After avoiding any participation in the Candy Crush phenomenon , resistance seemed futile and the app was loaded. I was as lost as a two year old for quite some time. ( Apologies to the many two year olds capable of beating me ) Surrounded by a seemingly magical digital world of candies, I embarked on my quest to match three like-items of the sweets in columns and rows. I cannot honestly say that I have enjoyed it as much as I can confess my drive to avoid defeat.
I would stop playing and express disgust and ridicule the many players who are hooked on the game. Then I would pick it up again and begin playing. Walk away. Stop playing. Return. Resume play. Rinse and repeat. Rainbow candies. Wrapped candies. Striped candies. The stuff of nightmares.
Desperate players appear on Facebook soliciting help from friends. Chat rooms are born like Candy Crush Anonymous sites to share struggles. Cheat apps are created to help you move to the next level of the game albeit "unethical". Let's just agree to disagree.
You are invited to purchase boosters that by design should help you zip through a game but they typically explode in random sequences. You might get lucky and have the perfect boosters at the perfect time for the perfect placement in your game. You might see a unicorn later.
Zero cheats but admittedly several booster purchases later, I was at level 245. I had been there for a lengthy amount of time. So long, in fact, I had moved my citizenship to level 245 and was receiving mail there. Staring at the screen did not help. I played the same game over and over and over.... and cue the failure music...womp,womp.
Coincidentally a friend has had a problem with a glitch on her Candy Crush game. It repeatedly sends a "failure to connect to store" message . Last evening, in the dark of night, I decided to delete the app and re-load it. Yes, even though the screen sent a foreboding message warning of lost data and a locust outbreak if I dared delete. So delete I did.
And I found that...wait for it...that Chicken Little screen that screamed of impending doom was absolutely and totally correct. Cue the failure music. It was wiped clean. Back to level one you go. Do not pass go.
How could I do such a thing? Unfreakingbelievable ! And I call myself a friend !
Blow out your torches townspeople. I tested it on my own device. My own game. Back to level one. Clearly now I will permanently step away from the demon addiction and read a book. Yes to the book. The walking away...not so much. I wonder how quickly I can return to the level from which I came ???
Admit defeat ?? Never !!! Cue the cackling howling laughter.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Thursday, August 7, 2014
I Swim To You
Surrounded by the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, I embraced the therapeutic massage of the rolling waves. Turning over onto my back to float , the brilliant blue sky and bright sun cast a great light upon my face. I closed my eyes and blocked out all the worries of the world. No plane crashes. No bombings. No diseases. My ears underwater blocked out all other noise in the universe except for my own breathing. The vibrations of my breaths were all part of the aquatic bliss. Quiet. Solitude. Peace. Breathe in. Breathe out.
And then a crack in the water. A violent splash and another. Stingray?? Baracuda ? Spanish mackerel ? Octopus? Bottle-nosed dolphin ? Sea turtle ?? Shark ???? Sunscreen and saltwater momentarily blinded me but then my eyes met his. I was face to face with my most precious four year old great nephew who proclaimed: " I SWIM TO YOU !!!". Grinning from ear to wet ear, proud of his accomplishment , he reached out his tiny bronzed hand.
He then proceeded to tell me great tales of the sea (entirely fabricated). It seems that unbeknownst to me, Baylor had been on many voyages and encountered many enormous sea creatures that would make Jules Verne tremble in fear. His pint sized hubris came back to reality when, still grinning, he said: " I cannot stand up here" notifying me that the water was over his head. "I know, I've got you buddy", I reassured him.
The two of us hung on to each other enjoying the sea for a while. We savored the soothing saltwater and watched seagulls and pelicans fly overhead. I learned of Baylor's parasailing adventures that sounded quite Navy-seal level.
We discussed global issues like our favorite ice cream flavors. He revealed more mythical episodes each with a palpable excitement. He looked to me for confirmation that I both understood and believed and I nodded approvingly. The imaginary tales continued as we searched for seashells and I carried him back to shore.
The two of us share unconditional love with each other. We also share trust. When he courageously pushed off from shore and headed out to sea, he knew that I would be there with outstretched arms to greet him. And when he reminded me that the water was over his head, he knew that he could hold on to me as long as he needed to have that support.
At times we all need human buoys and sometimes anchors to assist us in this journey. We trust each other to be there at those times. The cry for help may not always be as clear as : " I swim to you " but you will recognize it. Just put your hand out and say " I've got you".
And then a crack in the water. A violent splash and another. Stingray?? Baracuda ? Spanish mackerel ? Octopus? Bottle-nosed dolphin ? Sea turtle ?? Shark ???? Sunscreen and saltwater momentarily blinded me but then my eyes met his. I was face to face with my most precious four year old great nephew who proclaimed: " I SWIM TO YOU !!!". Grinning from ear to wet ear, proud of his accomplishment , he reached out his tiny bronzed hand.
He then proceeded to tell me great tales of the sea (entirely fabricated). It seems that unbeknownst to me, Baylor had been on many voyages and encountered many enormous sea creatures that would make Jules Verne tremble in fear. His pint sized hubris came back to reality when, still grinning, he said: " I cannot stand up here" notifying me that the water was over his head. "I know, I've got you buddy", I reassured him.
The two of us hung on to each other enjoying the sea for a while. We savored the soothing saltwater and watched seagulls and pelicans fly overhead. I learned of Baylor's parasailing adventures that sounded quite Navy-seal level.
We discussed global issues like our favorite ice cream flavors. He revealed more mythical episodes each with a palpable excitement. He looked to me for confirmation that I both understood and believed and I nodded approvingly. The imaginary tales continued as we searched for seashells and I carried him back to shore.
The two of us share unconditional love with each other. We also share trust. When he courageously pushed off from shore and headed out to sea, he knew that I would be there with outstretched arms to greet him. And when he reminded me that the water was over his head, he knew that he could hold on to me as long as he needed to have that support.
At times we all need human buoys and sometimes anchors to assist us in this journey. We trust each other to be there at those times. The cry for help may not always be as clear as : " I swim to you " but you will recognize it. Just put your hand out and say " I've got you".
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Are You Enjoying The Day ?
Celebrating the fourth of July with family proved to be both fun and inspirational. Long days in the cool waters of the swimming pool surrounded by loved ones and an occasional cold beverage was perfect. The faces of children we adore playing and the sounds of their angelic voices laughing was the soundtrack for the ultimate holiday.
And then the generations met in a private conversation overheard from the pool. The six year old who is a wise soul at an early age, picked up his chair and went and placed it next to his great-grandmother. He has always been extra protective of her. He helps her when she walks or climbs steps and he seems constantly conscious of including her. He sat beside her and she smiled approvingly. Then he looked at her and said: Nana, are you enjoying the day ?
The power of the question struck me as did the sincerity of the remark. He honestly wanted to know that she was having a great time and that knowledge would make him happy. He has a generous spirit and he cares deeply for his great-grandmother. And his wise question reminded me to take note of the day and every special moment.
We can easily fall victim to the heat and the anxiety of petty daily conflicts. There is only one register open in a store with a long line. Traffic is moving slowly and we have an appointment. Our phone calls remain unanswered. We have our neighbors' mail, again. Our team loses. Our hamburger does not appear to be what we ordered. Devastating news headlines rattle our brains and hearts. So the "bad" days happen. But when we have a good day, do we enjoy it?
Something as simple as a regular meeting for margaritas and Mexican food can be a day to be enjoyed. Maybe we take it for granted but it is an escape from the trials and troubles of the outside world and a communion of sorts with people you care about. You want them to enjoy it and we want to enjoy it. Meeting to watch the World Cup or football or baseball or hockey or basketball seems off the radar on the special scale but it is to be enjoyed. Appreciate it. Give thanks for it.
It does not need to be a graduation, wedding, barmitzva or birth to merit celebration and happiness. Informal gatherings for happy hours or a cup of coffee are worthy of joy. Simple conversations can result in a gladness for the moment. It is about relaxation. It is about pleasure, fun, satisfaction and gratification. It is about the question posed by the astute six year old.
When the planets align and your karma is good, take a moment to recognize it and appreciate it and yes, enjoy it. Rejoice in the moment. Cherish it.
Many times we lament over the difficulty in getting family together or getting friends together and then when it happens we are still thinking about the infrequency of the gatherings or the brevity of the visits. Scheduling challenges seem to control the calendar. The holidays are typically a time when people say that their families visited but it was all a blur. Before the moment is over we are already worrying about traffic or potential problems in the upcoming week. Hear the mantra of the six year old. Are you enjoying the day?
It is not about what we do not have. It is about what we have. We have lost loved ones. There is no quick fix for that loss. The pain is there and will be there. What we do have is amazing memories. We do have their love. We do have others to share those memories with as we continue on our journeys. And those we have lost would certainly be asking us, are you enjoying the day?
It can be a phone call from a friend or an email or a visit or a trip. And just a reminder but we may have to make the effort to make that visit or trip happen. If you want it, then put forth a wee bit of time and work. Say it with me: Road trip! Road trip! Road trip! A recent road trip for a wedding resulted in a glorious reunion with friends who are family and new relationships with their families. The planets aligned. We thoroughly enjoyed it.
Spontaneous get-togethers are an unexpected kick to an otherwise humdrum day. Meet for pizza or wine and cheese. Regular happy hours or book clubs or dinners or lunches or brunches are there for the taking. Day trips to relish are waiting for you. There is no reason to be alone. There is no reason to be lonely. Walk out on to that diving board. Jump in. Pick up the phone and call the person you want/need to see. And then, enjoy the day.
We used to make fun of our older relatives who said things like : Those children are growing so fast! or This year has just flown by ! We are now those people. You blink and an entire season is gone. Slow down and enjoy it.
There is a group of men who meet religiously every morning for breakfast at a local restaurant. If the doors are open then they are there. They tell tall tales and laugh and eat. They are enjoying the day. There are ladies who lunch. Same formula. They are enjoying the day.
Delight in your next gathering however unceremonious it may be. Drink it in. Have fun. In addition to our usual questions: Where are my keys? Why did I walk in to this room? Ask yourself, : are you enjoying the day ?
And then the generations met in a private conversation overheard from the pool. The six year old who is a wise soul at an early age, picked up his chair and went and placed it next to his great-grandmother. He has always been extra protective of her. He helps her when she walks or climbs steps and he seems constantly conscious of including her. He sat beside her and she smiled approvingly. Then he looked at her and said: Nana, are you enjoying the day ?
The power of the question struck me as did the sincerity of the remark. He honestly wanted to know that she was having a great time and that knowledge would make him happy. He has a generous spirit and he cares deeply for his great-grandmother. And his wise question reminded me to take note of the day and every special moment.
We can easily fall victim to the heat and the anxiety of petty daily conflicts. There is only one register open in a store with a long line. Traffic is moving slowly and we have an appointment. Our phone calls remain unanswered. We have our neighbors' mail, again. Our team loses. Our hamburger does not appear to be what we ordered. Devastating news headlines rattle our brains and hearts. So the "bad" days happen. But when we have a good day, do we enjoy it?
Something as simple as a regular meeting for margaritas and Mexican food can be a day to be enjoyed. Maybe we take it for granted but it is an escape from the trials and troubles of the outside world and a communion of sorts with people you care about. You want them to enjoy it and we want to enjoy it. Meeting to watch the World Cup or football or baseball or hockey or basketball seems off the radar on the special scale but it is to be enjoyed. Appreciate it. Give thanks for it.
It does not need to be a graduation, wedding, barmitzva or birth to merit celebration and happiness. Informal gatherings for happy hours or a cup of coffee are worthy of joy. Simple conversations can result in a gladness for the moment. It is about relaxation. It is about pleasure, fun, satisfaction and gratification. It is about the question posed by the astute six year old.
When the planets align and your karma is good, take a moment to recognize it and appreciate it and yes, enjoy it. Rejoice in the moment. Cherish it.
Many times we lament over the difficulty in getting family together or getting friends together and then when it happens we are still thinking about the infrequency of the gatherings or the brevity of the visits. Scheduling challenges seem to control the calendar. The holidays are typically a time when people say that their families visited but it was all a blur. Before the moment is over we are already worrying about traffic or potential problems in the upcoming week. Hear the mantra of the six year old. Are you enjoying the day?
It is not about what we do not have. It is about what we have. We have lost loved ones. There is no quick fix for that loss. The pain is there and will be there. What we do have is amazing memories. We do have their love. We do have others to share those memories with as we continue on our journeys. And those we have lost would certainly be asking us, are you enjoying the day?
It can be a phone call from a friend or an email or a visit or a trip. And just a reminder but we may have to make the effort to make that visit or trip happen. If you want it, then put forth a wee bit of time and work. Say it with me: Road trip! Road trip! Road trip! A recent road trip for a wedding resulted in a glorious reunion with friends who are family and new relationships with their families. The planets aligned. We thoroughly enjoyed it.
Spontaneous get-togethers are an unexpected kick to an otherwise humdrum day. Meet for pizza or wine and cheese. Regular happy hours or book clubs or dinners or lunches or brunches are there for the taking. Day trips to relish are waiting for you. There is no reason to be alone. There is no reason to be lonely. Walk out on to that diving board. Jump in. Pick up the phone and call the person you want/need to see. And then, enjoy the day.
We used to make fun of our older relatives who said things like : Those children are growing so fast! or This year has just flown by ! We are now those people. You blink and an entire season is gone. Slow down and enjoy it.
There is a group of men who meet religiously every morning for breakfast at a local restaurant. If the doors are open then they are there. They tell tall tales and laugh and eat. They are enjoying the day. There are ladies who lunch. Same formula. They are enjoying the day.
Delight in your next gathering however unceremonious it may be. Drink it in. Have fun. In addition to our usual questions: Where are my keys? Why did I walk in to this room? Ask yourself, : are you enjoying the day ?
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Futbol
Jurgen Klinsmann was brutally honest in his low expectations for the United States Mens National Soccer Team in the World Cup. He validated every emotionless German stereotype with his negative proclamation. He even said it in a press conference before the competition began. Why do we care? Well he is The US coach.
And suddenly screenwriters and playwrights and fans and analysts and journalists across the globe are ecstatic. Why? We are now the underdog. Nothing makes fans more fanatical than being the underdog. Incompetent officiating? There's that. Inexplicable rules. That too. But being the underdog paints the sports canvas with the dramatic possibilities of unexpected wins or ties or at the very least, survival. Fans live for that kind of drama.
Cue the creepy music. The United States has drawn the death group. Expect a foggy field with ghost holograms and the best soccer teams in the world. We shall face stellar opponents at every turn. Ghana, Portugal and Germany stand in our way. Add the approximate 9,000 miles the USMNT must travel all over Brazil to compete in this death group. Is this the World Cup or the Hunger Games?
The spirit of sports should be upbeat and optimistic. We are having negative press conferences and being thrown in to a death group. It has a gladiator sort of feel to it.
The United States fan-base showed up. We swam the Amazon and painted our faces. The Americans have been second only to Brazil in ticket sales. We have the costumes and apparel and headgear. Red, white and blue. We are loud. We are there. We believe.
The 2014 FIFA World Cup on June16, 2014 ends with a victorious US team winning 2-1 over Ghana. It's not a typo. We won. Then June 22, 2014 we tied Portugal 2-2. It was a draw. It was actually a victory until the last freaking second of added time but this is the US team so it ended in a draw. On June 26, 2014 the United States team lost to Germany before a crowd of 41,876 fans. Impressive. The number of fans not the result. But...wait for it.. We still advance. Ghana lost. We advance. Don't try to understand it.
Clint Dempsey and his broken nose (suffered in the first match) played with tremendous focus and no doubt, in immense pain. Tim Howard, your goalkeeper, played brilliantly with cat-like reflexes. The entire team was superb. The regulars. The subs. Our dream team? Perhaps.
There is no need for a play-by-play of each match because you watched them. And if you did not ( news which I cannot process), then wear the cone of shame, and beg for forgiveness.
Does this mean... Oh hell yes. We made it through the death group. Sound the trumpets. No, sound the vuvuzelas !! The dreaded death group has dissolved like the wicked witch. I do believe in witches. I do. I do. I do. Actually I don't, but there is a lunatic-player out there biting players. And not only that but in the most enormous flop of The World Cup, he actually fell to the field after his vampire-like attack on the opponent and grabbed his own teeth as if he were the victim. There's no crying in baseball. There's no biting in soccer.
We survived the death group. You have to believe. You have to cheer for these guys. One nation. One team. Do you believe in miracles? Belgium is next.
I believe that we will win.
And suddenly screenwriters and playwrights and fans and analysts and journalists across the globe are ecstatic. Why? We are now the underdog. Nothing makes fans more fanatical than being the underdog. Incompetent officiating? There's that. Inexplicable rules. That too. But being the underdog paints the sports canvas with the dramatic possibilities of unexpected wins or ties or at the very least, survival. Fans live for that kind of drama.
Cue the creepy music. The United States has drawn the death group. Expect a foggy field with ghost holograms and the best soccer teams in the world. We shall face stellar opponents at every turn. Ghana, Portugal and Germany stand in our way. Add the approximate 9,000 miles the USMNT must travel all over Brazil to compete in this death group. Is this the World Cup or the Hunger Games?
The spirit of sports should be upbeat and optimistic. We are having negative press conferences and being thrown in to a death group. It has a gladiator sort of feel to it.
The United States fan-base showed up. We swam the Amazon and painted our faces. The Americans have been second only to Brazil in ticket sales. We have the costumes and apparel and headgear. Red, white and blue. We are loud. We are there. We believe.
The 2014 FIFA World Cup on June16, 2014 ends with a victorious US team winning 2-1 over Ghana. It's not a typo. We won. Then June 22, 2014 we tied Portugal 2-2. It was a draw. It was actually a victory until the last freaking second of added time but this is the US team so it ended in a draw. On June 26, 2014 the United States team lost to Germany before a crowd of 41,876 fans. Impressive. The number of fans not the result. But...wait for it.. We still advance. Ghana lost. We advance. Don't try to understand it.
Clint Dempsey and his broken nose (suffered in the first match) played with tremendous focus and no doubt, in immense pain. Tim Howard, your goalkeeper, played brilliantly with cat-like reflexes. The entire team was superb. The regulars. The subs. Our dream team? Perhaps.
There is no need for a play-by-play of each match because you watched them. And if you did not ( news which I cannot process), then wear the cone of shame, and beg for forgiveness.
Does this mean... Oh hell yes. We made it through the death group. Sound the trumpets. No, sound the vuvuzelas !! The dreaded death group has dissolved like the wicked witch. I do believe in witches. I do. I do. I do. Actually I don't, but there is a lunatic-player out there biting players. And not only that but in the most enormous flop of The World Cup, he actually fell to the field after his vampire-like attack on the opponent and grabbed his own teeth as if he were the victim. There's no crying in baseball. There's no biting in soccer.
We survived the death group. You have to believe. You have to cheer for these guys. One nation. One team. Do you believe in miracles? Belgium is next.
I believe that we will win.
| PLAYER | POS. | HT. | WT. | BIRTHDATE | HOMETOWN | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Jozy Altidore | F | 6-1 | 175 | 11/6/89 | Boca Raton, Fla. | |
| DaMarcus Beasley | D | 5-8 | 145 | 5/24/82 | Ft. Wayne, Ind. | |
| Kyle Beckerman | M | 5-10 | 165 | 4/23/82 | Crofton, Md. | |
| Alejandro Bedoya | M | 5-10 | 160 | 4/29/87 | Weston, Fla. | |
| Matt Besler | D | 6-0 | 170 | 2/11/87 | Overland Park, Kan. | |
| Michael Bradley | M | 6-2 | 175 | 7/31/87 | Manhattan Beach, Calif. | |
| John Brooks | D | 6-4 | 170 | 1/28/93 | Berlin, Germany | |
| Geoff Cameron | D | 6-3 | 185 | 7/11/85 | Attleboro, Mass. | |
| Timmy Chandler | D | 6-1 | 180 | 3/29/90 | Frankfurt, Germany | |
| Brad Davis | M | 5-11 | 165 | 11/8/81 | St. Charles, Mo. | |
| Clint Dempsey | F | 6-1 | 170 | 3/9/83 | Nacogdoches, Texas | |
| Mix Diskerud | M | 6-0 | 150 | 10/2/90 | Oslo, Norway | |
| Omar Gonzalez | D | 6-5 | 210 | 10/11/88 | Dallas, Texas | |
| Julian Green | M | 5-7 | 140 | 6/6/95 | Tampa, Fla. | |
| Brad Guzan | GK | 6-4 | 210 | 9/9/84 | Homer Glen, Ill. | |
| Tim Howard | GK | 6-3 | 210 | 3/6/79 | North Brunswick, N.J. | |
| Aron Johannsson | F | 6-0 | 165 | 11/10/90 | Mobile, Ala. | |
| Fabian Johnson | D | 6-0 | 155 | 12/11/87 | Munich, Germany | |
| Jermaine Jones | M | 6-0 | 170 | 11/3/81 | Chicago, Ill. | |
| Nick Rimando | GK | 5-11 | 180 | 6/17/79 | Montclair, Calif. | |
| Chris Wondolowski | F | 6-0 | 165 | 1/28/83 | Danville, Calif. | |
| DeAndre Yedlin | D | 5-8 | 150 | 7/9/93 | Seattle, Wash. | |
| Graham Zusi | M | 5-10 | 160 | 8/18/86 | Longwood, Fla. |
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Learn from The Hyenas
Laughter releases endorphins; stress-reducing and relaxing chemicals resulting in a sense of well-being. Our laughter triggers the release of these super neuro-transmitters that can alleviate pain and depression. We have a sense of euphoria and are far less anxious. Our immune systems are strengthened and we can pass any drug test.
Just as yoga and meditation focus on our breathing, the physical production of laughter through muscular effort seems to be key in this positive activity. Our deliberate manipulation of positive energy for our own good and subsequently others is successful. Laughter, is, in fact, often contagious. Even if you do not understand the language spoken or if you do not completely hear the punch line, when others start laughing, you are physically and mentally compelled to jump in.
Groucho lines:
A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.
I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it.
I sent the club a wire stating: Please accept my resignation. I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.
One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll never know.
Dorothy Parker lines:
This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.
That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone; Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.
I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true.
Abbott and Costello's Who's On First , Bob Newhart's new security guard at The Empire State Building seeing King Kong outside, Ellen Degeneres' phone call with God, Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the phone operator or Edith Ann the child, Flip Wilson as Geraldine or George Carlin's seven dirty words will prompt those endorphins right out. SNL 's Church lady, Coneheads, Land shark, Mr. Bill, Weekend update, Roseanne Roseannadanna, Gumby, Father Guido Sarducci, Stefon, Spartan Spirit Cheerleaders, Debbie Downer and The Target Lady are just a few characters and sketches to initiate your hysteria.
Things that evoke laughter differ from individual to individual. The very thought of Groucho Marx, Robin Williams, Wanda Sykes, Whoopi Goldberg, Jim Gaffigan, Kathleen Madigan, Ellen DeGeneres, Bob Hope, Jack Benny, George Burns, Amy Poehler, Tina Fey,Bob Newhart, Bill Murray, Gilda Radner, John Belushi, Dan Akroyd, Mel Brooks, Jimmy Fallon, Johnny Carson, David Letterman, Joan Rivers, Jane Curtin, Larraine Newman, Garrett Morris, Chevy Chase, Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Richard Pryor, Gene Wilder, Foster Brooks,George Carlin, Carol Burnett, Tim Conway, Harvey Korman, Brother Dave Gardner, Betty White, Vicki Lawrence,Steve Martin, Jon Stewart, Martin Short, Sarah Silverman, Chelsea Handler, John Candy, Susie Essman, Billy Crystal, Moms Mabley, Cheech and Chong, Lily Tomlin, Minnie Pearl, Rita Rudner, Flip Wilson, David Spade, Henny Youngman, Rodney Dangerfield, Phyllis Diller , Dana Carvey, Will Ferrell, Jonathon Winters, Adam Sandler, Louis C.K.,Ricky Gervais, Steve Carell or Pee Wee Herman may make you laugh out loud. The writings of Neil Simon, Larry David, Mike Nichols and Elaine May, Carl Reiner or Lena Dunham may make you chuckle. Whatever it is or whomever it is--seek them out.
Have a Christopher Guest film festival. This Is Spinal Tap, Best In Show, Waiting For Guffman, A Mighty Wind... Or a John Cleese festival : A Fish Called Wanda, and The Monty Python series of films. Watch some old Eddie Murphy or Goldie Hawn films. Search any best comedy lists and you will find: Some Like It Hot, Tootsie, The Big Lebowski, Caddyshack, Animal House, Ghostbusters, Planes, Trains and Automobiles, City Slickers, My Cousin Vinny, Arthur, Airplane, Duck Soup, Young Frankenstein, The Birdcage, MASH, Adam's Rib, Bringing Up Baby, Trading Places, Beverly Hills Cop, The Odd Couple, Plaza Suite, Foul Play, The Money Pit, Private Benjamin, Stir Crazy, Vacation, Best In Show, The Princess Bride, Mrs. Doubtfire, Jumping Jack Flash, My Big Fat Greek Wedding and countless more. Stay inside and enjoy the air conditioning and develop your own list and most importantly, laugh.
Uncle Remus wrote about our "laughing place". It was such an enviable paradise that Brer Rabbit used its existence to lure Brer Fox and Brer Bear down a path that led to his escape. Uncle Albert sang about his love of laughter in Mary Poppins. He laughs so hard and with such gusto, that he is elevated to the ceiling.
I love to laugh
Loud and long and clear
I love to laugh
It's getting worse every year
The more I laugh, the more I fill with glee
And the more the glee
The more I'm a merrier me, it's embarrassing
The more I'm a merrier me
Some people laugh through their noses
Sounding something like this, dreadful
Some people laugh through their teeth goodness sake
Hissing and fizzing like snakes
Not at all attractive to my way of thinking
Some laugh too fast
Some only blast
Others, they twitter like birds
You know you're as bad as he is
Then there's the kind
What can't make up their mind
When things strike me as funny
I can't hide it inside
And squeak as the squeakelers do
I've got to let go with a ho ho ho
And a ha ha ha too
We love to laugh
Loud and long and clear
We love to laugh
So everybody can hear
The more you laugh
The more you fill with glee
And the more the glee
The more we're a merrier we
*
Breathe in. Breathe out. Laugh out loud. Laugh with such enthusiasm that you may become airborne. If you enjoy physical comedy like spit-takes, pratfalls, clowns, pies in the face or exploding cannisters then search for those types of comedy. Laugh like no one is watching. Laugh like you do not care. If its good enough for the hyenas, its good enough for us.
* I Love To Laugh lyrics by Richard Sherman and Robert Sherman, Disney
Just as yoga and meditation focus on our breathing, the physical production of laughter through muscular effort seems to be key in this positive activity. Our deliberate manipulation of positive energy for our own good and subsequently others is successful. Laughter, is, in fact, often contagious. Even if you do not understand the language spoken or if you do not completely hear the punch line, when others start laughing, you are physically and mentally compelled to jump in.
Groucho lines:
A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.
I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it.
I sent the club a wire stating: Please accept my resignation. I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.
One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll never know.
Dorothy Parker lines:
This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.
That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone; Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.
I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true.
Abbott and Costello's Who's On First , Bob Newhart's new security guard at The Empire State Building seeing King Kong outside, Ellen Degeneres' phone call with God, Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the phone operator or Edith Ann the child, Flip Wilson as Geraldine or George Carlin's seven dirty words will prompt those endorphins right out. SNL 's Church lady, Coneheads, Land shark, Mr. Bill, Weekend update, Roseanne Roseannadanna, Gumby, Father Guido Sarducci, Stefon, Spartan Spirit Cheerleaders, Debbie Downer and The Target Lady are just a few characters and sketches to initiate your hysteria.
Things that evoke laughter differ from individual to individual. The very thought of Groucho Marx, Robin Williams, Wanda Sykes, Whoopi Goldberg, Jim Gaffigan, Kathleen Madigan, Ellen DeGeneres, Bob Hope, Jack Benny, George Burns, Amy Poehler, Tina Fey,Bob Newhart, Bill Murray, Gilda Radner, John Belushi, Dan Akroyd, Mel Brooks, Jimmy Fallon, Johnny Carson, David Letterman, Joan Rivers, Jane Curtin, Larraine Newman, Garrett Morris, Chevy Chase, Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Richard Pryor, Gene Wilder, Foster Brooks,George Carlin, Carol Burnett, Tim Conway, Harvey Korman, Brother Dave Gardner, Betty White, Vicki Lawrence,Steve Martin, Jon Stewart, Martin Short, Sarah Silverman, Chelsea Handler, John Candy, Susie Essman, Billy Crystal, Moms Mabley, Cheech and Chong, Lily Tomlin, Minnie Pearl, Rita Rudner, Flip Wilson, David Spade, Henny Youngman, Rodney Dangerfield, Phyllis Diller , Dana Carvey, Will Ferrell, Jonathon Winters, Adam Sandler, Louis C.K.,Ricky Gervais, Steve Carell or Pee Wee Herman may make you laugh out loud. The writings of Neil Simon, Larry David, Mike Nichols and Elaine May, Carl Reiner or Lena Dunham may make you chuckle. Whatever it is or whomever it is--seek them out.
Have a Christopher Guest film festival. This Is Spinal Tap, Best In Show, Waiting For Guffman, A Mighty Wind... Or a John Cleese festival : A Fish Called Wanda, and The Monty Python series of films. Watch some old Eddie Murphy or Goldie Hawn films. Search any best comedy lists and you will find: Some Like It Hot, Tootsie, The Big Lebowski, Caddyshack, Animal House, Ghostbusters, Planes, Trains and Automobiles, City Slickers, My Cousin Vinny, Arthur, Airplane, Duck Soup, Young Frankenstein, The Birdcage, MASH, Adam's Rib, Bringing Up Baby, Trading Places, Beverly Hills Cop, The Odd Couple, Plaza Suite, Foul Play, The Money Pit, Private Benjamin, Stir Crazy, Vacation, Best In Show, The Princess Bride, Mrs. Doubtfire, Jumping Jack Flash, My Big Fat Greek Wedding and countless more. Stay inside and enjoy the air conditioning and develop your own list and most importantly, laugh.
Uncle Remus wrote about our "laughing place". It was such an enviable paradise that Brer Rabbit used its existence to lure Brer Fox and Brer Bear down a path that led to his escape. Uncle Albert sang about his love of laughter in Mary Poppins. He laughs so hard and with such gusto, that he is elevated to the ceiling.
I love to laugh
Loud and long and clear
I love to laugh
It's getting worse every year
The more I laugh, the more I fill with glee
And the more the glee
The more I'm a merrier me, it's embarrassing
The more I'm a merrier me
Some people laugh through their noses
Sounding something like this, dreadful
Some people laugh through their teeth goodness sake
Hissing and fizzing like snakes
Not at all attractive to my way of thinking
Some laugh too fast
Some only blast
Others, they twitter like birds
You know you're as bad as he is
Then there's the kind
What can't make up their mind
When things strike me as funny
I can't hide it inside
And squeak as the squeakelers do
I've got to let go with a ho ho ho
And a ha ha ha too
We love to laugh
Loud and long and clear
We love to laugh
So everybody can hear
The more you laugh
The more you fill with glee
And the more the glee
The more we're a merrier we
*
Breathe in. Breathe out. Laugh out loud. Laugh with such enthusiasm that you may become airborne. If you enjoy physical comedy like spit-takes, pratfalls, clowns, pies in the face or exploding cannisters then search for those types of comedy. Laugh like no one is watching. Laugh like you do not care. If its good enough for the hyenas, its good enough for us.
* I Love To Laugh lyrics by Richard Sherman and Robert Sherman, Disney
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Hoist Up The Jon B Sail
One final perfect sunset. We breathe in the ocean air and fill our lungs and souls with memories of saltwater and that paradise. It was more than your ordinary beach house. Over the years it had taken on a life of its own. The seagulls screech one last goodbye and we pack ourselves into our vehicles and drive away. As we glance in the rear view mirror, it all comes flashing back.
Four friends driving down Highway 98 in search of a structure strong enough to house their two families including five kids. They wanted a place with an enviable location convenient for the countless walks back and forth from the beach. They were searching for a place that would welcome friends and relatives for many years. The couples had visited this beach many times with friends and already knew it was the desired destination. They knew the ideal beach. Now they simply needed to discover the house.
The year was 1973 and the music charts were topped with Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Ole Oak Tree, Bad,Bad Leroy Brown, Killing Me Softly With His Song, Let's Get It On and My Love. A gallon of gas cost 40 cents. Secretariat won the Triple Crown and Billie Jean King defeated Bobby Riggs in the tennis battle of the sexes. The United States withdrew troops from Vietnam and the World Trade Center in New York became the tallest building in the world. The same year Jonathon Livingston Seagull (originally published in 1970) topped the Publishers' Weekly list of bestselling novels in the United States. So these four are cruising down the road with the ocean calling them and their futures on the horizon.
A turn down 36th Street proved to be predestined. The fab four found their beach house and collectively named it The Jon B after the Beach Boys recording of Sloop Jon B and as a reference to Jonathon Livingston Seagull.
Their investment proved to be an integral part of childhood and adult memories for generations to come.
“The shape of my life is, of course, determined by many things; my background and childhood, my mind and its education, my conscience and its pressures, my heart and its desires.” -Anne Morrow Lindbergh, A Gift From the Sea
It became a resting place. It was a haven for celebrations, vacations and holidays. It was a safe harbor for broken hearts and tested souls. The house embraced us when we returned. It girded us when we received devastating news. It swayed and bent and grew with us.
Cold beers, wine and a Bloody Mary or two. Fish fresh from the day's catch cleaned while swimsuits hung out to dry. Sandcastles were built. Seashells were collected. Suntans were secured. Margaritas were poured. Feet scorched on the hot pavement when you were in too much of a hurry to reach the white sands. Early morning walks on the shore. Bait in the refrigerator. Bait in the freezer. Bait everywhere.
Fireworks. Champagne. Birthday cakes. Long days sitting and talking. Listening. Sharing. Children chasing crabs. Crashing waves. Palm trees and the ocean breeze. Soft drinks. Beach-side picnics and bonfires. Evening walks on the nearby pier. Too many majestic breathtaking sunsets to count. Hamburgers and hot dogs. Ice cream. Low country boils. Board games. T-shirts. Bourbon. Coolers. Sandbars. Shrimp. Steamed crab claws. Key lime pie. Oysters. Sandpipers. Flip flops. Sandals. Beach balls,umbrellas, towels, chairs and floats. Football in the sand. Tossing frisbees. Kites. Fishing tournaments. Photo contests. Bare feet. Happy hours. Happy days.
Casting a line in hopes of connecting with grouper, pompano, king or spanish mackerel or anything worthy of a fish story. Yelling fish on! with an enormous amount of satisfaction. Watching porpoise jump in the distance. Cooling off in the emerald waters. Posing for photos with the catch of the day.
Learning patience when you hold vigil for a crab to surface or stand for hours anticipating that tug on your fishing line.
“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach—waiting for a gift from the sea.” -Anne Morrow Lindbergh, A Gift From The Sea
The Wonder Bar. Killer Seafood. Half Shells. The Fish House. Mexico Beach Grocery. Lookout Lounge. Toucans. The Shell Shack. Gulf Foods and Gifts. Beach Pizza. Two Crabs. Listening to the Beach Boys, Neil Diamond , Otis Redding, The Tams, Jimmy Buffett and Luke Bryan. Day trips to Apalachicola, St. George Island, Cape San Blas, Port St. Joe and Panama City were often part of the weekends. Snorkeling. Swimming. Scalloping. Fishing. Shopping. Indian Pass Raw Bar. Dockside Marina and Restaurant. Karaoke. Marquardt's Marina. Launching a boat at Presnell's Bayside Marina. Sunset cruises.
Joe Mamas Pizza. The Owl Cafe. The Gibson Inn. Sunset Coastal Grill. Drinks and dinner at Watermark. Margaritaville. Regardless of how far away we ventured, we were always eager to return. Upon our return the house was still standing awaiting our entry. Every time we survived a sunburn, lost fish, "may day" on sea or flooding pontoon boat, this house was there to greet us.
It was a refuge from the noise and chaos of the world. It was a place for contemplation and meditation and a place to simply be.
“You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathan, in the moment that you touch perfect speed. And that isn't flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn't have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there.” -Richard Bach, Jonathon Livingston Seagull
Hurricane Opal knocked us around in 1995. Glass was blown out by waves. Sand and water was blown in. The storm collapsed other beach houses but not this one. The house would not be defeated. The electricity remained on. Hoist up the Jon B sail.
The walls stand bare now. Posters of past fishing tournaments came down. Comfy couches and fish of all colors have been removed. A piece of driftwood had adorned the window. Stained glass once hung here. A lone fishing rod and reel had leaned against the door beckoning for you to take it. Not to be forgotten as you exited toward the sea, it had been strategically placed. Shelves with shells of all sizes collected through the years comes down from above the fireplace. Fish nets and poles and tackle are now gone. Maps, sketches and photographs are boxed. Goggles,visors,caps and flippers are bundled. Seashell mobiles, lighthouses and sandpiper carvings all packed. Over forty years of sandy treasures and remembrances tucked away.
That one glance in the rear view mirror brought it all back.
You can still hear children laughing. Adults laughing. Generations of the original two families have come here. It was a beach home not a house. Generations of other families have been invited here too. And they will all remember those days forever with gratitude that they were once a part of the Jon B.
*So hoist up the Jon B's sail
See how the main sail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I want to go home, let me go home...
* (Partial lyrics from The Beach Boys 1966 recording of Sloop Jon B. The Beach Boys' version was influenced by The Kingston Trio's 1958 adaptation. Other renditions include The Weavers' 1950 The Wreck of the Jon B. American writer, editor and poet Carl Sandburg included the first 3 verses and chorus of The Jon B Sails in his collection of folksongs, American Songbag. The original Jon B Sails is a Bahamian folk song transcribed in 1916 by Richard Le Gallienne.)
Four friends driving down Highway 98 in search of a structure strong enough to house their two families including five kids. They wanted a place with an enviable location convenient for the countless walks back and forth from the beach. They were searching for a place that would welcome friends and relatives for many years. The couples had visited this beach many times with friends and already knew it was the desired destination. They knew the ideal beach. Now they simply needed to discover the house.
The year was 1973 and the music charts were topped with Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Ole Oak Tree, Bad,Bad Leroy Brown, Killing Me Softly With His Song, Let's Get It On and My Love. A gallon of gas cost 40 cents. Secretariat won the Triple Crown and Billie Jean King defeated Bobby Riggs in the tennis battle of the sexes. The United States withdrew troops from Vietnam and the World Trade Center in New York became the tallest building in the world. The same year Jonathon Livingston Seagull (originally published in 1970) topped the Publishers' Weekly list of bestselling novels in the United States. So these four are cruising down the road with the ocean calling them and their futures on the horizon.
A turn down 36th Street proved to be predestined. The fab four found their beach house and collectively named it The Jon B after the Beach Boys recording of Sloop Jon B and as a reference to Jonathon Livingston Seagull.
Their investment proved to be an integral part of childhood and adult memories for generations to come.
“The shape of my life is, of course, determined by many things; my background and childhood, my mind and its education, my conscience and its pressures, my heart and its desires.” -Anne Morrow Lindbergh, A Gift From the Sea
It became a resting place. It was a haven for celebrations, vacations and holidays. It was a safe harbor for broken hearts and tested souls. The house embraced us when we returned. It girded us when we received devastating news. It swayed and bent and grew with us.
Cold beers, wine and a Bloody Mary or two. Fish fresh from the day's catch cleaned while swimsuits hung out to dry. Sandcastles were built. Seashells were collected. Suntans were secured. Margaritas were poured. Feet scorched on the hot pavement when you were in too much of a hurry to reach the white sands. Early morning walks on the shore. Bait in the refrigerator. Bait in the freezer. Bait everywhere.
Fireworks. Champagne. Birthday cakes. Long days sitting and talking. Listening. Sharing. Children chasing crabs. Crashing waves. Palm trees and the ocean breeze. Soft drinks. Beach-side picnics and bonfires. Evening walks on the nearby pier. Too many majestic breathtaking sunsets to count. Hamburgers and hot dogs. Ice cream. Low country boils. Board games. T-shirts. Bourbon. Coolers. Sandbars. Shrimp. Steamed crab claws. Key lime pie. Oysters. Sandpipers. Flip flops. Sandals. Beach balls,umbrellas, towels, chairs and floats. Football in the sand. Tossing frisbees. Kites. Fishing tournaments. Photo contests. Bare feet. Happy hours. Happy days.
Casting a line in hopes of connecting with grouper, pompano, king or spanish mackerel or anything worthy of a fish story. Yelling fish on! with an enormous amount of satisfaction. Watching porpoise jump in the distance. Cooling off in the emerald waters. Posing for photos with the catch of the day.
Learning patience when you hold vigil for a crab to surface or stand for hours anticipating that tug on your fishing line.
“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach—waiting for a gift from the sea.” -Anne Morrow Lindbergh, A Gift From The Sea
The Wonder Bar. Killer Seafood. Half Shells. The Fish House. Mexico Beach Grocery. Lookout Lounge. Toucans. The Shell Shack. Gulf Foods and Gifts. Beach Pizza. Two Crabs. Listening to the Beach Boys, Neil Diamond , Otis Redding, The Tams, Jimmy Buffett and Luke Bryan. Day trips to Apalachicola, St. George Island, Cape San Blas, Port St. Joe and Panama City were often part of the weekends. Snorkeling. Swimming. Scalloping. Fishing. Shopping. Indian Pass Raw Bar. Dockside Marina and Restaurant. Karaoke. Marquardt's Marina. Launching a boat at Presnell's Bayside Marina. Sunset cruises.
Joe Mamas Pizza. The Owl Cafe. The Gibson Inn. Sunset Coastal Grill. Drinks and dinner at Watermark. Margaritaville. Regardless of how far away we ventured, we were always eager to return. Upon our return the house was still standing awaiting our entry. Every time we survived a sunburn, lost fish, "may day" on sea or flooding pontoon boat, this house was there to greet us.
It was a refuge from the noise and chaos of the world. It was a place for contemplation and meditation and a place to simply be.
“You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathan, in the moment that you touch perfect speed. And that isn't flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn't have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there.” -Richard Bach, Jonathon Livingston Seagull
Hurricane Opal knocked us around in 1995. Glass was blown out by waves. Sand and water was blown in. The storm collapsed other beach houses but not this one. The house would not be defeated. The electricity remained on. Hoist up the Jon B sail.
The walls stand bare now. Posters of past fishing tournaments came down. Comfy couches and fish of all colors have been removed. A piece of driftwood had adorned the window. Stained glass once hung here. A lone fishing rod and reel had leaned against the door beckoning for you to take it. Not to be forgotten as you exited toward the sea, it had been strategically placed. Shelves with shells of all sizes collected through the years comes down from above the fireplace. Fish nets and poles and tackle are now gone. Maps, sketches and photographs are boxed. Goggles,visors,caps and flippers are bundled. Seashell mobiles, lighthouses and sandpiper carvings all packed. Over forty years of sandy treasures and remembrances tucked away.
That one glance in the rear view mirror brought it all back.
You can still hear children laughing. Adults laughing. Generations of the original two families have come here. It was a beach home not a house. Generations of other families have been invited here too. And they will all remember those days forever with gratitude that they were once a part of the Jon B.
*So hoist up the Jon B's sail
See how the main sail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I want to go home, let me go home...
* (Partial lyrics from The Beach Boys 1966 recording of Sloop Jon B. The Beach Boys' version was influenced by The Kingston Trio's 1958 adaptation. Other renditions include The Weavers' 1950 The Wreck of the Jon B. American writer, editor and poet Carl Sandburg included the first 3 verses and chorus of The Jon B Sails in his collection of folksongs, American Songbag. The original Jon B Sails is a Bahamian folk song transcribed in 1916 by Richard Le Gallienne.)
Monday, April 14, 2014
The Big Three At The 2014 Masters
A big three-part competition for junior players was introduced at Augusta this year. The First Annual National Finals of the Drive, Chip and Putt contest was an undeniable success. It was a perfect beginning to a full Masters week. Masters Chairman Billy Payne proclaimed that the game of golf needed to be grown and this was an effort to continue interest in the game. The Golf Channel televised the event live. Young male and female golfers in different age groups appeared just as serious and talented as those seen on the next Sunday of competition. Previous champions Adam Scott , Bubba Watson and Fred Couples appeared to encourage and congratulate the participants.
The big three female winners were: Kelly Xu (the first ever female winner at the Augusta National) in the 7-9 age division for girls, Lucy Li, girls, 10-11 and Hunter Pate, girls, 14-15. The big three male winners were Treed Huang, boys, 7-9, Bryson Bianco, boys, 12-13, and Patrick Welch, boys, 14-15. The finalists hailed from Florida, California, Texas, Nevada and Rhode Island. (Over seventeen thousand hopefuls had signed up for preliminary competitions. Qualifiers were held in 19 states and the District of Columbia.)
Another big three is the annual Par 3 Tournament on Wednesday of Masters week. Clifford Roberts, co-founder of The Augusta National Golf Club had the idea for The Par 3 competition. It was a stroke of genius. Watching the legends play alongside the rest of the field is one of the biggest draws of the tourney. And yet another big three, perhaps you have heard of them, Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player never disappoint the expectations of thousands of patrons. Their individual and collective competitive natures are alive and well. With smiles as big as the moon, these three gentleman laughed, entertained and by God, competed.
Then Thursday morning the big three exited the clubhouse to thunderous applause as they appeared on the tee of the first hole as honorary starters of the 78th Masters Golf tournament. Gary Player has three green jackets. Arnold Palmer has four green jackets. Jack Nicklaus has six green jackets. Respect for those accomplishments brought thousands of patrons to the early morning tee time to witness the legends in action. The King, Arnold Palmer age 84, drove his ball straight down the fairway. The Black Knight, Player, age 78, hit a drive a little beyond the first shot. The Golden Bear, Nicklaus, age 74 sent his drive even beyond Player's ball. History. Respect. They dominated the game. They are The Masters Golf Tournament. There wasn't a dry eye around. Some women wept too.
Washington Road, Magnolia Lane and the Butler Cabin are a big three. Tom Watson, Ben Crenshaw and Fred Couples. Bunkers, greens and fairways. Pimento cheese, azaleas and pine trees. Matt Kuchar, Jonas Blixt and Miguel Angel Jimenez. Craig Stadler, Kevin Stadler and Jordan Spieth. Rickie Fowler, Freddie "Boom Boom" Couples and returning Aussie champ Adam Scott. And there was a big three missing on the final Sunday: Tiger, Phil and the Eisenhower tree. Tiger was cut in surgery. Phil didn't make the cut. The Eisenhower tree was cut down after a vicious ice storm took its toll. ( Can't you just hear President Eisenhower singing At Last ) ?
Jimenez, age 50, played amazing golf for any age. Couples, age 54, always seems to be in the hunt and played incredibile golf. Meet Jordan Spieth, age 20, playing in his first Masters. Could we see a birth certifcate? His vision on the course was phenomenal. His play was awesome. His presence and composure were unbelievable.
And then there's Bubba. A University of Georgia graduate, he won the Masters in 2012 and sobbed on the 18th green overcome with emotion knowing his wife and newly adopted son were awaiting him at home. But this time, they were just a very few feet away. Watson had played consistent and gutsy golf. Bubba golf they call it. And Bubba Golf had just resulted in another Masters title and another green jacket.
Bubba sank his last putt to tally an -8 at the 78th playing of The Masters Golf Tournament. Tiny Caleb Watson toddled on to the green headed straight for his daddy. Bubba scooped him up in to his arms and they were soon joined by Angie. There they were in a three-part embrace as tight and love- filled as humanly possible. Records will show Spieth and Watson as the final group. In fact, the final group on the 18th was Bubba, Angie and Caleb Watson. The big three.
The big three female winners were: Kelly Xu (the first ever female winner at the Augusta National) in the 7-9 age division for girls, Lucy Li, girls, 10-11 and Hunter Pate, girls, 14-15. The big three male winners were Treed Huang, boys, 7-9, Bryson Bianco, boys, 12-13, and Patrick Welch, boys, 14-15. The finalists hailed from Florida, California, Texas, Nevada and Rhode Island. (Over seventeen thousand hopefuls had signed up for preliminary competitions. Qualifiers were held in 19 states and the District of Columbia.)
Another big three is the annual Par 3 Tournament on Wednesday of Masters week. Clifford Roberts, co-founder of The Augusta National Golf Club had the idea for The Par 3 competition. It was a stroke of genius. Watching the legends play alongside the rest of the field is one of the biggest draws of the tourney. And yet another big three, perhaps you have heard of them, Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player never disappoint the expectations of thousands of patrons. Their individual and collective competitive natures are alive and well. With smiles as big as the moon, these three gentleman laughed, entertained and by God, competed.
Then Thursday morning the big three exited the clubhouse to thunderous applause as they appeared on the tee of the first hole as honorary starters of the 78th Masters Golf tournament. Gary Player has three green jackets. Arnold Palmer has four green jackets. Jack Nicklaus has six green jackets. Respect for those accomplishments brought thousands of patrons to the early morning tee time to witness the legends in action. The King, Arnold Palmer age 84, drove his ball straight down the fairway. The Black Knight, Player, age 78, hit a drive a little beyond the first shot. The Golden Bear, Nicklaus, age 74 sent his drive even beyond Player's ball. History. Respect. They dominated the game. They are The Masters Golf Tournament. There wasn't a dry eye around. Some women wept too.
Washington Road, Magnolia Lane and the Butler Cabin are a big three. Tom Watson, Ben Crenshaw and Fred Couples. Bunkers, greens and fairways. Pimento cheese, azaleas and pine trees. Matt Kuchar, Jonas Blixt and Miguel Angel Jimenez. Craig Stadler, Kevin Stadler and Jordan Spieth. Rickie Fowler, Freddie "Boom Boom" Couples and returning Aussie champ Adam Scott. And there was a big three missing on the final Sunday: Tiger, Phil and the Eisenhower tree. Tiger was cut in surgery. Phil didn't make the cut. The Eisenhower tree was cut down after a vicious ice storm took its toll. ( Can't you just hear President Eisenhower singing At Last ) ?
Jimenez, age 50, played amazing golf for any age. Couples, age 54, always seems to be in the hunt and played incredibile golf. Meet Jordan Spieth, age 20, playing in his first Masters. Could we see a birth certifcate? His vision on the course was phenomenal. His play was awesome. His presence and composure were unbelievable.
And then there's Bubba. A University of Georgia graduate, he won the Masters in 2012 and sobbed on the 18th green overcome with emotion knowing his wife and newly adopted son were awaiting him at home. But this time, they were just a very few feet away. Watson had played consistent and gutsy golf. Bubba golf they call it. And Bubba Golf had just resulted in another Masters title and another green jacket.
Bubba sank his last putt to tally an -8 at the 78th playing of The Masters Golf Tournament. Tiny Caleb Watson toddled on to the green headed straight for his daddy. Bubba scooped him up in to his arms and they were soon joined by Angie. There they were in a three-part embrace as tight and love- filled as humanly possible. Records will show Spieth and Watson as the final group. In fact, the final group on the 18th was Bubba, Angie and Caleb Watson. The big three.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Spring Cleaning
It isn't just about the dust. Changing channels you catch a glimpse of a Hoarders episode and something looks familiar. You decide to begin with something relatively easy like the outside utility room. Three days later you emerge with the neighbor's lost ferret and what may be Jimmy Hoffa's wallet. And for every gust of cleansing your blower provides, the winds of March send twelve layers of pollen back in the door.
Armed with more protective gear than the Ghostbusters, you never look back. It was never meant to be easy. The challenge of spring cleaning is an integral part of the process. There has to be an element of obstacle course to the cleaning. And by obstacle course, we are not talking Chuck E Cheese plastic balls. You need to navigate a mine field surrounded by hurdles that would make a Navy Seal cry. Rogue bocce balls roll underneath your feet as you straddle a falling ladder and an extension pole with a large threatening blade swings overhead.
You prioritize. You decide to make a path. Casting personal safety aside, you plunge through the charcoal briquettes and tiki torches and dust off the spider webs. Now you know how Indiana Jones felt. You wonder for the tenth year why you are keeping an ax with a blade attached by duct tape. You toss the ax. Why do you have so many boxes of Miracle Gro ? Are you a scientist planning a new mutation ? And why are all the boxes wet ? The wet boxes join the ax. You notice a rack designed for fishing equipment hangs empty on the wall. You similarly notice fishing poles and rods leaning against every wall. Reunited and it feels so good...
Based on the amount of Round Up you uncover, your fear of poison ivy may require professional help. Tackle and tool boxes border every shelf. Speaking of shelves, why have you never had that one board cut to fit the shelf. You have almost been knocked unconscious and yet you let it remain year after year. This year, you remove it. This is the year. This is the time. You drag out many items of many sizes with no purpose. You have been hanging on to them because they remind you of a person or event or you think they can be repaired. You keep the sentimental treasures but you let go of the things that are just getting in your way.
When you complete a project you feel a sense of satisfaction and motivation to begin the next venture. Cleaning the shed is more than tidying up a bit. You purge. You purify. You have a sense of renewal.
Perhaps you gave up something for Lent. You did a little soul sweeping and determined what should go and what should remain. The disposal of internal trash can be attained through methods other than juicing. Prayer, meditation, music and self-reflection are but a few ways to cleanse your inner being.
Remember that you are dust and as dust you shall return. Maybe it is about the dust.
Armed with more protective gear than the Ghostbusters, you never look back. It was never meant to be easy. The challenge of spring cleaning is an integral part of the process. There has to be an element of obstacle course to the cleaning. And by obstacle course, we are not talking Chuck E Cheese plastic balls. You need to navigate a mine field surrounded by hurdles that would make a Navy Seal cry. Rogue bocce balls roll underneath your feet as you straddle a falling ladder and an extension pole with a large threatening blade swings overhead.
You prioritize. You decide to make a path. Casting personal safety aside, you plunge through the charcoal briquettes and tiki torches and dust off the spider webs. Now you know how Indiana Jones felt. You wonder for the tenth year why you are keeping an ax with a blade attached by duct tape. You toss the ax. Why do you have so many boxes of Miracle Gro ? Are you a scientist planning a new mutation ? And why are all the boxes wet ? The wet boxes join the ax. You notice a rack designed for fishing equipment hangs empty on the wall. You similarly notice fishing poles and rods leaning against every wall. Reunited and it feels so good...
Based on the amount of Round Up you uncover, your fear of poison ivy may require professional help. Tackle and tool boxes border every shelf. Speaking of shelves, why have you never had that one board cut to fit the shelf. You have almost been knocked unconscious and yet you let it remain year after year. This year, you remove it. This is the year. This is the time. You drag out many items of many sizes with no purpose. You have been hanging on to them because they remind you of a person or event or you think they can be repaired. You keep the sentimental treasures but you let go of the things that are just getting in your way.
When you complete a project you feel a sense of satisfaction and motivation to begin the next venture. Cleaning the shed is more than tidying up a bit. You purge. You purify. You have a sense of renewal.
Perhaps you gave up something for Lent. You did a little soul sweeping and determined what should go and what should remain. The disposal of internal trash can be attained through methods other than juicing. Prayer, meditation, music and self-reflection are but a few ways to cleanse your inner being.
Remember that you are dust and as dust you shall return. Maybe it is about the dust.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Game. Set. Match.
It was a grey rainy day when we gathered to honor her memory. We fell in to the pews with heavy sighs realizing that the dreaded hour had arrived. The simple motion of the service drove the reality home. The battle had ended. Her courage and selflessness had been breathtaking. Loss of hair and loss of energy had oddly never affected her beauty. It shone through. She was stunning. Her courage and stamina were awesome. She never feared for herself. She worried about us.
The bell sounded. The words began. The hymns. The readings. She had planned this ceremony herself. She methodically took incredibly organized steps to make the journey easier on us. Planning her service, categorizing thousands of photographs and mastering a thorough home inventory were just a few of her loving gestures. The physical and emotional toll ignored, she soldiered on. Deliberate and determined, she managed to do it all.
Inclusion. Acceptance. Unconditional love. Tolerance. Those words were certainly reflections of her life. The tears continue to flow just when we thought we could cry no more. We will miss the southern girl predictably bringing butter beans and tomatoes to gatherings. We will remember her love of home-made vanilla ice cream and peaches. Who could forget the sparkle in her eyes when she won at backgammon, badminton, words with friends or mexican train or the way her face lit up when she spoke of her family with love and pride. Her enthusiastic love of tennis and her devotion to Andy Roddick were contagious. She loved red velvet cake and buttermilk pie. Her enormous capacity to love and laugh and live. How could those parts of her not be mentioned? She had so many perfect layers.
Her watercolor painting and cooking and gardening. Her passion for books and the written word and reading. Her love of the beach and seafood. Her boundless excitement for all things new. Her curiosity. Her love of travel. Her love of movies and games and sense of humor. Her love of all living creatures. Her eye for design and never-ending rearrrangement of furniture and art-work. Her validation of our feelings and encouragement for our quests. Her faith and compassion. Her unending capacity to love. Her grace.
Another recitation and prayer. The peace of the Lord be always with you. And also with you. Finally. The peace. Time to hug. Our hearts are aching. We need to hug. She would want us to hug today and every day. We can feel her smiling, beaming really, seeing us being there for each other. It was never about her. It was always about us.
The invitation to the eucharist is momentarily bobbled like a football pass in her favorite game but all is well and all receive communion. Inclusion. Acceptance. Unconditional love. Tolerance. She is with us, guiding us through the brief turbulence and to the altar. And she will continue to steer us through any stumbles or obstacles. She will show us the way.
The Prayer of St. Francis. Every word reminds us of her. To love with all my soul. Then her eldest grandson performs his original composition written for her. Amazing. Perfect. She adored her family and so loved being a grandmother.
Morning Has Broken brings smiles to our faces as we know her love of that song. She had discussed its inclusion in the service and once again we are reminded that she planned this entire program.
The song ends.
We leave sustained by her love and her strength and her memory. She is with us. We know which team she is pulling for in any game. We know which tennis player she wants to win the tournament. We know that we were so blessed to know her and love her and be loved by her. She is with us still. Watching. Loving. Supporting. She is at peace. It has always been about us. She was never worried about her death . She was worried about our lives and not leaving anything undone or unsaid. And she did not. We know she wants us to be happy and laugh and love and live. And remembering her every day, we will.
We close our eyes and see her. Tossing her hair, with a twinkle in her eyes and her glasses positioned in her blouse and her arms outstretched to embrace us. She is healthy. She is strong. She is happy. She knows when we laugh loudly, hug tightly, look at the moon , see a rainbow, breathe in the air, make a free-throw, complete a composition or painting or photograph or hear the seagulls calling that we feel her. We hear her cheer when we close a case or help a friend or a stranger.
It was always about us until it wasn't. Every ounce of our being wanted her to stay but we had to let go. She is healthy. She is strong. She is happy. She has taken our love with her. We have her forever in our hearts. She is an indelible part of us. Her love for us remains just as strong and ever-present. Only she could pull that off.
She had an insatiable competitive spirit that surfaced in board games, art contests, tennis, football and even life-threatening illnesses. She was all in. She was in it to win it. That is how she faced every hurdle, obstacle, hurt and challenge. Given an unbeatable diagnosis and incredibly short future, she managed to rally super-human inner strength and accomplish tremendous feats all while fighting her disease with everything available to her. And she did it. She had priorities and she systematically checked them off.
And for that and so many other reasons, she wins. She always loved to win. Game. Set. Match.
The bell sounded. The words began. The hymns. The readings. She had planned this ceremony herself. She methodically took incredibly organized steps to make the journey easier on us. Planning her service, categorizing thousands of photographs and mastering a thorough home inventory were just a few of her loving gestures. The physical and emotional toll ignored, she soldiered on. Deliberate and determined, she managed to do it all.
Inclusion. Acceptance. Unconditional love. Tolerance. Those words were certainly reflections of her life. The tears continue to flow just when we thought we could cry no more. We will miss the southern girl predictably bringing butter beans and tomatoes to gatherings. We will remember her love of home-made vanilla ice cream and peaches. Who could forget the sparkle in her eyes when she won at backgammon, badminton, words with friends or mexican train or the way her face lit up when she spoke of her family with love and pride. Her enthusiastic love of tennis and her devotion to Andy Roddick were contagious. She loved red velvet cake and buttermilk pie. Her enormous capacity to love and laugh and live. How could those parts of her not be mentioned? She had so many perfect layers.
Her watercolor painting and cooking and gardening. Her passion for books and the written word and reading. Her love of the beach and seafood. Her boundless excitement for all things new. Her curiosity. Her love of travel. Her love of movies and games and sense of humor. Her love of all living creatures. Her eye for design and never-ending rearrrangement of furniture and art-work. Her validation of our feelings and encouragement for our quests. Her faith and compassion. Her unending capacity to love. Her grace.
Another recitation and prayer. The peace of the Lord be always with you. And also with you. Finally. The peace. Time to hug. Our hearts are aching. We need to hug. She would want us to hug today and every day. We can feel her smiling, beaming really, seeing us being there for each other. It was never about her. It was always about us.
The invitation to the eucharist is momentarily bobbled like a football pass in her favorite game but all is well and all receive communion. Inclusion. Acceptance. Unconditional love. Tolerance. She is with us, guiding us through the brief turbulence and to the altar. And she will continue to steer us through any stumbles or obstacles. She will show us the way.
The Prayer of St. Francis. Every word reminds us of her. To love with all my soul. Then her eldest grandson performs his original composition written for her. Amazing. Perfect. She adored her family and so loved being a grandmother.
Morning Has Broken brings smiles to our faces as we know her love of that song. She had discussed its inclusion in the service and once again we are reminded that she planned this entire program.
The song ends.
We leave sustained by her love and her strength and her memory. She is with us. We know which team she is pulling for in any game. We know which tennis player she wants to win the tournament. We know that we were so blessed to know her and love her and be loved by her. She is with us still. Watching. Loving. Supporting. She is at peace. It has always been about us. She was never worried about her death . She was worried about our lives and not leaving anything undone or unsaid. And she did not. We know she wants us to be happy and laugh and love and live. And remembering her every day, we will.
We close our eyes and see her. Tossing her hair, with a twinkle in her eyes and her glasses positioned in her blouse and her arms outstretched to embrace us. She is healthy. She is strong. She is happy. She knows when we laugh loudly, hug tightly, look at the moon , see a rainbow, breathe in the air, make a free-throw, complete a composition or painting or photograph or hear the seagulls calling that we feel her. We hear her cheer when we close a case or help a friend or a stranger.
It was always about us until it wasn't. Every ounce of our being wanted her to stay but we had to let go. She is healthy. She is strong. She is happy. She has taken our love with her. We have her forever in our hearts. She is an indelible part of us. Her love for us remains just as strong and ever-present. Only she could pull that off.
She had an insatiable competitive spirit that surfaced in board games, art contests, tennis, football and even life-threatening illnesses. She was all in. She was in it to win it. That is how she faced every hurdle, obstacle, hurt and challenge. Given an unbeatable diagnosis and incredibly short future, she managed to rally super-human inner strength and accomplish tremendous feats all while fighting her disease with everything available to her. And she did it. She had priorities and she systematically checked them off.
And for that and so many other reasons, she wins. She always loved to win. Game. Set. Match.
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