John in Wonderland

I recall as a child being fascinated with mirrors. They could redirect sunlight to brighten up a darkened corner and when placing one mirror in front of another, rows of the very same mirror would reflect into a long shaft to infinity. However the more I aged, mirrors lost more of its fascination. Why? because they don’t lie. Whatever is placed in front of it, will be perfectly reflected back.

I often envisioned what it would like to be able to walk through a mirror and enter into a parallel universe. Unlike the fairytale character Alice in the Looking Glass, my side of the mirror for me holds greater sway. On the opposing side of her mirror, she continually interacted with outlandish characters, talking heads, and a world that was crazy and surreal. Alice and I have something in common. I am grounded in the present while living among the surreal.

What I see beyond my mirrored edge is a world that doesn’t make sense. If I were to manage the world, I wouldn’t be beginning road work the day before the busiest holiday travel day of the year. I wouldn’t be squeezing a three lane highway down to one lane with a plethora of orange road cones causing insane traffic jams.

Last night while visiting a local retailer at the height of the Christmas season, not one cash register with a human soul could be found. Each shopper was relegated to bagging their own goods and checking themselves out. Even during this shopping “experience” not one sales person could be spotted. Apparently all the store’s money spent on wages, is better served in buying cameras to watch their customers exit strategies.

I am amazed that despite Thanksgiving being written in stone each and every year on our calendars, most individuals choose to shop the day before. The ensuing result is a mass of humanity rarely seen except in Disneyland or Japanese water parks. If I was a manager of a store, wouldn’t my mission be to improve the flow of traffic? Apparently my manager’s decision making processes is akin to a squirrel on psychedelic mushrooms trying to find places for his nuts. The whole store was rearranged for the busiest shopping day of the year for shopping cart chaos.

I envision the morning team meeting the Monday beforeThanksgiving. “Okay earthlings, today we’re going to put the bread section where the healthy food was, we’ll place tuna and sardines with exotic international foods, and we’ll mix toenail clippers and sundries with pet supplies. This should improve the shopping experience. Also, let’s play hide and seek on Wednesday so customer service can be non-existent. ”

This week my mailbox was full of flyers and catalogs promoting Black Friday deals. One of the items advertised at a local retailer I wanted. As I entered the store and inquired about the advertised kitchen appliance, the salesperson said, “Sorry they’re are all gone.” As he began to walk away, he muttered, “We only got five of them in the store anyway.” Why would a store pay for a massive advertising mailer touting deals, if their supply chain is five?

This season more than others I am finding less charitable and happy people, and why not? 

Everything in 2020 appears to have been made for frustration and chaos. Roadways, stores, the presidential election, Covid numbers. Yet, while everyone else is stressing over EVERYTHING, on my side of the mirror it’s a whole different world.  

On my side there’s logic and optimism that brings hope. It’s the polar opposite of what I’m seeing in the parallel universe. My struggle each day is striving to keep these two worlds apart.

In my childhood mirror, it was only me, and sometimes in my present life, it still is. For in my mirror I still find joy, peace, love and humor in abundance. My world may seem like fantasy to others, but I don’t care. For me, it’s the antidote to a world gone mad.

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Throughout history, there has been a dearth of volunteers to work kitchen duty. One of my wife’s favorite sayings is, “We only have a kitchen because it came with the house.” Being the parents of three children we had in the past hosted a cadre of friends and children of friends, and we have never forgotten the mountain of work it requires to feed and clean up a kitchen after a party.

One exhausting day after feeding a house full of people, our place looked like we had been hit by a tornado. My wife exhausted, flopped in the chair, “We didn’t have guests, we had locusts!” she exclaimed.  We empathize with individuals who are left with a ton of work after the last of the party goers have vanished. So, like the biblical character Martha, we tend to stick around until the end of a celebration so we can help clean up.

One night we were invited to some community friend’s home for a Christmas party. Their place was teeming with guests, most of whom we had never made acquaintance. To keep from mindless chatter and chit-chat conversations, we chose to work in the kitchen, it’s quieter and we always felt more productive. The night seemed to go on forever as sunset comes early in the winter months.  Finally, the last of the guests said their goodbyes and we wrapped up our self-imposed duties of cleaning up for our friends.

The soiree must have worn out the hosts because as we said so long to them, the outside light went off the moment we stepped off the porch and walked the fifty feet to our car in the driveway. As we began to place our things in the car our friends inside the house did the most unexpected thing. Thinking everyone had gone, they rushed into their bedroom like they’d been shot out of a cannon and began to undress in front of their large bedroom picture window. With lights still blazing inside, we saw them undressing faster than Superman in an empty phone booth.

Before we could even get our seatbelt fastened, we watched in horror as pants and blouses were thrown about the room as if they were being ejected by a threshing machine. Now down to their underwear, it was then as the lady of the house began to unhook her bra strap, I really panicked. My wife with urgency said, “Let’s get out of here before they see us!” I whispered back, “I can’t! They can see us from their window, if they see our lights, they’ll be mortified!”

Thinking quickly, I said to my wife, “Don’t turn on the lights, scoot over into the driver’s seat, I have an idea. Place the car in neutral and I’ll push us out the driveway.” My wife said, “But the house sits on an incline at the end of the driveway.” I was confident that if I could get a running start, the car could make the slight upturn up the hill as it left their property. I then could run around and hop into the car and glide down their hill out of view.  I could turn on our lights when I was free of their expansive yard.

As I huffed and puffed our sizable car out their long driveway to freedom, I dared not turn around. I knew that I could never look my friends in the eye if I knew what their birthday suits looked like. I’d always seen them in church looking so prim and proper; and I wanted to keep it that way. I called on divine assistance in moving our behemoth of a car. Despite my cheeks being red from the cold and embarrassment, I huffed, and God puffed, and jettisoned us to freedom.

I have had many memorable encounters with friends and acquaintances that have been brief. But, this kind of “brief” encounter has never been repeated. Here’s hoping it never does.

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Call Me Johnny Walker

I used to think that I would forever be plagued with bad timing. Buy a textbook at the college bookstore for $100, get $3.66 back when you traded it in at the end of the year. My timing has been so bad over the years, I tell my friends, if you want something I just bought, wait a few days. It’s guaranteed to drop in price by 70% in a week.

So imagine my muted glee that when my back decided to go out more than I do, my long awaited lower back surgery was scheduled.  According to my gifted surgeon, my Valentine’s gift was a bouncing baby disc broken in 40 places. I can take solace that at least it wasn’t my heart.

As I arrived home after a long day at the surgeon’s, I found myself helpless and powerless to navigate 14 steps into my home. I called my brawny police buddy at 10 pm for his assistance. My first humbling admission after he safely delivered me to my front door, was to acknowledge to his wife that we each shared a mutual bond of sisterhood. We both felt safe in her husband’s arms.

Now ensconced in my bed, the next several days were spent in a painful fog. As my brain began to gain clarity, it assumed the mental equivalence of whack-a-mole game. Thoughts darted in an out in rapid fire. Why does swiss cheese have holes? Do Jehovah’s Witnesses tell knock knock jokes? I even began reciting my own Gettysback Address, “Four days and seven Percocet’s ago, my friends brought forth to this mattress, a broken man. Dedicated to the realization and proposition that all men are NOT created equal.”

It was fortuitous that my blessed mother was visiting the week I had the surgery. I had reverted back to my childhood. I needed assistance to go to the potty. I was disappointed because in the “old” days when my mother accompanied me to the porcelain goddess, I was given a Raisinet as a reward. Another glaring truth, adulthood is fraught with disappointment!

Each morning my mother asked me if she could help me get my shirt on. “Let’s put our little armees through the little hole Johnny.” I was graciously spared standing on a chair while proudly shouting the proclamation, “So big!”

You learn about yourself after major surgery. Do you know if you skip a shower for three days, you smell like a corn chip? No offense to my camper friends but why couldn’t it be a fireplace starter log?

Another thing I learned is a walker is the teenage equivalent of borrowing your parent’s van with the fake wood paneling decal to go on your first date. You are perceived as a goober! The hunched over appearance lends itself to telling everyone you meet that your Depends has reached its capacity and it’s time to go home now.

I never realized how uncoordinated you become until it’s time to put on (of all things) your underwear. This should be an Olympic qualifying event. I wonder if I’ll ever get back this talent? Every day I take a deep breath like I’m sizing up a pole vaulters bar in the distance. I then get a shuffling start, promptly try to lift one leg and place it in the hole like I’m playing corn hole blindfolded. The flailing and hopping on one leg is reminiscent of a wild turkey being given a glancing blow by a passing pickup truck.

I know God says He will never give us anything more than we can bear. But until I’m off my walker and I get my balance back, I may have to choose the “bare” option.

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I Saw God on the Playground

It has been over a year since I have offered any insight on life. It has been a difficult year having lost my Dad among other challenges. As I jump back into writing, today I take my readers on an anointed detour.

It was a bright sunny day last week in Prosper Texas when I saw God. It was in the hands of my oldest son. His little blond headed daughter (all of two years of age) was trying to climb a roped playground platform. Her little legs couldn’t quite give her the lift she needed to reach the top. For her, the struggle was real. Seeing her not being able to navigate the climb, my son walked over, placed his hands on her back, and gently elevated her to the next level.
Proud of her ascent, she turned and said excitedly, I made it Daddy, I made it!”

Her accomplishment was simply made possible by the gentle hand of the one who gave her life.
I am reminded almost daily that all the things I’ve been able to accomplish in life, has only been possible by the hand of my heavenly Father who lifted me at the appointed time.

Though I have been tempted to believe that my own accomplishments in life are of my own accord, the hands of my son served to remind me of an important spiritual truth; my accomplishments have little to do with me. It is the One who gives life, that helps us achieve our goals.

As the afternoon sun cast its shadows across the playground, I saw my final spiritual lesson for the day. Though as humans, I know we’d all choose to live in perpetual bliss, we can’t; it was evident that it was time to go. The laurels of success cannot be celebrated forever. My son called both his daughters to tell them we were heading off to our next destination. Tears of frustration and anguish with the words, “I don’t want to go, I want to stay” were vociferously proclaimed. To stay was not an option; for the next place was solely at the father’s choosing.

How often I too have petitioned God to keep me where I was most comfortable, only to shed tears at the fear of an unknown next step. Unbeknownst to my granddaughters however, the final destination that afternoon was home. Isn’t that where we all want to be?

No matter His timing or destination for me, I believe I’ll trust my Father. As we left the playground, my son carrying his littlest daughter, wiped her tears, and held her close. For an earthly father or spiritual one, we couldn’t ask for any more than that could we?

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