Thought I'd share this with any of you who may be interested. It's still a work in progress.
HE MEANT WELL
or
Nice Guys Don't Make Out All That Bad
"Back in the saddle again...
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the long horn cattle feed
On the lowly gypsum weed
Those words came floating back to me as I sat thinking about my life over an afternoon cup of tea.
I wondered down just what aisle of the stacks of my memories they had been stored.
I hadn't been consciously looking for them,
but maybe the librarian of my unconscious mind
had some sudden inspiration
to remind me of how things got started.
And that librarian said to himself, "I'll put this on the front desk of his brain. He'll get a kick out of it."
(Remind me to give him a raise.)
Ah, the days of yore!
Saturday morning TV with a bowl of Cheerios or Sugar Pops (they were filled with nutrition in those days--at least that's what they said on TV)
watching the Lone Ranger get the bad guys with his silver bullets
(must have been after werewolves, too)
then sitting down with a plain piece white of paper, a ruler and pencil
learning to draw with Jon Gnagy
(to this day I still doodle a covered bridge at meetings)
Then Saturday afternoon at the movies: Looney Tunes, The Three Stooges and a double feature of Abbott and Costello, Gene Autry or the King of the Cowboys-- Roy Rogers.
To my best recollection, I was mostly happy then.
But there were days and nights when that was not true.
I always wanted to be something that I was not.
I wanted to be smarter and taller and good at sports in the way
most of the other kids in my class seemed to be to me.
I had bursts of pseudo excellence like the day...
Well, let me start from the beginning:
When it was time to choose up teams, the standard call was "You guys get Foster. We had him yesterday."
And then I would take my place way out in right field, the emphasis being on "way out."
One particular day when I was minding my own business out there, I suddenly heard a commotion, but pretty well figured that it didn't have anything to do with me.
So I ignored it as being irrelevant to life in the deep right.
For some reason which I have since forgotten, I took off my hat...
and what to my surprise, a ball landed in it and the roar of the crowd
still rings in my ears to this day!
It was the last out of the game and our team won!
That's the absolute truth.
I couldn't wait until the next day for what I assumed would be my well-deserved big moment when the teams were chosen.
And sure enough, it came: "You guys get Foster. We had him yesterday.
When many years later I heard Paul Stokey's (of Peter, Paul, and Mary) song "Right Field," it truly blew me away because the lyrics are almost identical to my flukey heroic sports moment.
In February I turn seventy.
Saturday morning TV with a bowl of Cheerios or Sugar Pops (they were filled with nutrition in those days--at least that's what they said on TV)
watching the Lone Ranger get the bad guys with his silver bullets
(must have been after werewolves, too)
then sitting down with a plain piece white of paper, a ruler and pencil
learning to draw with Jon Gnagy
(to this day I still doodle a covered bridge at meetings)
Then Saturday afternoon at the movies: Looney Tunes, The Three Stooges and a double feature of Abbott and Costello, Gene Autry or the King of the Cowboys-- Roy Rogers.
To my best recollection, I was mostly happy then.
But there were days and nights when that was not true.
I always wanted to be something that I was not.
I wanted to be smarter and taller and good at sports in the way
most of the other kids in my class seemed to be to me.
I had bursts of pseudo excellence like the day...
Well, let me start from the beginning:
When it was time to choose up teams, the standard call was "You guys get Foster. We had him yesterday."
And then I would take my place way out in right field, the emphasis being on "way out."
One particular day when I was minding my own business out there, I suddenly heard a commotion, but pretty well figured that it didn't have anything to do with me.
So I ignored it as being irrelevant to life in the deep right.
For some reason which I have since forgotten, I took off my hat...
and what to my surprise, a ball landed in it and the roar of the crowd
still rings in my ears to this day!
It was the last out of the game and our team won!
That's the absolute truth.
I couldn't wait until the next day for what I assumed would be my well-deserved big moment when the teams were chosen.
And sure enough, it came: "You guys get Foster. We had him yesterday.
When many years later I heard Paul Stokey's (of Peter, Paul, and Mary) song "Right Field," it truly blew me away because the lyrics are almost identical to my flukey heroic sports moment.
In February I turn seventy.
Has it really been that long?
Well, of course it has.
And you know what else? It's perfectly okay with me.
I feel great and am in pretty good health.
I'm enjoying living in the country on a farm,
raising a flock of chickens
hiking when I want to and not hiking when I don't want to
playing my guitar
and keeping my hand in the ministry with a part-time appointment.
I feel great and am in pretty good health.
I'm enjoying living in the country on a farm,
raising a flock of chickens
hiking when I want to and not hiking when I don't want to
playing my guitar
and keeping my hand in the ministry with a part-time appointment.
Frank sang: "Regrets...I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention..."
Yeah, that's good--I can go along with that.
But the question remains: How did I get here from there?
"Here" meaning this age, this time of life, this scenario of life?
I must say that I'm probably--no, definitely am--the happiest I've ever been.
I believe I've had a "successful" career in which I managed to find personal fulfillment as well as
having done a pretty good job at being a minister.
A splendid retirement party from my church in Cranbury as an affirmation that I had been well thought of
and an incredible gift of a Martin D-28 guitar, with cutaway and pick-up.
(More later....)
"Here" meaning this age, this time of life, this scenario of life?
I must say that I'm probably--no, definitely am--the happiest I've ever been.
I believe I've had a "successful" career in which I managed to find personal fulfillment as well as
having done a pretty good job at being a minister.
A splendid retirement party from my church in Cranbury as an affirmation that I had been well thought of
and an incredible gift of a Martin D-28 guitar, with cutaway and pick-up.
(More later....)
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