. Usually when I was debating on tearing into the Christmas gifts prematurely. Perhaps it was when I was peeking through the blinds waiting on the mailman, or a friend to drop by. <br />
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Patience is a virtue my behind! I remember admiring a sign my father used to have hanging in his business early on, it was a photocopy obviously passed on to him and hung with pride like that of today’s inspirational plaques that executives hang on their office walls.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH3y2Ozt1RePxpUiSWMg7qkMj_QNYfCyGRVaE9qjGNhB_Xk45y3egM5JlXHDXbAVuf92H98geMcbn-heI0YadP8Dalkn9uPEOrffQs3JV7EGSwUuqFdQd6KAuFmpyXUYrYK6GkIRAFNDI/s1600/rad0A18AG2D1660PCPatienceMyAss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH3y2Ozt1RePxpUiSWMg7qkMj_QNYfCyGRVaE9qjGNhB_Xk45y3egM5JlXHDXbAVuf92H98geMcbn-heI0YadP8Dalkn9uPEOrffQs3JV7EGSwUuqFdQd6KAuFmpyXUYrYK6GkIRAFNDI/s200/rad0A18AG2D1660PCPatienceMyAss.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>It depicted two cartoon vultures that were perched on a branch looking down upon an apparent thirsty man who was crawling through the desert approaching an obvious cruel dehydrated demise. One says to the other, “Patience my ass, I’m gonna kill something!” <br />
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I used to perceive patience as weakness; a belief of those who were unable to make things happen. The movers and the shakers, you know those with the cool motivational plaques hanging in their offices did not just simply sit by “patiently” waiting on their rewards. They went out and “killed something!”<br />
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I remember I used to profess that if someone were passing out one million dollar bills, and there were a line ahead of me, I would get out of line. Sad.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9iqh_n7XNQFYR3M4MlpTtk7avxMXZO1RXXrcsXuu9B8-aPorHhiyQ2VQQ9ujWRRkn6KUn2plCAAXoUCyi2ljmdSUFeIX5kvie79wRaUQ4tqMNg4MNrDyvXgkRguXFZ2zhMsWAzayV68/s1600/th_time-flies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9iqh_n7XNQFYR3M4MlpTtk7avxMXZO1RXXrcsXuu9B8-aPorHhiyQ2VQQ9ujWRRkn6KUn2plCAAXoUCyi2ljmdSUFeIX5kvie79wRaUQ4tqMNg4MNrDyvXgkRguXFZ2zhMsWAzayV68/s1600/th_time-flies.jpg" /></a>As I reflect, I see that I had desired to control linear time. Like God wasn’t doing a good enough job for me. I wanted time to speed up to accommodate my receiving the stuff I wanted. I wanted the promotion quicker. I wanted fame quicker. I wanted the muscles quicker. I wanted the weight loss quicker. I wanted the check to come in the mail quicker. I wanted to grow up quicker. I wanted it all now. That was the incorrect practice of “the power of now.”</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Now that makes me wonder. If I want time to speed up, then am I okay when the time I wish would speed up would also rapidly zip by when I am actually enjoying myself? Do I want my kids to grow up, move on, and move out sooner? Do I want to get old and succumb to my mortality sooner? Do I want the party over sooner? <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhSkYbqvj6FVFDYLBTXI7xi1xWrJR3oalZO_rLP7ujFGuIHrA_MoFG_Vi1llSNtRaaJ4q0CqvxkI2KuWOS-es3FD3xcj8bB2TCcRLJ7fVpDKsYGRGw2vyKePHEMbIrDfF9b0crz-KMvlI/s1600/drive+thru.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhSkYbqvj6FVFDYLBTXI7xi1xWrJR3oalZO_rLP7ujFGuIHrA_MoFG_Vi1llSNtRaaJ4q0CqvxkI2KuWOS-es3FD3xcj8bB2TCcRLJ7fVpDKsYGRGw2vyKePHEMbIrDfF9b0crz-KMvlI/s200/drive+thru.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I find it a pretty bold request to command to be in control of time and to have it work within the parameters of <strong><em>my</em></strong> desires. Am I willing to share this power? What if I am the guy in line in front of the time keeper at a McDonald’s drive through, and he wishes <strong><em>me</em></strong> to not be there? Do I vanish? Do I get my food quicker? These are the heavy mysteries people. Will I be wished out of the way?<br />
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I find rather than trying to control time and trying to control how others manage theirs, it is easier to make a stronger attempt at finding my own source of patience. I find once we find our source of patience, it is a humble beginning of surrender. Surrender in the fact that we find we are not alone, we do not control the universe, yet if we slow down, we can enjoy what unfolds around us.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When I am impatient, I find I am steeped in self-importance that propels me at light speed into the future. I focus on what I should be doing, where I should be going, what should be happening to me, and I miss where I am. Often in the stillness and slowness I am most often blessed with gratitude and the revealing why the patience is a gift. A gift because I can realize I can have both benefits.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimsd-EG2Y5AgOv1lNrx3GtCl6ZcRfbUjnscLSH-96zZpZ4H_7nqpi8Di-UEB4Occls2ogczLV_PFoyQv8tTr-n-g5zlJK1BQODJVFDVseKphSHVEgQyiz-0Qjw1wUYjhc1UmASG2VcnOw/s1600/coupon+lady.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimsd-EG2Y5AgOv1lNrx3GtCl6ZcRfbUjnscLSH-96zZpZ4H_7nqpi8Di-UEB4Occls2ogczLV_PFoyQv8tTr-n-g5zlJK1BQODJVFDVseKphSHVEgQyiz-0Qjw1wUYjhc1UmASG2VcnOw/s200/coupon+lady.bmp" width="151" /></a>In being patient I get the blessings of presence. Whether it is a few quiet moments in the sun, even if it is waiting in line at a drive through or in daily traffic, or if it is a moment of solitude as a wait behind the coupon lady at the grocery, these moments are mine. I can’t do anything about it. Oh yes, I can bitch, but I find I am still standing there in the same spot, just bitching. By choice. Still waiting.</div><br />
I also eventually get what I am impatiently waiting for. I find that being impatient does not make the metaphorical universal UPS truck deliver my wishes any faster. My impatience only dictates how <strong><em><u>I</u></em></strong> feel as I close the gap between now and the delivery of my awaited circumstances. What I want to happen quicker does indeed happen, as it should and will on life’s terms, I just find through impatience I simply make the journey there more frustrating <strong><em><u>by choice</u></em></strong>.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Yes taking charge of certain elements is helpful. Of course preparation can speed progress. Absolutely we can do things to bring our desires to us quicker. Yet I find that impatience most often infiltrates us on the trivial level. I also find there are more trivial occurrences happening between the times our lives are punctuated by the big stuff.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrO5UYUz9dTKNVqdoadkh_WwsNxmrf4_CvjzoPv6DjIg6pTz-DcIjgK6YOPMEjqpdfMW3iRpVBWgOCPlmfj5vmohDTVKo4TtSzRPCAzViw7L63G1o9Gh7P8i7ejvNtdz_VSaj3fUe7-YQ/s1600/sausage+mcmuffin.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrO5UYUz9dTKNVqdoadkh_WwsNxmrf4_CvjzoPv6DjIg6pTz-DcIjgK6YOPMEjqpdfMW3iRpVBWgOCPlmfj5vmohDTVKo4TtSzRPCAzViw7L63G1o9Gh7P8i7ejvNtdz_VSaj3fUe7-YQ/s1600/sausage+mcmuffin.bmp" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Patience. I still need work, but I realize that I am the one who needs the work and that is okay. I just need it most when there is a line of cars between me and my Sausage McMuffin.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVshsIzC7BYadgyw8JrTJaExm9Ehcmje_oYO0BPEnHN9klOANZU6LfLWARnNAl0tfBFCioZZjKAxFZEC9ehoPyK434lvoVibclhaPyu5yT6O0FlvjrS2gK9O08gRjVl30-1qzvqBlXnEI/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVshsIzC7BYadgyw8JrTJaExm9Ehcmje_oYO0BPEnHN9klOANZU6LfLWARnNAl0tfBFCioZZjKAxFZEC9ehoPyK434lvoVibclhaPyu5yT6O0FlvjrS2gK9O08gRjVl30-1qzvqBlXnEI/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-28356702639816449842011-01-10T09:51:00.000-05:002011-01-10T09:51:45.724-05:00Now this is a tale of a fateful trip...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoMEZWHq9_Yi5roIzM59z1LjO52ypMmg9NBz6cKz76tFI_GapNJNuwydydfKy7Xf9vVzEEAZOZGFB5Rqt36jciszXi1t_KrZNN86-0O32LqT5HZzlfNO2n4XYIaX42YC5wklzL53z_YqQ/s1600/Gilligan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoMEZWHq9_Yi5roIzM59z1LjO52ypMmg9NBz6cKz76tFI_GapNJNuwydydfKy7Xf9vVzEEAZOZGFB5Rqt36jciszXi1t_KrZNN86-0O32LqT5HZzlfNO2n4XYIaX42YC5wklzL53z_YqQ/s1600/Gilligan.jpg" /></a></div>I always said Gilligan’s Island would be a great place to be if I could get used to the taste of coconut. Isolated, lush and green, a lagoon; what more could I ask for? Of course I would have to choose a few friends, and I do not think I would choose a couple with a trunk full of money. In today’s world they would simply have a wallet full of credit cards, and I do not know too many “Lovey’s.”<br />
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The reason for my aspirations usually comes after a time of tragedy. Mass shootings, politically charged rhetoric that inspires exclusion or separatist thought, ecological disaster, you know the icky, big stuff. I would profess, and still do, that it would be nice to be able to escape it all, to simply go to a beautiful place where these thorns could not grow in my garden.<br />
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I would accept the restricted diet of fish and limited produce for the peace of a hammock between to palms, a hut, and many hours of unmolested reflection at the water’s edge. Maybe the diet would solve my expanding waistline as well, and the hunting/gathering would become sufficient exercise.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4esDmbuB0eVTFJmvlwdKT9-6Kn4Kou6DzqXj6o3zwIqsB7ZSg5Gn9E0SOcXVBlz11ds5kM8yqgcp-w3IJn4iO7WR4NyKMVXBGSV9PdhVid8WHofEBzlYJ2qWSHw5MeqSnF3mGLpV5I7o/s1600/wilson+volley+ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4esDmbuB0eVTFJmvlwdKT9-6Kn4Kou6DzqXj6o3zwIqsB7ZSg5Gn9E0SOcXVBlz11ds5kM8yqgcp-w3IJn4iO7WR4NyKMVXBGSV9PdhVid8WHofEBzlYJ2qWSHw5MeqSnF3mGLpV5I7o/s200/wilson+volley+ball.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>But then I think: “There would not be much social stimulation (I like people), and I do not need many material things, but how many toys can you make out of bamboo and palm fronds? I mean I would need an outlet to plug in my iPod for charging.” Also, there could still be hurricanes, another oil leak could reach my shores, and I cannot escape the bias of my own thoughts. No man is an island, plus I would not want to eventually have a volley ball as my best friend. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmBVH3fRtWEp55NbJ3EyOBGYC_3Z1fb9p6wj68l_2ltHcBOe3bk7CoFl9GZV_J3OqKy7WKrexIClxUrfxZfSILKs9Lx5RAjmC4xlAiEjudAkAIrIp5HlK2YuSp2m0rz36IOIm0_BYNreY/s1600/maytag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmBVH3fRtWEp55NbJ3EyOBGYC_3Z1fb9p6wj68l_2ltHcBOe3bk7CoFl9GZV_J3OqKy7WKrexIClxUrfxZfSILKs9Lx5RAjmC4xlAiEjudAkAIrIp5HlK2YuSp2m0rz36IOIm0_BYNreY/s200/maytag.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>As we often seek a remedy or escape from that which harms us, frightens us, or tears us asunder, I find that I am often looking for the “caped crusader” to come to the rescue. “Who is going to make this right?” “Where is the cosmic Maytag Repair Man?” “Who is going to stop the insanity?”<br />
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“Anyone...anyone??!” (We then hear the crickets...)<br />
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I then find that I hold a majority of the potential for change. I myself can drop the proverbial “pebble in the pond”, and stare as the ripples retract concentrically outward reaching far shores.<br />
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My world is simply a reflection of myself and how I see it. <br />
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When I say, “The world sucks”...it often proves me correct.<br />
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When I say, “People today are crazy”...they often act in such a manner.<br />
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When I say, “Life is rough”...I meet quite a bit of adversity.<br />
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However, when I tell myself, “The world has beauty and promise, contains an abundance of compassionate, intelligent, and beautiful people who are willing to take on the same challenges as I, so none of us are alone”, I find my burdens lighten. <br />
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Same world, same people, same life–different perspective. My choice.<br />
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I have three simple tools in my tool kit. They like a hammer, screwdriver, and duct tape can fix most any a household dilemma.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaW-yv7J_ahVGCb4G5IkRuFFCOqB6qGNMoQpDiW8ye7r-FhVnxvf4u7S8OiiokHBkW-QSrDcEISe05UVVYlpfeR44ZbH0iv9jSki1ueeqsq47Ooog4xdTt0ZMn41aMUruyoy1RirhCnMw/s1600/duct+tape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaW-yv7J_ahVGCb4G5IkRuFFCOqB6qGNMoQpDiW8ye7r-FhVnxvf4u7S8OiiokHBkW-QSrDcEISe05UVVYlpfeR44ZbH0iv9jSki1ueeqsq47Ooog4xdTt0ZMn41aMUruyoy1RirhCnMw/s200/duct+tape.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>First–awareness of the things I tell myself. When I am carrying out my own dialogue, I must become aware of things I tell myself. Am I critical or hopeful? Do I want to be my own coach or adversary? Am I using destructive dialogue coming out of a bullhorn reminding myself of my past failures, or am I using a motivating tone reminding me to get up, brush off the dirt, and attempt the important things again until I get it? This is a choice. Where I stand in the world and how I reflect upon my position in it is a choice.<br />
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Second–the questions I ask myself. “Why are you such a loser?” is not the best way to try to motivate yourself to overcome your shortcomings. When I ask myself questions like this, amazingly I have many, many answers. Most of them are rooted in past behavior. Behavior I no longer can do anything about. Why? Because it is PAST behavior! When I ask, “How can I make today better than yesterday?” Or, “How can I be a better person, husband, wife, employee, citizen, etc.”, interestingly enough, I get answers here too. These answers usually come in the context of things I can do in the present and will affect my future. The opportunities presented to me in this life appear often in direct proportion to the questions I ask myself.<br />
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Finally–the window I peer out into the world is one I place before myself. What we focus on is what we see. If I constantly focus on death, pain, belligerence, debauchery, suffering, madness, loss, and hatred, guess what I see? If focus on people making a difference, compassion, growth, ingenuity, progress, and miracles, yes–miracles; I will see them too. Same planet–different worlds.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1z2poQvJvvMh_5_vG-oqOPoiuFKeUUxi8j8JKiCDy45w2HKhWivpwnrKnGlqqTZjHXgDj8Z0_9gv0uA-oEz5raIgPkJyP91FM_Rekeq8xIbbwQL1vGdY8oPoFBBBtLJDUiCs7d-MaIjE/s1600/minnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1z2poQvJvvMh_5_vG-oqOPoiuFKeUUxi8j8JKiCDy45w2HKhWivpwnrKnGlqqTZjHXgDj8Z0_9gv0uA-oEz5raIgPkJyP91FM_Rekeq8xIbbwQL1vGdY8oPoFBBBtLJDUiCs7d-MaIjE/s200/minnow.jpg" width="200" /></a>The greatest thing about these global changes that affect the masses is that we already have them, it can change the world for ourselves and others, and the shift occurs the moment we dedicate ourselves to the changes we wish to see. They can work as personally or universally as the intentions we use to activate them. We cannot change the world until we start upon the changes within ourselves.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Yes, it can be challenging at times. If you want a good workout on these principles, turn on the news. There are many people who are willing to spiritually spar and test our resolve. It is empowering to know that my armor thickens with my recall of these ideals. However if this is a bit hard, the S.S. Minnow always is an option.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbbuT8YTVGhZVMnJLUYWs4M_ptA4FCd-g2Hzzkz7_48_UOgSK7_9ynzt4AyjuI_r23c53bJreXgl11MgnPgPMxESN3LA2S1scNENuB_jh8C3L5bjzkN7ldimlSI6XAgMbICCCVslMk8I/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbbuT8YTVGhZVMnJLUYWs4M_ptA4FCd-g2Hzzkz7_48_UOgSK7_9ynzt4AyjuI_r23c53bJreXgl11MgnPgPMxESN3LA2S1scNENuB_jh8C3L5bjzkN7ldimlSI6XAgMbICCCVslMk8I/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878683068222689375.post-82685703597191279102011-01-02T16:01:00.000-05:002011-01-02T16:01:16.381-05:00Keep On Keepin On<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqTotaSWqkmygBIDOnE9fsR99DK_QeFo0VTHXwQld5FI1j2FJs2tFv4I5w1c2CJ_A9f80YT4_lA6Ka9z-CJ1iMUizp-otWGcIosp8qJJIXhcxfqEnkkVVW6Ls-hNMYjTSib7FcKjO1gs/s1600/succes+etc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqTotaSWqkmygBIDOnE9fsR99DK_QeFo0VTHXwQld5FI1j2FJs2tFv4I5w1c2CJ_A9f80YT4_lA6Ka9z-CJ1iMUizp-otWGcIosp8qJJIXhcxfqEnkkVVW6Ls-hNMYjTSib7FcKjO1gs/s200/succes+etc.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I can tell it is the New Year. Aside from the ritual of taking down holiday decorations and a small anxious desire for school to go back into session, there’s one major tell-tale sign: the proliferation of personal improvement ads.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJv2pOlaa3dC1AoxHQ2MP5KHt44M8JRT4I81gFZKKInqnH66m6X1MOHrM3mFa_q-63WIQASpLvHJS-kykaP0xGt50PH_fWVyBUgZLdIfRRqLl_rqJK7UhEF59dPtcRcAZ5jNU4CqyJcPM/s1600/b+and+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJv2pOlaa3dC1AoxHQ2MP5KHt44M8JRT4I81gFZKKInqnH66m6X1MOHrM3mFa_q-63WIQASpLvHJS-kykaP0xGt50PH_fWVyBUgZLdIfRRqLl_rqJK7UhEF59dPtcRcAZ5jNU4CqyJcPM/s200/b+and+a.jpg" width="200" /></a>Like budding trees in the springtime, the beginning of the year provides a plethora of reminders that it is time to take a personal inventory and whittle away at that we own that is less than desirable. If I take this pill, I can be in a better mood, detoxify my system, or shed those unwanted pounds.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>If I call this guy, I can improve my finances, own real estate, or learn the secrets of getting a perfect physique in 90 days.<br />
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I can quit smoking, drinking, drugging, arguing with my kids, teach my baby to read, and go back to school.<br />
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I am emphatically encouraged to emerge from the chrysalis of last year’s drudgery into the beautiful butterfly I am destined to become...this month.<br />
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Eagerly I listen. I critically examine my attributes and lack thereof assessing what I need to keep, and what I need to improve upon. It is January 2nd. I am already a day late. Am I a loser already?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu-pqZ5jHSWDMjZ6klKoRsKYC9B4qzP04qDbBGjN5Il2k6FF-J0irrmp8SssBShsmUC6XeOz6PKB_30d9oU1zmbmdvLSHwNNnIkeB7rI3ewOzfF7evhhEL-k5SZJBtCDMicNCFU5Yk4co/s1600/mistletoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu-pqZ5jHSWDMjZ6klKoRsKYC9B4qzP04qDbBGjN5Il2k6FF-J0irrmp8SssBShsmUC6XeOz6PKB_30d9oU1zmbmdvLSHwNNnIkeB7rI3ewOzfF7evhhEL-k5SZJBtCDMicNCFU5Yk4co/s200/mistletoe.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>In this onslaught of suggestions of how my life can improve, lies the paradox of an equal amount of articles of why resolutions fail. Too much, too lofty, too quick. We are captivated and enchanted by a couple months of lights and mistletoe, fun and frivolity, and then like at 2:00 am in a pub, the lights come on, we are told to stop, and go home. <br />
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Of course it will be hard even with the noblest of intentions to make major life changes this time of year. We go from a season of indulgence, self satisfaction, giving, abundance, and festivity to immediately tear down decorations, a cold season of grey skies (here in the Midwest), holiday credit card bills, and then are expected to proclaim, then live up to, stopping things we have done habitually mainly because they make us feel good.<br />
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No sir, I don’t like it. It is hard enough for me to write the correct date on my checks in the New Year let alone stop eating what I enjoy, get more rest and exercise, upgrade to “better behavior 2.0”, reboot, and act as if it is easy, or at least enjoyable. It is like driving along the freeway at sixty miles and hour and noticing your exit then slamming your car into reverse trying to make it safely to your next destination. Not good for cars or humans.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7Ue7hyJy0ftCl66sY7PGDmB9qAI8WYVbjQR_PukG1DVWdVJUBrb8r6SgJSTUEWnvxuNXGn9l5l6uq05EddJkuawNtWC9C2geOi5GMkMpSGN_by_SqAVybqSVAYVh5ETnTpYM1T6CU5E/s1600/etchasketch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7Ue7hyJy0ftCl66sY7PGDmB9qAI8WYVbjQR_PukG1DVWdVJUBrb8r6SgJSTUEWnvxuNXGn9l5l6uq05EddJkuawNtWC9C2geOi5GMkMpSGN_by_SqAVybqSVAYVh5ETnTpYM1T6CU5E/s1600/etchasketch.jpg" /></a></div>I do not believe the New Year is like an Etch-a-Sketch. It is not a simple shake of the calendar and then we start over. If it were that simple, why wait for 364 days to pass before using that wonderful do-over? Why let a full year pass before deciding we could use a new blank sheet? Do we also need to shake it to make then entire past disappear? Sometimes we simply need a little White Out to mask a few mistakes to make the text read better.<br />
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Perhaps before considering resolutions we should examine what went well in the previous year? Let’s do more of THAT stuff! Perhaps make habits out of serendipity. If we spent more time focusing on some of what we do right and not so much that our jeans don’t fit like they used to, we would embellish the skills that would allow us the skill sets to achieve many more of the things we desire.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXDE9Iy8eJYTy_YceGP1KsTUmTZpdGG6kfODTUOFEC-gnDbL1mRmTZvrciTopquPaI8ON4v7bPlGvNFzwaN0gesfw-Ikb0lbphyhAuaTtnfTXr3OAz8j8FiRsfrem0NIuSqbmo4wB1enk/s1600/batting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXDE9Iy8eJYTy_YceGP1KsTUmTZpdGG6kfODTUOFEC-gnDbL1mRmTZvrciTopquPaI8ON4v7bPlGvNFzwaN0gesfw-Ikb0lbphyhAuaTtnfTXr3OAz8j8FiRsfrem0NIuSqbmo4wB1enk/s200/batting.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>I like to look at life as if it had a “batting average”. As in baseball, it takes a number of times at bat to assess where our stats lie. Perfection is not so much praised as consistency of getting the hits. Of course we will swing and miss. It makes the home runs that much more fun to celebrate. It is the possibility of a strike out that hones our competitive spirit.<br />
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Personally I reflect this time of year “categorically.” I try to look at global attributes that I would like to examine in more forensic depth in the upcoming year. This examination requires time, research and rhythm. There is no way I can incorporate lasting changes into my life without practice and patience. It took a lot of the negative habits I may wish to eradicate a long time to erode their way into a habitual pattern. I must therefore offer the same amount of dedication and tenacity in replacing them. I am still busy making excuses in January!<br />
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I have in the past used categories such as “expanding my knowledge”, “improving my spiritual awareness”, “stabilizing my health”, “developing greater patience”, and I will often revisit those yearly but with just different amount of emphasis.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgsty409hDBaLXaeu2qoS6QGERXoBmY8SJ3bqFRk0oBScrrcWh61Etja6_r5XbjSpe1-9gL0yDfbLaxuE0udCpj5xzg_Kz8Sne-3ZHhCBpXCpLOBK7qfoa3CFzo-L6a2S7OR7B-uIs2o/s1600/balance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgsty409hDBaLXaeu2qoS6QGERXoBmY8SJ3bqFRk0oBScrrcWh61Etja6_r5XbjSpe1-9gL0yDfbLaxuE0udCpj5xzg_Kz8Sne-3ZHhCBpXCpLOBK7qfoa3CFzo-L6a2S7OR7B-uIs2o/s200/balance.jpg" width="168" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This year I am dedicating a larger amount of the pie to “balance.” I have a tendency to obsess or attach to one thing in my life often times at the detriment of another. As a farmer will plant many seeds, all needing different amounts of attention, water, nourishment, and care, he still plants with the intent to harvest all to better feed him and others. His attention and routines are stable and reliable and fluctuate to the ongoing needs of his crops.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5z5R2WUuSUgEBrhdv1-9mzuAtCNGhAaw8tjI9OZyP_suT5itTeTYOFs3TYVtSXIangY0MTVTvm8zlHPfojZsdHZFW0IWHoSUfIC8WuX1ToPSMC8jY-qWay4otblDmUeFX1XbHg-RjnF8/s1600/seedlings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5z5R2WUuSUgEBrhdv1-9mzuAtCNGhAaw8tjI9OZyP_suT5itTeTYOFs3TYVtSXIangY0MTVTvm8zlHPfojZsdHZFW0IWHoSUfIC8WuX1ToPSMC8jY-qWay4otblDmUeFX1XbHg-RjnF8/s200/seedlings.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I have many seeds planted now. I cannot let one suffer as I tend to another. I must have balance to have bounty. As the farmer weathers the seasons, the droughts, the rains, and adjusts his routines to the needs of his seedlings, so must I. It is another year, but it is also another day. In my goal to improve my life’s balance, I will simply keep on keepin’ on. By spring I should have some good plants growing.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiinIYmuOcC61hBaVcmmbo3m4gQ7Tfe8X3mEcP2tKlDCsaDCb_rQqEoa-HNGhEodOBKX57mrCyLx3CFMybNrq_xuJzd3Iu0mfTXV-uNd992r7MgD_6yIKVx25dCeyUG41XBUhPf6Tr2QEs/s1600/tonysig3.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiinIYmuOcC61hBaVcmmbo3m4gQ7Tfe8X3mEcP2tKlDCsaDCb_rQqEoa-HNGhEodOBKX57mrCyLx3CFMybNrq_xuJzd3Iu0mfTXV-uNd992r7MgD_6yIKVx25dCeyUG41XBUhPf6Tr2QEs/s200/tonysig3.GIF" width="200" /></a></div></div>Tony Andershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12600976425950346255noreply@blogger.com3