Change In The Air

I love fall.  By far, it is my favorite season.  It has always been my favorite season.

I love the colors of the trees.  The rusts.  The yellows.  The reds.  When one walks in the woods, there is that familiar sound, the crunch of leaves underfoot.  I don’t get to walk in the woods as much as I did as a kid . . . as much as I did when I was younger.

I love the Change In The Air.

There is a coolness, a crispness to the air.  Nature plays games with us because daytime can be hot and humid, but then evening slips in and carries with it a chill, a coolness.  A walk outside might turn a nose or a cheek to apple red.  A time for sweaters and sweatshirts.  Jeans and a jacket.  I had a favorite bright red sweater I wore as a kid.  Still see myself running around in the backyard with my brothers in my jeans with the cuffs rolled up.  Our cheeks and nose red from the chill.

I love the Change In The Air.

Cherry and apple pies.  Warm apple cider with cinnamon.  The smell of cookouts replaced by the smell of a wood fireplace. 

Happens every year.  Every year.  Every one of my fifty-nine years. 

The thing about change is that it happens.

It happens every year.  Over and over.  Time and again.

Nothing we can do to stop it.  Nothing we can do to prevent it from happening.  It is as natural and as normal as can be.

I’ve written about growing up next to a river.  That river has taught me a lot.  Sometimes I think that river . . . nature . . . has been my best teacher.  One of the things I’ve learned is that if you dip your fingertips into the river, even keeping your fingertips in the water, even for a long time, you never touch the same water again.  You never touch the same drops more than once. 

You see, water passes.  It moves on.  It never stays in one place.  The river is governed by the current and the current is the river’s master.  The current is always moving. 

Your fingertips might not move.  You can keep them as still as can be. 

But no matter. 

The river passes.  It moves on.  We move on.  We might not like it.  We can try to stop it.  We can fight it.  But the river, as does time, passes by.  It is a given in nature . . . our one great teacher.  Time, like the river, passes by.  It moves on.  And we move on.  We might try to snatch it out of the air.  We might try to grasp it.  We might try to hold onto it.  All in vain.  All in vain.

So we can fight it . . . or embrace it.  We can resist it . . . or accept it.  We can enjoy the colors, the cool, the crisp air . . . or dread it.  Fret about it.  Worry about it.  It won’t matter, because Change will occur whether or not we want it to.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Be That One!

Just for a moment, I’d like you to read this and then shut your eyes and answer it.  Ready?  Here we go . . .

Think back to a time when someone said or did something hurtful to you . . .  Shut your eyes and think about that for a moment.

Chances are, you thought of the person who said or did it, the time and place where it occurred, and the exact or nearly the exact words or actions that were used.  Some of you might even picture the time of day and what the weather was like.

For some of you, this took place years ago, but you remember as if it were yesterday.

How powerful words and actions are!

For me, it was early in the sixth grade.  We were on the playground and a group of my friends were standing around talking and as I approached them, one or two drifted away.  Three turned to me and one said, “I’m having some friends over and you’re not invited.”  He and the other two friends turned and walked away . . . laughing.  Yes, they laughed.

For the life of me, I can’t tell you why.  I can’t tell you what I had done or said.  I can’t even tell you what I didn’t do or didn’t say.  I was stunned.  These were my friends.  Guys I hung out with.  I had always done things with them.  Always.  I was one of them.  But now, I was excluded.  I didn’t know why and to this day, still don’t know why.  But I can tell you that I was hurt deeply. 

Now, I want you to read the next statement and then shut your eyes and answer it.  Ready?  Here we go . . .

Think back to a time when someone said or did something to you that made you feel so good . . . Shut your eyes and think about that for a moment.

Once again, chances are you thought of the person who said or did it, the time and place where it occurred, and the exact or nearly the exact words or actions that were used.  Some of you might even picture the time of day and what the weather was like.

And like the hurtful words or actions, perhaps, it occurred years ago, but you remember as if it were yesterday.

There were so many kind words and actions given to me over the years, that I’m having trouble choosing just one.  In fact, it was far easier to remember the hurtful words and actions than the more pleasant memory.

Interesting how that happens, isn’t it?

We might remember the negative far easier, and perhaps far longer, than we recall the positive. 

I think we need to remember, especially those in positions of authority, that our words and our actions mean something.  They have an impact- either positive or negative.  And sometimes the negative outlasts the positive.

Scary, really.

So my charge to you this day . . . my charge to you every day . . . is to choose your words and actions carefully and wisely.  We might not ever know what impact we might have on whom.  Further, I ask that you Be That One that makes a positive impact in what you say and in what you do.  Life is so short.  We need to help and not hurt.  We need to build up and not tear down.  Please, Be That One!  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Both Joy And Tears

Interesting day today . . .

A new year.  Our first day of school. 

Remember those days?  So excited.  So scared.  So worried.  Need to make a good impression.

The night before we settle on just what to wear.  Has to be perfect.  Have to look nice.  Organized the backpack.  Labeled our folders.  Nice and neat.  Ready.

I stand on the first floor and greet kids as they come into school.  Some ask for directions to their rooms, their lockers, where to find . . .  While some, well, they look so scared.  Heads down.  Eyes nowhere, but everywhere.  Ears open.  Antenna working overtime.

One little girl in Tears because she couldn’t find her homeroom and was afraid she’d be late.  Told her not to worry, but worry she did.  We got her there in time, but so scared.

Other kids so happy.  Smiles.  Laughter.  Hugs and handshakes.  Joy.

Several kids so small.  Tiny, really.  I can’t imagine I was ever that small even at birth.  No way.  Yet there they were on their first day, lugging their heavy backpack.  A backpack about as big as he/she/they were.  Hunched over from the weight.  I had the urge to stop them and say, “Hey, what’s in there?”  I’m thinking, ‘They’re hiding a small VW Bug in there!’

Both Joy and Tears.

Parents sending their son, their daughter to school for the first time.  Walking them to the bus stop.  To the school door.  With a wave and a hop, they disappear.  A parent’s heart about to burst.  Tears, perhaps.  But oh, the smile on the child’s face.  Especially the young ones.  Excited.  Eager.  Joy.

Both Joy and Tears.

So much of life is the same coin, just opposite sides.  The same coin, though.  As the coin flips, Joy turns to Tears, and Tears turn to Joy.  Sometimes, Tears mean Joy.  Still, the heart breaks.  There’s a sigh.  A catch of breath.  Our smile falters.  We wave as our child waves back at us with a smile, and little do they know we die a little inside.  Inside, where no one can see.

I imagine there are those of us who go through each day like that. 

A smile, yet sadness hidden behind that smile.  A laugh, only to hide the pain, the sorrow.  Reminds me of the song Smokey used to sing, Tears Of A Clown.  Zak Brown has a lyric that says, “Sometimes I feel like a clown, who can’t wash off his make-up.”  How many of us are like that?  Each day.  Every day.  Sometimes.  Maybe not often, but sometimes.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Your Vision

Readers:  This past week, I've been working with my teachers to get them ready for the beginning of another school year.  With that in mind, I decided to republish Your Vision.  It's not just for teachers, but it's for parents, for those who work with kids, for those who work alongside someone else.  Thanks, Joe

DeWitt Jones, Photographer for National Geographic, tells the story his father once told him about two stone cutters.  A man posed the question to one: “What are you doing?”  One stone cutter said, “Cutting stone.”  He posed the question to the other and the other answered, “I’m building a cathedral.”  Two men, same job doing the same work.  Two different viewpoints.  Two different Visions.

I have to admit that I am and have always been a ‘glass is almost full’ kind of guy.  Not ‘half full’ but really, ‘almost full’.  Growing up, Pollyanna was one of my favorite movies.  

 

 I never watched Winnie The Pooh until we had our first child, Hannah, but as I watched along with her, I found myself chuckling at Eeyore.  What a depressing Vision of life he had!   

 

Yet, each of us know at least one or two Eeyores, and I’m willing to bet that at times, we’ve been one too.  Sort of like Typhoid Mary, an Eeyore can bring down just about anyone.

Perhaps we need to consider if we are like Eeyore and looking for and expecting the bad to occur in life and only willing to see and express the negative.  Or, are we more like Pollyanna and looking for and expecting the good in life and in others and expressing the positive.   

 

Either way, we would be like Typhoid Mary spreading either negativity and sadness or positivity and joy.  You choose!  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Follow The Recipe?

All the time I was growing up, my mom would bake every Saturday morning.  I mean, Every Saturday Morning.  Homemade bread, buns, cinnamon rolls, pies (apple, being my favorite), cookies.  Every Saturday Morning.

The smell filled the whole house.  It made your mouth water.  I can still smell it today as I sit in my office writing this. 

We had the timing down to an art.  Just as mom would take something out of the oven, we’d be there.  Hands outstretched.  Knife and butter ready.  Eyes wide in delight.  Jostling for the first bite, the first taste. Who gets the biggest?  Who doesn’t want a corner piece or the crust or the end?

Nothing beats warm bread with melted butter right out of the oven.  Nothing.  Or, a warm chocolate chip or peanut butter cookie.  Not just one or two.  Three or four snuck when mom wasn’t looking.  Though, if I had to guess, she knew.  She knew.  Probably had a hard time keeping the smile off her face as she went about loading up another tray of something to pop into the oven.

I don’t bake much.  Not really at all.  I’m more of the cook.  Kim and the girls bake. 

For me, it’s Following The Recipe.  I’d much rather experiment.  Dabble.  Pinch of this or that.  My chili is good, but it tastes different each time I make it.  Same with my spaghetti or lasagna.

Kim and the girls Follow The Recipe.  The directions.  Each step.  Measuring.  Stirring.  Beating.

Got me thinking . . .

There are those of us who wing it.  Most of the time, it comes out fine.  Sometimes, not so much.  There are those who Follow The Recipe.  The steps.  The directions.  Almost always, it comes out fine.  Yet every now and then, it comes out too well-done.  Okay, burnt.

I don’t know if there is a right or a wrong, really.  I think it depends upon what it is you’re cooking or baking.  I think it depends upon what it is you’re doing.  I think it depends upon your intended result.  If the result you seek needs to be well-defined, finite, exact, perhaps Following The Recipe is best.  If the result you seek isn’t so defined, if there isn’t the need for it to be exactly so, perhaps winging it is just fine.

I think it depends upon the result you seek, the result you need.  It really comes down to what it is you want in the end.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!