Friday, November 14, 2014

If I Knew . . .



I remember as a psychology teacher way back when, I had my kids write their own epitaph.  The idea was for them to consider their life, how they’ve lived up to then, and write how they would want to be remembered.

I’m not sure why, but this week . . . all this week . . . I was thinking about Helen Keller, and the article that appeared in Atlantic Magazine that was titled, Three Days To See.  In it, she talked about what she would do if she was granted the gift of sight for three days. 

Sight is something we take for granted, don’t we?  Perhaps like a lot of things.

Randy Pausch was a professor who died of complications from pancreatic cancer.  He is best known for his “Last Lecture” that NBC News featured.  He lived his life to the very end- every last minute. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji5_MqicxSo This link will take you to a wonderful talk he gave about achieving your childhood.

In one of my earlier writings, I wrote about Steve Gleason, a former football player who is suffering from ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease.  Gleason and a team of volunteers and family members climbed a mountain even though he is pretty much confined to a wheelchair, but what I like most is that Gleason is recording thoughts and memories for his son to remember him by.  Again, another example of living life to the full, regardless of the cards dealt to him.

Which leads me to today’s thought and something I want you to consider, perhaps on a deeper level than one you normally go to when you read my writing . . .? 

If you knew you were going to die at a specific time on a specific day . . . let’s say, three days from now, what would you do?  How would you spend your remaining time?  With whom would you spend it?  And, knowing that two days from now you would die, what things would you say and to whom would you say them?  What thoughts, feelings, what emotions would you share and with whom? And, what would you keep to yourself, if anything?

My first thought upon reading the above paragraph is family- Kim, Hannah, Emily.  Then I broadened that to my remaining brothers and sisters, my nieces and nephews.  I’d throw in some very close friends, JT who is like a son to me.  Others.  Those are the people I would want to spend my remaining time with.

As for what I’d say or what I’d share, well, I think you know me well enough by now that I’d urge them to live, really live.  Not waste a moment on regret or worry.  Not spend one second thinking about what should have been done, what could have been done.  I’d remind them that what is in the past should be left there and that everyone needs to move on, move along and keep going. 

I don’t know that I’d waste my time on a final great meal, unless it was with those I mentioned above.  I don’t know that I’d spend the money to go to this place or that place to see this or that, again, unless it was with those I mentioned above.  Because for me, the last two or three days wouldn’t be about seeing this or that- it would be about spending some meaningful time with those who give me great joy, with those who I’ve loved the most.

And lastly, I’d probably tell them that if they shed even one tear, I’d come back and haunt the hell out of them, because I’d want to be remembered with smiles and laughter – because, I’ve said and done some really stupid stuff!

Okay, now that you’ve thought about that, I have to ask you this very important question: what are you waiting for?

Why should you wait until the very end to do what needs to be done?  Why are you waiting to spend time with those whom you love, long for?  Why are you waiting to say what needs to be said?  Why are you waiting to do what needs to be done? 

In whatever time you and I have on this earth, don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time? Don’t you think we’ve withheld too much of our thoughts and our feelings already?  This month, I turn 61 and I figure I’m already on the backside of the mountain.  I can’t waste any more time than I have already.  Haven’t you, too?  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

To My Readers . . .
I want to thank you for taking a chance on a rookie writer by purchasing and reading my two books, Taking Lives, which is a prequel to my trilogy- the Lives Trilogy, and Stolen Lives, the first book in the trilogy.  Taking Lives debuted on August 4, 2014 and has not left the top 50 on Amazon’s 100 Best Sellers list.  Stolen Lives debuted last evening and I woke up to find that, as of this writing, it is #19, #64, and #89 on three different Amazon’s 100 Best Seller lists.

Thank you!

For those of you who haven’t yet, if interested, they can be found at:
Taking Lives:

Stolen Lives:

jl

Friday, November 7, 2014

Full Circle



When Kim and I were married back in ’92, the celebrant gave his message about the symbolism of the wedding ring.  He talked about how it is a circle and as such, has no beginning and no end.  It is continuous, nonstop, and everlasting.  A ring has no rough edges, but is smooth and shiny.  The ring is meant to be worn as a reminder that marriage, like love, is meant to last forever.

I’m not sure how I remember little things like that.  Kim would answer that my mind is full of useless trivia and I think my kids would agree.  But at the same time, I don’t think this counts as useless trivia or for that matter, a little thing.

Once upon a time, I grew up in a family of ten.  All of us under one roof.  One by one, we married and had children and raise or raised our children under our own different roof.  And further on down the road, I watched as some of my nieces and nephews had children of their own, and in time, my own will too.  Full Circle.

There was a picture on Facebook showing a toddler pushing a one of those tyke walkers as he was learning to walk.  Walking along side of him was a picture of an elderly woman, perhaps his grandmother, using a walker.  Full Circle.

As a child and as a kid, even as a young man, there were many things I could do.  I could run and was pretty quick.  I could climb, jump, you name it.  Now?  Well, some of those same things I might be able to do, though not nearly as effectively as I once could.  I’m a little stiffer, not as flexible or nearly as coordinated as I once was.  Full Circle.

Fall is probably my favorite of the seasons.  Sweatshirt and jeans kind of weather.  The color of the leaves on the trees, and the piles of leaves on lawns.  The cool crispness of the air.  Contrast this to Spring when there are buds on trees and bushes, and birds chirping, and we slowly peel off the layers of clothes we wear in Fall and Winter.  Full Circle.

In my Lives Trilogy that I wrote, one of the boys who had much happen to him- tragically so- asks one of my other characters why there is so much pain and suffering.  He wanted to know why it happened to him, and to his friends who were caught up in the same tragic circumstance.  The older character smiles tells him that he has no real answer to the boy’s question, but reminds him that there is still much to be grateful for, much to be thankful for, much to love, much to enjoy, and that while he and they suffered, ultimately, they survived, they lived, and need to go on living.  Full Circle.

While there are mountains, there are valleys.  While there are crests of waves, there are also troughs within that same sea.  While there is light, it will turn to dusk and then dark, and then the purple of early morning before the light gives way to pale blue of daylight.  Full Circle.

Love does not end.  I believe this with all my heart.  My faith has led me to this belief.  It goes on.  It lives on.  The form love takes might change, but it goes on.  There might be anger, sadness, and harsh words.  But in the next moment, there is happiness, joy, and kindness.  Once again, Full Circle.

No matter where we look in life, no matter what example we give, there is always another side that is really a continuation of the same side, much like the ring we wear.  There is no end, but a continuous band, smooth without edges, shiny and beautiful.  Be patient for it will come to pass.  Watch for it.  Allow it.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Friday, October 31, 2014

A Shot Glass, Barry Gibb, Hermione's Purse



I’m a vitamin taker.  In addition to a multi-vitamin, I take several others that I believe are good for me to take.  Yes, the multi-vitamin has the same ones I take in addition to it, but I feel better knowing that I’m taking a little extra.  Rightly or wrongly, for solid or perhaps faulty reasons, I just feel better knowing that what I’m taking will help me in some way or fashion.

A friend in the medical field told me once a long time ago that I might be wasting my time and money.  He described the multi-vitamin as a shot glass (yes, I had to smile at the analogy myself).  He said that your body only needs what can be filled in the shot glass.  If you choose to take anything in addition to what the shot glass can hold, then it spills over the top, onto the table and onto the floor.  It is wasted. 

I smiled and nodded and I ignore his advice because, well, just because I feel better taking my extra vitamins.  I’m pretty healthy, so my reasoning is that my extras might be working for me.

Hold the thought about the shot glass overflowing for a minute . . .

I have been a fan of the Bee Gees and Barry Gibb since middle school.  I loved their harmony and the way they adapted to the different musical landscape as time progressed.  Many years ago, Barry Gibb described the intense pleasure he gets when he is on stage.  He described the euphoria, the exuberance, the joy of connecting with the audience, of giving his all.  He stated that when the concert is concluded, he is spent.  Done.  Finished.  Wiped out.  He had given his all, his best, and the end of any concert left him exhausted.

Barry Gibb after a concert . . .

Some of you might know that I write thriller fiction and that I have one book currently available on Amazon titled, Taking Lives.  It is a prequel to my trilogy and is meant to introduce me to readers, and readers to my trilogy.  Stolen Lives, the first book in my trilogy, comes out November 10th and I can’t wait.  I know that many of you who have read Taking Lives can’t wait either because, purposely, I left you hanging.  I’ve received plenty of email, text messages, phone calls, and visits at my door threatening me with bodily harm- playfully, I hope- that I left them, you, hanging.  You wanted more and I didn’t deliver it . . . on purpose . . . until you read Stolen Lives and the rest of the trilogy, though I promise that each book of the trilogy is more tidy at the finish than Taking Lives is.

A Shot Glass, Barry Gibb, and my novel Taking Lives.

A shot glass eventually runs out of room.  It can only take so much and eventually spills out and makes a mess.  The amount it can hold is a finite amount.

Barry Gibb, like many artists and athletes, “leaves it on the floor” or in his case, “on the stage.”  He has no more to give because he gives it all to the audience.  He only has so much to give, but he willingly and happily gives it.

In Stolen Lives, there is a conversation between two of my characters, one of whom is central to Taking Lives and the trilogy.  One character tells him that love isn’t like a cake.  You don’t cut it up into pieces and distribute it until it is gone.  He states that “love is sort of magical, in that the more you give away, the more you seem to have.  You never seem to run out.”

Think of love as Hermione’s Purse.  You know, the one from the Harry Potter books and movies.  She put everything in there.  Everything.  It had room for a tent, for books, and for potions.  Heck, I bet Ron’s Magical Car was in there somewhere. 

Hermione’s Purse isn’t like the shot glass because it contained everything imaginable, even some things unimaginable and never ran out of space.  Hermione’s Purse isn’t like Barry Gibb and other artists and athletes who only have so much to give and when they give it all . . . and they do . . . they are left spent, tired, exhausted, but full of joy because they had given it all.

Love is like Hermione’s Purse.  The more love you have, the more you give away.  The more love you give away, the more you have.  It is never ending, nonstop.  And what a joy it is when we give love away.  It is a joy because love always comes back to us tenfold.  Always.  Just like Hermione’s Purse.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Friday, October 24, 2014

Unring The Bell



Attending a Catholic elementary school and being the son of old school and very conservative Catholic parents, like my brothers before me, I became an altar boy.  Little choice, really.  More of an expectation.  As a seventh and eighth grader, I was selected by Sr. Gwendolyn as the head altar boy.  Not much of a title.  Not much of any frills either, at least that I can remember.  Mostly, I was to set an example, organize who did what before the major liturgical celebrations and ceremonies, but as I recall, Sr. G and Father Konezney did that anyway.  So in retrospect, it was a title without any clear expectation and certainly not any privilege.

Back in the old days, there were three times we rang bells during the mass.  One set of bells covered the actual consecration before and after, while we rang another set as the host or chalice was raised up.  It had a higher pitch than the other.  It went low, high, then low.  Two altar boys rang the bells.

During one mass, I’m not sure what I was thinking or if I was thinking at all, but I rang the high pitch bell first.  No big deal I guess, but when I tried to correct my mistake, I rang it again when the host was raised up along with the other bell rung by the other altar boy.  It didn’t go low, high, low, but instead when high, low-high together, and then low.  One heck of a lot of bells going off at the wrong time.  And, as the head altar boy, I was to know better.

Now I have to tell you, Father Konezney had a temper, but mostly, he had a wry wit and a sarcastic bent that most everyone found funny.  Sr. Gwendolyn, on the other hand, seemed to have a bad temper about most everything that only got worse when things went wrong.  About ten times worse.

I was the server who helped at communion.  Again back in the old days, the altar boy held a gold plate under the communicant’s chin in case the host fell.  I followed Fr. K to the distribution line and as I stood next to him he muttered something to the effect, “A lot of bells, Mr. Lewis.  Kind of pretty.  Weird, but pretty.”

Now I have to tell you, I relaxed a little, but only a little, because in the congregation that day was Sr. G.  I was not looking forward to any conversation with her at all.  After all, I was the head altar boy and I had to set a good example and I should have known better.

After we cleaned up from the service that morning, after the cassocks were hung up and everything put away, I found Sr. G waiting for me on the sidewalk between the church and the rectory.  The other altar boy who was walking with me stopped in his tracks, turned around and left me to face the consequences alone.  But just about the time Sr. G raised a finger to begin her diatribe, Fr. K came out of the church and said, “Well hello, Sister.  Beautiful day, isn’t it?”  She nodded and agreed with him.  Then he stood next to me, placed his arm around my shoulder and then placed me in a very mild headlock and said, “I told Mr. Lewis here that the bells were a nice change pace today, don’t you think so?”  Sr. G just stared at him, but lowered her pointed finger.  “It was a mistake, and I’m sure he won’t do it again, but I kind of liked the sound, didn’t you?”  Sr. G remained silent.  Then Fr. K released my head but his arm remained on my shoulders and he said, “Joe, why don’t you see if you can get some guys together this afternoon and I’ll open the gym and we’ll play some basketball.”

Sr. G nodded at us, glared at me, and left.  Fr. K smiled after her, turned to me and said, “Joe, mistakes happen all the time.  Little ones.  Big ones.  Things happen.  Best we can do is learn from them, right?”  I responded with a, “Yes, Father.”  He laughed and said, “Once a bell is rung, you can’t unring it.  Just move on.  Learn and move on.”  He patted me on the shoulders and walked away.

Unring The Bell.

You can’t.  It happened.  It happens.  Best we can do is learn from it and move on no matter what it is. 

I think many of us ring bells at the wrong time.  Some of us ring the wrong bells at the wrong time.  It happens every so often and for some of us, it happens quite often.  Like Fr. K said though, we can’t ever Unring The Bell.  Best to learn and move on.  And by the way, a bunch of us went to the gym that afternoon and played basketball and had a great time.  And as I recall, leaving the gym after locking up, Fr. K gave me another headlock and asked if I was okay.  Yeah, I was more than okay.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!