Category: Stories

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One Down, One to Go

gregoryjoel
autumn autumn colours autumn leaves beautiful
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Thoughts From the Porch: I shared the porch with my lovely wife this morning. The sun was just rising though its efforts were thwarted by an overcast September sky. A southbound cold front and a northbound low-pressure system promise rain for the next couple of days. I’m enjoying the porch in advance of our son’s wedding tomorrow (we don’t have step-kids, Brandon). The rehearsal dinner is tonight and judging by the level of stress and anxiety of all involved, I’m sure everyone will be sleeping in Sunday morning. I’ll have some real quiet time then. As for now, the whispered conversation Margaret and I share is broken only by the squirrels, who started early, chasing each other through the trees in our front yard.

North Texas Giving Day is over, the wedding soon will be, and I can go on to other things I’ve been putting off due to time constraints. I watched the 10:00 o’clock news last night and the total one-day contributions for North Texas Giving Day were over $43,000,00.00 and counting. I can’t tell you how many local charities will be helped. It restores my oft-waning faith in human beings…

Astronomical Fall begins tomorrow. I’m so ready for it. It’s my favorite time of year. We have five Pecan trees and several other trees in our yard. As Fall moves forward and they prepare for Winter, they tend to make mowing a little difficult. Still, that can be remedied by blowing the fallen leaves into big piles that the grandkids (and Pops!) can jump into and crush into a fine mulch.

forest meadow leaves autumn
Photo by Gratisography on Pexels.com

Fall brings out the kid in me, at least I think so. I only have fleeting glimpses of childhood. It’s not because I have middle-aged memory lapses. It’s always been that way. Others share about their childhood and I’m at a loss for mine. Ironically, I can remember most of the years I drank and drugged my way to the bottom. There’s something wrong with that picture…

Maybe that’s why I long to jump in a big pile of leaves. I’ve been given the opportunity to create new childhood memories. Jumping into the leaves isn’t really an adult thing. It requires letting go of some adult inhibitions. I keep hearing that one enters a second childhood when one gets older. If that’s true I hope I live a long while…

The Rabbi once told his disciples that “unless you return to square on and start over like children, you’re not even going to get a look at the (spiritual) kingdom”. He went to say that life is about becoming “simple and elemental, like a child”. Sounds like good advice to me.

Christianity, Communication, Community, Faith, Freedom, Friendship, Grace, Gratitude, Grief, Hope, Listening, Positive Thinking, Prayer, Recovery, Relationships, Simplicity, Spirituality, Stories, Uncategorized, Writing

“Jim-isms”…

gregoryjoel

Rain came to North Texas last night; everywhere except here in our little cul-de-sac. We may not have gotten wet (yet) but we enjoyed the benefit of a sweet, cool morning. Margaret’s still in Oklahoma so I spent extra time reading, praying, and meditating out on the porch today. This summer is on track to become one of our hotter summers and the relief of coolness and freshness in the air is more than welcome…

I thought about this morning’s blog for quite a while and how to approach it. I am in a twelve-step recovery program and have been for many years. By nature, twelve-step programs are anonymous in nature. As such, I generally do not post or repost anything about “the program”, nor do I wear my recovery publicly. I don’t put recovery-oriented bumper stickers on my car or wear my recovery on T-shirts and such for the same reasons I choose not to put “fish” emblems, crosses, or other Christian symbols on my vehicle or person, even though I am a follower of the Teacher. When I act up, and I do on occasion, I don’t want to set a poor example. It’s not dishonest. I simply don’t want to be a stumbling block to others. I don’t want to be their excuse to miss the opportunity to discover the same joy I’ve found in a relationship with God.

Although I grew up in a home of strong Christian faith, it didn’t take with me. That is how I ended up needing a twelve-step program. It’s ironic that my relationship with God (as I understand Him), didn’t flourish until I found recovery. Over the last twenty-seven years, I’ve been blessed with the wisdom of so many people that have been where I have been and recovered from a “seemingly hopeless state of mind” that wreaked havoc on my life and the lives of everyone around me. I may not wear my recovery on my sleeve, but I’m not ashamed of it either. As my friend Jim used to say (quoting Popeye, of course) “I yam what I yam and that’s all that I am…

I was thinking about my friend Jim a lot lately. He passed on last February and, like my parents, hardly a day goes by that I don’t think about him. I hear his voice throughout the day. A few weeks ago, I joked with a mutual friend that I should write a book of “Jim-isms”: all the little sayings that were so appropriate to the various events of the day. Although I wasn’t serious at the time, that began to change over the last several weeks. I spoke with his widow and she sent a list of “Jim-isms” that an inmate in their prison ministry had compiled. Jim’s voice grew louder as a result.

Jim’s wife said that he never would’ve been comfortable calling them “Jim-isms”. He was simply repeating the things that he had been told repeatedly by his elders. I always knew that “Jim-isms weren’t original, but they were timeless words of wisdom from a man who truly believed in helping others. I won’t go into his biography here. Suffice it to say, that Jim was definitely Jim – you either loved him or hated him as he loved those around him in his often acerbic, sarcastic way.

I have many of my own stories to tell about my friendship with Jim and how he mentored me through the various stages, and often, difficult times of life. I wondered if anyone outside of twelve-step recovery, especially here in North Texas, would even be interested and if I shared them, would I be breaking the tradition of anonymity? The more I prayed and thought about it, the more I realized that Jim’s own recovery was open to anyone, whether in ‘the program’ or not. In fact, as he matured in his own faith, he helped many others beyond the rooms of recovery. He exercised the same spiritual principles no matter what he was doing. Moreover, the twelve steps of various recovery programs came from the wisdom of Jesus’ teaching in the ‘Sermon on the Mount’ and the Book of James in the New Testament. Jesus didn’t exactly seek to remain anonymous and anyway, Jim’s wife gave me permission…

“Jim-isms” apply to far more than twelve-step recovery, although that’s where I first heard them. I was hard-headed, and recovery came about over the first few years I knew Jim. When I finally got on track, I thought my name was ‘Dumb-ass” for the first year or so. After that, I was excited to become “Cowboy”. Once you begin to hear “Jim-isms” that will make perfect sense.

Now that I’ve told you about “Jim-isms” I have a request to make. I’m compiling a complete list and would appreciate it if those of my readers who have their own “Jim-isms” or stories about Jim share them with me. Leave a comment or PM me if you’d rather do that. Please give me a day or two to respond as things are a bit hectic here with a new project starting.

The greatest examples of what it is to live a spiritual and joyous life of freedom are often disguised as old gruff cowboy, ex- Marines, who “love God with all their heart and love others”. I certainly learned not to “judge a book by its cover…”

Community, Culture, Emotional Health, Faith, Family, Friendship, Gratitude, Neighbors, Simplicity, Stories, Texas, Uncategorized, Writing

Porches and patios…

gregoryjoel

It’s quiet on the porch this morning. It’s always peaceful and quiet, but today is different. We went to Oklahoma yesterday to visit with our very dear friends, Melvin and Janice, and Margaret stayed behind for a few days. I returned to Fort Worth by myself, so it’s quieter than usual this morning. I’ll be ‘batching it’ for the week, which isn’t a problem, but it feels odd without Margaret here. Normally, I spend some time on the porch and then go to work for the day. Some days I write a blog posts and others I get straight to work. I have a couple of projects going now, one of which I’m going to be sharing over the coming days. Since I don’t have Margaret (and my editor) to share the coffee with this morning, a caffeine-fueled, unedited post is in order…

I love our time with Melvin and Janice. Quite frankly, I never thought I’d enjoy Oklahoma. It was the home of my hated college football nemesis, the University of Oklahoma. It was the butt of many jokes and good natured ribbing with my Oklahoma friends growing up (“why does the wind blow so hard in Texas? Because Oklahoma sucks.”), me being from Texas and all. Plus, the year at Oklahoma Christian University (back then it was ‘college’) wasn’t one of my better experiences. I went because mom and dad would pay for college there, but not at the University of Colorado. I figured it’d do me some good to sober up a bit, so I went. I paid for my own school after that…

Melvin and Janice moved to the family farm in southern Oklahoma a couple of years ago. It’s only a couple of hours away and we’ve visited several times. We’ve gone camping with them at nearby Lake Murray and visited areas in the ‘mountains’ (after living in Colorado for a few years ‘mountains’ has a slightly different definition…) to the north. I must admit I was pleasantly surprised. What I experienced in OKC was nothing like the beauty of the Oklahoma I’ve seen over the last couple of years.

Our friends share a fifty-acre farm with Melvin’s grandmother. Turning off the country road onto their drive, you cross the cattle guard and take a long drive up to their 19th century farmhouse, the old ‘family place’. There’s a few horses, cows, and chickens in the back yard. Across the whole of the house is a front porch overlooking the pasture and the road. I must admit that I’m a little jealous. I’m a country boy at heart. I’d even consider moving to Oklahoma…

My visit yesterday was brief. Margaret is spending a few days with Janice. Melvin and I visited for a while on the porch, leaving the wives to enjoy the air-conditioned comfort of the living room. It was still a bit warm, but still cool enough to enjoy. We sat back, immersed in conversation as we watched their grandkids play in the front yard. There aren’t many better ways to spend an evening. The world would be a better place all around if everyone had a front porch to sit on…

When I was growing up, most of the houses in the older sections of town had big front porches. They were inviting, as if asking the passer-by to come right in. It was common to see folks sitting in the shade of the porch, maybe with family or neighbors, shouting out, “Hello, how are you?” to whoever walked or rode past. My grandmother actually knew all of her neighbors (and usually had a dicey story to tell about them). People waved at one another as they drove down the street.

When I was six, we moved to a new house in a suburb of Fort Worth. While I was too young to think about it then, there was shift to smaller and smaller front porches. Home builders were subtly moving folks from their front porches to the patios and privacy of fenced backyards. Looking back, we began to know fewer of our neighbors and have a lot less conversations. The neighborhood wasn’t the same. Safe in the confines of our suburban backyard, we grew more isolated and our friends were people like us. Maybe that’s why diversity and tolerance are such contentious issues today. We shield ourselves from people different from us…

I must admit that I know few of our neighbors today, at least beyond our little cul-de-sac. As an introvert, I’m not comfortable socially. Besides, we rarely see our neighbors outside. We live in an older neighborhood. The older residents prefer to remain indoors while the younger ones seem to work all the time and they are always in a rush somewhere. The only thing reminding us of their presence is the occasional noise coming from the backyard.

I don’t know if such conditions hold true everywhere, but it seems we’ve lost something due to the sprawl of suburbs and their accompanying backyards. Margaret and I have been blessed with a diverse group of friends and family. Still, I miss the experience of neighborhoods and the connection with others that come with them.

For now, I’ll remain content with the solitude of my front porch. I hope that others join me from time to time. Maybe we can start a new social movement – the Front Porch Movement! As the movement grows, maybe we can even share a homegrown tomato together…

Anial Shelters, Choices, Christianity, Creation, Dogs, Emotional Health, Faith, Grace, Growing Up, Horses, Love, Marriage, Pets, Relationships, Rescue Animals, Simplicity, Spirituality, Stories, Uncategorized, Writing

Of Cats and Cat Boxes…

gregoryjoel

I do not like cats. There, I said it. While I may prefer the company of dogs and horses to that of most people, I do not like cats! My dislike for the creatures ranks right up there with rats, venomous snakes, and mosquitoes. I realize that many people love them, even my wife, but I am a dog person through and through. I’m sure that the Hebrew word for ‘serpent’ was mistranslated in the Biblical story of the Garden. I’m sure that Satan took the form of a cat rather that a serpent. Cats are generally obnoxious, dirty little animals, leaving fur all one’s clothes They are lousy companions and usually have this demanding attitude showing their disdain for whole human race. Their only talent is that they know how crap in a box.

Now before all you cat people form a lynch mob, please allow me to explain. I’m allergic to cats. Moreover, I may not remember much from my childhood, but I remember that a cat ate my hamster one day when my dad left the garage door open. It’s one resentment I’ve never been freed of. I’m obviously traumatized for life. My Uncle Carl, on who’s ranch I spent many a summer day, told me the only redeeming value a cat had was the ability to keep the barn free of vermin. I’ve been of the same opinion to this day.

However, my wife loves cats. She loves dogs as well, but she had cats up until we got married. I was adamant about remaining ‘cat-less’. After all, we had our dog, Missy, but she was definitely my dog. Margaret missed having a cat companion, and about three years ago I caved in and we adopted a cat. I placed on huge qualification on the adoption: I wouldn’t clean the litter box. I have a major problem with cat boxes. That’s where I draw the line. Margaret had back surgery a couple of weeks after the cat adoption. Guess who has cleaned the cat box…

Because it was a male we insisted on it being neutered prior to coming to our house so it wouldn’t spray our furniture. He went to a local veterinary clinic for his procedure and came to live with us that very night. Neither of us could come up a name for our new family member. I suggested ‘furry little f***’ but that was deemed inappropriate. I joked we should just call him ‘Ball-less’ given that those parts of him had been severed earlier in the day. I was told that, though it was funny, it wouldn’t do for when the grandchildren were about. Fortunately, our daughter, who has some hearing loss thought we were saying ‘Wallace’ and the name stuck. It’s our little inside joke, especially when the kids are here…

Please understand that our pets are rescue animals, so I’m going to get on my soapbox for a moment: The folks at the Humane Society of North Texas, the Dallas SPCA, and the myriad of rescue shelters (and one in your area) have an abundance of animals needing forever homes. So, if you’re thinking of becoming a pet parent, please, please, please help your local shelter. Over the last three years, we have had a puppy and a kitten, but we prefer to adopt older animals. They need a forever home more than most of the pets in the shelter. Now I can step down…

Wallace was probably about two or three, and when he came to live with us, and he was the strangest looking cat I’d ever seen. His fur was bristled and coarse, his legs seemed way too long for his body, and he was extremely thin. We soon discovered that he was malnourished and that accounted for his strange appearance. Since that day, he has thrived and filled out into a beautiful (yes, I said it…) cat. Today we call him our ‘fat cat’…

Wallace was an indoor cat until we installed our doggie door. He figured it out quickly and after a while, we couldn’t keep him inside the house. We’ve tried to keep him indoors during the extremes of Texas weather, but he won’t have it. He insists on staying on our front porch, where he has a ‘cat house’ and his food and water. He doesn’t stray far from the porch, except to sleep on the roof of my truck. He’s basically well-fed and lazy. He doesn’t care about stalking birds and squirrels like the other neighborhood cats or else he suffers from a severe case of Attention Deficit Disorder. Either could be the case. Most of the time, we find him sleeping on his back in the shade…

I guess that’s why I was so surprised as I sat on the porch, enjoying my coffee, and thinking about the day ahead. Suddenly, a huge commotion next to my truck arose. A squirrel came flying out from underneath, chattering loudly as it scooted up the nearest Ash tree. Less than two inches behind him, right on his tail, was our Wallace. The squirrel climbed high enough to turn around cussing at Wallace. I’m not sure who was more shocked, me or the squirrel. Who knew that Wallace could move like that? I guess he wanted both of us to know he still holds his place in the food chain. I could only look on with admiration, and if truth be known, a little pride in our cat.

I still don’t like cats, at least everyone else’s, although I’ve learned to tolerate them. Our other one, Shadow, was raised by our Catahoula, Jamison, so she doesn’t think she’s a cat. She doesn’t ‘meow’, she ‘barks. I’m okay with that.

I swore I’d never own a cat. I swore, with every fiber of my being, that I’d never, ever clean a litter box. Then I got married to the woman my soul connected with, the love of my life and now I have two cats and emptied the litter box until they discovered the dog door (thank you God!). Love has the power to change even the hardest of hearts.

If truth be known, I kind of like the furry little beasts. We have a crazy neighbor who has been known to shoot neighborhood cats with his pellet gun. I would have some serious words with him if one of my cats were to fall victim to his crankiness. Go figure – maybe I even love the little guys…

It may be a bit of a stretch here, but if love can overcome my intense dislike, even hatred, of cats, it’s probably able to overcome a lot of other negatives in life – or at least let me see them differently. God, of whom the Apostle John said, is defined as love, has transformed far more than my distaste for cats. My heart, and my eyes, have opened to a whole new world. Transformation occurred as my relationship with him developed, just like in my marriage. I’m growing and learning how to love today (and yes, cats included).

I had much more to say, but Wallace won’t stop reminding me that his food bowl is empty and it’s well past nap time. I gotta go…