Denigrating Tradition

To some degree, each generation denigrates tradition. Without this, none would achieve enlightenment and we might all still be involved in activities that are unacceptable in most of today’s societies.

In the upcoming generation it is quite common to denigrate tradition for no other purpose than it allows an individual to stand out from the crowd. This is risky business in some situations, such as battle. Stand out in a battle an you likely we be shot!

In my youth I stood out by wearing Navy bell bottoms, allowing my hair to grow, and by putting on facial hair before my peers were even able to do so.

(Later, like in my forties, I bemoan this once treasured attribute, as my wife and daughter push me to enter the hairy back contest on board our cruise ship. Argh!)

While I was fairly rebellious in my teens, I rebelled mostly against my father’s authority. Never did I lose sight of what I felt was important in life, which was God, family, friends, living an examined life, and traditions.

Traditions may serve as guideposts as we move through this life. When confounded, we may use traditions to reconcile ourselves to choices so we might find clarity in a move forward plan. When we are uncertain what to do, we could do worse than acting in ways complimentary to how our family members behaved in similar situations. Had I been that considered in my youth, many people, including myself, might have been spared harmful consequences of the choices I made.

My brother supplanted my father as my leader quite early in my life, and had I not struck out on my own at the age of 28, I might have avoided the certain downfall in my mid-thirties. Having said that, the lessons learned during my thirties shape the man I am today, which I would not gamble on a second shot, even if I could.

Today’s youth are not unlike those of any preceding generations. They rebel because they want to be heard and to be validated. From my perspective, what is different today is the lack of value for traditions. Traditions define us. Look to any group for definition and the only measure available is its traditions. “What is this group about?”, you might ask. To answer this you may look at what values and actions they support. Those the group has supported over time are its traditions.

The American traditions are well known, and include; God, freedom, love of country, self-reliance and self-determination, love of neighbor, private ownership, unobtrusive government. These are what stand out most for me. These traditions seem lost on the American youth of today. Collectively, responsibility for this sorry state falls on ourselves, the parents of these youths.

Few amongst us care to change sans pain. Pain is the greatest of motivations. Great change is coming to America, and it will not come without great pain. To achieve greatness in this change will require great supplication to a loving and benevolent God, and the fortitude to listen and act on His command, to each of us.

Wint

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After a respite …

After a relatively short respite, I’m back … with an attitude. An attitude of gratitude.

Not including the obvious, e.g. my wife, daughter, family and friends; here are some things for which I am grateful this morning …

I am grateful for a life partner who values me more than she values the road well-traveled. For it is in my nature to judge, starting with myself, and given my humility, which borders on low self-esteem, I question my every part, and am quite inquisitive, and vocal. I fear these qualities make me a challenge.

I am grateful for my upbringing, which enables me to recognize folks who are honorable, as well as those who are not. In current cultural and political climes, this is requisite to mental clarity.

I am grateful for all the public figures that keep their opinions to themselves. Especially those I much admire. (Excepting arrogance, or more likely self-doubt, why would anyone presume the need for their unsolicited opinion when everyone already has one of their own?)

To some degree, I am grateful for my age. Given the direction our country is going, I have less time in which to witness its demise. Diminution of America’s prestige (“a shining city on a hill”) in the world saddens me greatly.

Enough … enough for today at least.

Wint

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You see, Granny was a witch …

My most cherished memory of my Granny was her calling me to her so she might rub my warts. You might find it strange that a grandmother would want to rub her grandson’s warts, but it was nothing unusual, or even noteworthy, to anyone in our household.

For as long as I can remember, up to when I was in my early teens, I had warts on my hands, you see. When I say I had warts, I mean, I had LOTS of warts. On my left hand only, I’d venture to say I had over one hundred warts. The back side of my left thumb was near a solid mass of warts. I had warts on the palms of my hands. I’m telling you true! I had warts!

Shortly after their, Granny and Two-Daddy, arrival from the valley, and once she got settled on the couch, she would call me to her.

It was not uncommon for her to call anyone of her grandkids to her during her visit. So, I wouldn’t necessarily have thought she was eager to rub my warts when she called. It is only in retrospect that it comes to mind that she singled me out for this administration of healing love fairly promptly on her arrival.

You see, Granny was a witch. No, not the ugly kind, but rather the good, and pretty kind. The kind that can make camp fire smoke turn, and the kind that can make warts go away by rubbing them.

You might say, “pashaw!” and, I wouldn’t blame you one little bit, if you did. For it takes a believer to accept what cannot be put into evidence in a “right here and now” kind of way. And too, my warts did not diminish for many years. Having said that, from my vantage point of being wart free since my teen years, Granny rubbed my warts away.

While this was a great thing done for me by my Granny, and it is something personally unique between us, her gift of candy is her most notable contribution to our family. Rubbing warts was just witchy kind of day to day stuff. Oh, and the waving smoke away too.

 

Wint

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Cocoon of Love

No greater love exits in this world,

Than that of Mother for her little girl,

Yeah there is that little boy,

He’s more like Dad’s little toy.

 

At your own risk, say no way bub!

Walk between lioness and cub,

Or between my wife and daughter,

You’ll learn quick you ought not of.

 

When life gives her a push and a shove,

When fairness loses to just because,

Daughters live in a cocoon of love,

The only greater love comes from above.

 

Wint

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Scarred Old Bull

The old scarred bull now stays within his home range, moving less often and always with some degree of pain. He has forgotten the battles, but not the scars. His cow loves him and endlessly dotes on her mate. The grazing is good. No one messes with the old bull.

The familial unit of his youth still resonates within him, but the reverbs are muted and indistinct. One echo that still rings fairly clear is when his siblings first began showing signs a new order was emerging. Each were moving on, or had moved on, to creating their own herds. The bonds that previously held them close were loosened. For some time the old bull was drawn to shared feeding grounds and partook in engaging activities, but month over month, year by year, all drifted from their familial herd origins, and their bonds.

During this transitional period the bull took to bachelor groups for contests of heart and spirit. Bachelor groups tend to persist well beyond other groupings, even surviving through periods when bulls pair with a cow. Over time he found a cow and together they created their own herd. On occasion the old scarred bull feels a tug from his youth, but his days are his own and they are good, though less eventful. He sees not of his siblings. He heard Mustafa once say, “Simba, this is the circle of life.” At the time, he thought this was funny as all get out! These days, he finds no humor in such banal generalities.

 

(Well this is a depressing start to my day …)

 

Wint

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In Christ, May All Be Risen Today!

After sunrise service today, the following flowed from my soul …

Life flows, not unlike a river, or the wind. Rivers have disturbances in their flow, thereby creating eddies, falls, lakes and rapids. Wind, similarly, has its way of moving past obstacles. Life has all these, and more.

Remember when, as a kid, you put your hand outside the car window, subjecting it to the force of “the wind”? Who has not thrown a stick in moving water to watch its path? At times, life can feel like a hand in the wind, or a stick in a current.

An airplane must maintain an appropriate attitude to the forces of direction and wind in order to stay on track and not fall out of the sky. In order to remain upright, a canoe must maintain appropriate attitude to the current, in which its submerged parts are floating, as well as to the wind in which its upper parts are exposed. Both of these feats are facilitated by, indeed are dependent on, propulsion. In recap, successful navigation is dependent, first and foremost, on propulsion, and secondarily on proper attitude. Perhaps more simply put, propulsion and attitude are tools, whose usage must be learned and honed in order to maintain a proper course.

Life, my friends, is analogous to both of these, a flying airplane and a floating canoe.

What is providing propulsion in our lives? Are we subject to forces beyond our control, including forces put upon us by our fellow human beings? Or, might we identify within ourselves a driving force which may be harnessed, and to which a proper attitude might be applied? This is the case I mean to make.

Over the years, I’ve learned what drives me is companionship. For me to know where I am, and where I am going, I must have context. In Christ, I am never alone, or without context. Though I may at times proffer myself as “Christ-like”, especially amongst sinners with whom I so identify, I am not Christ and am very much human. As a human I am malleable, ever changing, am buffeted by forces beyond my control, and must be ever vigilant in maintaining proper attitude. On the occasion that I lose context, lose sight of Christ, it is important that I am surrounded by other humans who also maintain a proper attitude towards God, for it is they who might help orient me within external forces pushing me off-course, and help readjust my attitude. (“When we go searching for Jesus, do we look for Him in the tomb – or among the living?”) Without other living beings, I would be subject to prevailing forces and perhaps stay off course so long as to be lost forever. Best that I might never lose sight of Christ, but perfect steerage through this life is possible only by Him.

Each of us maintains a unique worldly context. For when God designs, or molds, a human life, using materials taken from both mother and father, he breaks each mold. In this I cherish my relationship with Christ, which is as unique as are we all. So by, I am not driven to church, synagogue, mosque or temple, but rather to a personal shrine in which I commune with Him.

Today, through Christ, my father is risen! He walks amongst us and his countenance reflects to me in the faces of those who gather with me today. In This Way, also with me are Betty, Granddaddy and Grandmother, Chalk and Sally, Granny and 2Daddy, Dube, Uncle Pete, and Douglas.

In THIS, I find peace, and am happy. My attitude, to the ebbs and flows of life, is so adjusted.

“Christ is risen!” “What a friend I have in Jesus!” “Praise God, from Whom all blessing flow!”

Love

Wint

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Throwing jabs, bobbing and dancing just like Ali …

Truth be told, Dad likely had ulterior motives when he bought me and Barb boxing gloves. Heck, it might have even been his idea! While not clearly remembering how we came to get the gloves, I remember quite clearly the bouts, which always ended badly.

Thinking back to my youth, there was nothing more satisfying than that moment when two or more friends agree to play. It matters not what was to be played, it was sweet anticipation when playing anything was agreed upon. It did matter how many would be playing though. When a group of kids agreed to play football, that was the ultimate! Of course it mattered whether it was to be tackle or touch. Ah, but that’s another story.

Me and Barb agreeing to put the gloves on also carried with it that excitement. Most times this came up, we were bored and no one else was around to play anything else. We would get all excited, find all the gloves, which was not always easy to do, and feverishly get them on and laced. Well, mostly laced. How two little boys both get gloves on and laced is a conundrum. All thumbs, you know? Once “ready”, we would get started throwing a few jabs and bobbing and dancing just like Ali. Well, about the time one of us landed an actual punch to the face, that’s when the fight really started. Generally this meant the boxing match was over and the wrestling match was on!!! Until later years, after I had put on a few inches and some pounds, this nearly always ended with me on my back, Barb kneeling on my arms, his face directly above mine, and drooling his spit, aimed squarely for my face. The key to this maneuver was to suck it back in after letting it stretch out a few inches. This was key because a man, okay a boy, that gets spit on is usually the winner by virtue of being the one with the highest degree of built up anger! The adrenaline rush here was astronomical! Yeah, “let’s box!” always sounded like a lot more fun than it actually turned out to be.

Back to whose idea it was to get boxing gloves …

When Barb and I got overly rowdy in the house, if we were only causing a slight inconvenience to Dad, he’d say, “Get out of this house and run around the block!” And you did. Of course you never ran the entire way round the block, but you ran at least ’til you could be certain you were out of his sight. If we were being particularly rowdy, he would say, “Get the gloves!” Holy crap! This meant we had to box fairly, box hard, and not stop when someone got hurt. I am here to tell you, that’s when I learned I was no real boxer!

So, whose idea was it to get boxing gloves in the first place? 😉

Love

Wint

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My Email About the Adult Diaper Market …

Long ago I fairly stopped emailing articles, but sorry, cannot help myself this morning … this is too relevant to the times to not.

Now the title of this article is kind of funny in itself … “any one of us, to either of our parents … please, don’t take them off!”  😉

Well, now we know where to invest some of that money we are sitting on … also, it supports the old  adage, “invest in what you use.”  😉

Remember the relief when you couldn’t hold it any more and you just wet in your pants?  (C’mon, don’t shame me … you know you do!) Well, now you can relive it, real time!

“Thanks folks … come back, I’m here all week …”  😉

I dun’t keer hoo ya’ r, dat rite deer is sum funny azz shit! (h/t: Larry)

OK, OK … on to the article …

The Adult Diaper Market Is About to Take Off

Thanks to the endless determination of parents to keep baby bottoms dry, Kimberly-Clark’s Huggies diapers brand has become a global powerhouse, with billions of dollars in annual sales. But the target consumers for one of the company’s latest diaper lines aren’t infants—or even their aged grandparents. Instead, ads for its Depend Silhouette line of disposable incontinence briefs feature laughing, long-legged models who look barely over 40. The personal-care giant has been aggressively running the fashion-style marketing pitches in mainstream magazines and on television, because adult incontinence is a market that’s recently become too big—and lucrative—to remain in the shadows.

“We’re trying to make the product more normal, and even fun, with real people in our ads saying, ‘Hey, I have bladder leakage, and it’s no big deal,’ ” says Jay Gottleib, head of Kimberly-Clark’s adult and feminine-care business in North America.

Growth in the adult-diaper market is outpacing that of every other paper-based household staple in the U.S. Euromonitor International forecasts a 48 percent increase in sales in the category, to $2.7 billion in 2020 from $1.8 billion last year. That compares with expected growth of 2.6 percent, to $6.3 billion, during that period for baby diapers. And in only a decade, sales of diapers for adults could surpass those for babies at Kimberly-Clark and rival Procter & Gamble. As birthrates fall and life spans lengthen, the companies figure there’s plenty of room for expansion, because babies grow out of diapers, but incontinent adults usually don’t.

Read more of this article here:

From <http://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2016-02-11/the-adult-diaper-market-is-about-to-take-off>

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This is Who I Am, Really!

The fair Katherine works on her feet all day as a scrub tech. She has busy days for certain. It is not uncommon for Katherine to … gracefully, yes … that’s the word … ask for a foot massage. Which, she deserves on a daily basis.

Now to me …

Knowing that the fair Katherine deserves a daily foot massage does not equate to my making such an offer every afternoon upon her arrival home. The petty, little boy makes her ask. (There is an outside chance that’s a harsh judgement.) What a shit!

To bring this into focus for those merrit (“married” for you low landers) less than 24 years … this is how this little scenario plays out “real time”.

At some point today, Katherine was assisting on rolling a bed out of surgery and her foot was caught under the wheel at an angle such that the bed came to a complete stop. The pressure exerted by a gurney on a sudden stop with a foot? Don’t really know, but I’d venture it is a lot!

Whilst I was considering fair Kathrine … I thought how this afternoon would be ideal for a foot massage. Then I thought, “Oh, her foot is severely bruised and painful.” My immediate thought … get this, my IMMEDIATE thought … was, “Yes! Go to her now!” For I knew … have you guessed? … I knew, she would say, “Oh thank you! Not today though. My foot really hurts.”

Now THAT is who I am. A shit, but human. (Aye God … but I never thought I would see so far!)

Wint

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Betty, Betty heart of gold …

She brought gold to lives, one rock at a time,

Hope you value yours as I cherish mine,

Rags to riches stories to be sure,

Richer are we simply having known her.

 

Betty, Betty heart of gold,

When God made you he broke the mold,

Judgment may have crossed your mind,

But never have I met someone so kind.

 

Your son I’m not but you’re my mother,

Bob and Eddie are my brothers,

Mary and Jamie are my sisters too,

We cry for ourselves not for you.

 

Of all your gifts that I treasure,

One is greatest without measure,

Without your consent I’d not got her,

Blessed am I, you gave me your daughter.

 

For me … this is what I hope,

Ruth Rae plays marbles and you jump rope,

Maybe Margie and you playing with dolls,

While Granny and Daddy are watching it all.

 

Love

Wint (LeeBo)

Posted in Love, Poem | 5 Comments