There is NO Santa, and there is NO Christmas

So today I decided to do some research.  Those of you who know me would also know that I am a shoot from the hip guy.   Too often I live my life in the “Fire, Ready, Aim-Mode.”  My target today, Santa and Merry Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong… I know Santa….. I have been Santa.  At least for a moment or two.


And certainly I have celebrated Christmas.  Much of the world has opened a present during the Christmas season.  Presents are also opened under the guise of the Holiday Season.  But you catch my drift.


But today I have taken aim on Santa and Christmas.  And I decided to do it as a believer.  Yes I am a believer in Jesus Christ.  Yes I have been involved in a relationship with Him for over 50 years.  But it is during the Christmas season, “the reason for the season” that I am often most troubled.

I am going to assume you have asked “Why?,” at this moment.  And if you haven’t I will ask it for you.  It is the reason for the reasoning.

It appears to me, Christmas tends to offend many people.  Too much shopping, so much pressure, cards received from folks you did not send to, people exceeding the $20 gift limit during secret Santa, what is the proper denomination on a Starbucks gift card, the family holiday portrait, who to invite to Christmas dinner, how to pay off the credit cards.  These are just a few.

But the reoccurring problem, year after year, and decade after decade, it now seems, is to whom may I wish a “Merry Christmas vs. Happy Holidays?”

Seriously!  How the heck is this an issue.  Believers and Non, fighting over 2 words.  I am going to tell you I know what I say.  I don’t think about it.  I just do what I do.  And this too, I know, not one person has EVER become a Christian in my 50 years of journey because they heard me say Merry Christmas.  I don’t believe that one Christian has denounced their faith because and Atheist wished them Happy Holidays.

As for Santa, little kids will outgrow their belief in the Jolly man.  Why?  Because he is a fictional character of course.  Santa is not a life changing kind of guy, unless you are a kid.  Everyone learns the truth about Santa some day, one day in life.  There is an awakening.  And then Christmas or the Holiday continue, it become the seasonal truth.

By the way, I have never outgrown my belief in Jesus.  My faith, My choice, My truth.

For those of you who may not know.  There is a resource out there called “Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance.”  The short version of what this is.  A summary in alphabetical order of EVERY word in EVERY book in the Bible, connected to its original Hebrew or Greek roots.  Yes every “a” or “an” or “the” is listed and connected to the verse in which it is found.  So you can imagine there are pages of connections to the little words.  And fewer references to words like Methuselah or Boaz or Asher.  And then there are words that don’t appear in the Bible at all.

There is NO Santa.  There is NO Christmas.  Never once do these words appear in the Bible.  Old Testament or New.

There are however appearances for the word “division.”   Division, or dividing, is both and action and a spirit.  Division is sometimes necessary, but quite often it is just outright evil.

Romans 16:17-18  (NIV)

17 I urge you, brothers and sisters, to watch out for those who cause divisions and put obstacles in your way that are contrary to the teaching you have learned. Keep away from them. 18 For such people are not serving our Lord Christ, but their own appetites. By smooth talk and flattery they deceive the minds of naive people.

So my encouragement to you is to choose carefully how you decide to divide.  I have chosen not to care whether you wish me a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanzaa, Happy Holidays, or nothing at all.  That is your choice.  I know what mine is.

I pray to Unite.  And I pray that you may know Love, Light, and Truth.  God is Love.  God is Light.  God is Truth.

May the real “Reason for the Season” a time of birth, new life, reaching out, traveling and touching, invade and engulf your life.   Or you fill in the blanks.

But if you choose to divide…. I say with confidence… it has NOTHING to do with Christmas.


Navigating the Never

It was so good to see Robert this morning. It’s always a great time to get together to share breakfast to share conversation to share our lives. Robert is one of the Tulsa triumvirate. One of three friends I met in the seventies during my first Tulsa pilgamage, and maintain a relationship with today. Robert, Brad, and Nancy.  Three friends that were in high school when I met them in the late 70s and now are just flat-out good good friends

Robert’s the one from out of town. So we don’t get to share face-to-face that often but I’m always blessed when we do.  Conversations about what we’re doing, what we’ve done, and what we might do. He’s always busy when he returns to Tulsa so our time together is precious and compacted and usually over coffee at a Starbucks but this morning it was at his hotel over the morning breakfast bar.

Robert and I are frequent conversants on Facebook and occasional conversations are made by the phone. Whatever time it is, it is treasure when we get together and get to spend time face-to-face.  Even when we occasionally annoy one another, our time is treasured.  And so it was this morning at the Hampton Inn South in Tulsa Oklahoma. 90 minutes of one-on-one time. And our first visit since I lost my beloved dog Tank Fulton. Robert has lost his longtime companion dog Bob named for Bob Newhart several years back. So he was familiar with the loss of a close fur friend Bob, been his dog since he was a Schoolboy.

We talked about my loss and I shared with him that I now understood what it meant when a person has and irreplaceable dog.   I was happy to have my other dogs but it’s true you can’t replace a dog that has been 13 year companion.

On a lighter side we talked about creative projects He was involved in.  Robert is an actor and has appeared in many movies you have seen and I have seen along with many national commercials. A successful character actor, a writer,  a confidante and so much more.

Coincidentally on this Sunday morning in the hotel breakfast area the television was tuned to CBS Sunday Morning. There were stories on the backdrop of the wall as we chatted, really none of them caught my eye nor my attention.  And then the story started about Art Garfunkel. Yes the Art Garfunkel of Simon & Garfunkel Fame.  The Art Garfunkel of my favorite pop Folk rock Duo the 60s and 70s..

The television was on low-volume so it really didn’t interrupt our conversation but I must admit it provided a distraction for that moment that I just didn’t see coming. A cutaway to Simon & Garfunkel performing one of my favorite songs “Old Friends”..

This was our song. Not Robert’s and my song. But this was the song of my dog journey with Tank Fulton.  It became our song one foggy morning at a dog park in Georgetown, Texas…. 2010.

Shared on this blog in 2013.

Old friends sat on a park bench like bookends… Can you imagine us years from today, sharing a park bench quietly…..

And just like that the grief Came Upon me. It was at that moment I knew. No matter what else happened in my life. No matter how many other dogs I spend my life with and loving, Tank could never be replaced.

I would never look into his eyes. I would never smell him again. I would never hold him again. He would never lick my face. I was overcome by the realization of never.

tankeye - Edited

It was at that moment that I realized that grief is my conveyance for navigating the Never.

Through my tears I said it out loud to my friend Robert. A person who cares for me and was ready to listen. And this is what I said.

Tank is irreplaceable.  Because no matter what happens in the rest of my life, the likelihood of me having a daily relationship with somebody for 13 years again is unlikely. Even if it were to start today.  And Tank was my everyday guy for 13 years.   Fred and Shelly have been with me for 4 years, check back in 9 years.  And regardless of when the next great companion comes along… on 2 legs or 4, there will never be the connection I had with my wife who died and who was the rescuer of Tank. I will never ever get to live in that connection again. And so today and every day going forward will just be different. Not bad, not sad, not horrible, not filled with regret or tragedy.  Just different.  And currently there are limited ways to visit this moment in time.

Today I learned how to navigate the Never.

Grief will be a vehicle for that Journey.

At least it was today.

Analog or Digital

I am really sorry that my dog Tank is dead.  I really do miss him



I watched it happen.  It happened in my lifetime.  It is so commonplace now.  It was a conversion experience.  It is a conversion experience.

One day all the photo film in the store disappeared.

One day are the vinyl 45rpm records in the jukeboxes around the world were missing.

The Encyclopedia changed its name to Wikipedia.

What is a newspaper?

One day all the land line phones in my house disappeared.

For all intent and purposes, these things are gone.

What’s next?  Cars without drivers?  Really?

This is not a lament about the good old days.  It is a realization that in my lifetime I have seen, we have seen, some serious “deaths” to thing that were once just so common.

After college, in the mid-1970s, I worked in a radio station.  Reel to reel tape machines, Carts (cartridge tapes), 2 turntables and thousands of LP Vinyl albums.  I was an on air personality and produced radio shows and feature pieces.  Working with tape, a splicing block, and a razor blade and splicing tape.  It was such fun, and visceral.  I could feel the words and music.  Listening through headphones to build and edit a “perfect” interview.  Cueing up the music to hit a seemless musical sequay from one composition to the next.  I did not even know that I was working in an analog format.  I was just working and creating.

I am not sure when I became aware of how the digital age began in my life.  Nor when I started to experience digital  It had to be in the 80s.  Was it when I graduated from the cellular bag phone to my first Motorola Razr.  Was it when my job converted our order entry systems from a MSI transmission system to my first Toshiba laptop with a 128k processor.  I really don’t know, or more accurately I don’t remember.  Whenever it was, I remember I did not understand it.  It made absolutely no sense to me that I was communicating with a binary system of only 2 digits.  How can a “0” and a “1” do all of that work?

I still don’t understand it.  I don’t understand how a 1 and 0 can make a picture or be a song, but I do believe it.

adjective: digital
  1. 1.
    (of signals or data) expressed as series of the digits 0 and 1, typically represented by values of a physical quantity such as voltage or magnetic polarization.
    • relating to, using, or storing data or information in the form of digital signals.
      “digital TV”
    • involving or relating to the use of computer technology.
      “the digital revolution”

I do however understand analog.

At least I think I do.  I understand the touch experience and physical quantities.


1:of, relating to, or being a mechanism in which data is represented by continuously variable physical quantities.
Did I mention my dog of 14 years, Tank Fulton, died last month?  Did I mention I miss him?
His absence is palpable.  He was a cornucopia of touches and smells.  He was soft, and warm, and fit perfectly by my side when we slept.  And I miss him.
I do believe that Tank is in a better place,  I know that Tank is without pain, and can run free.  I even believe I will see him again.   Whether you believe it or not, well that is your issue.
But I still miss him.  I miss him at night when he would snuggle next to me.  I have replacement units.  But I don’t have Tank Fulton.
You see.
Tank was analog.
And now he is dead and gone.
Grief is not just a theater of the mind.
Every night, grief is analog.


It’s been about 4 weeks. 4 weeks since he died. 4 weeks since my life changed. I tried to prepare for it. I’d already gotten replacement units. I actually was prepared for it. I was prepared for Tank to die. After all dogs die. Everything dies. But this is not about everything.  It probably isn’t even about Tank… It is probably about me.tanksleep

I started sleeping on, by, around, and next to Tank around 2004.  He wasn’t even my dog yet… He was soft, and smelled like a hound, and funny and comfortable and caring.  He was not a therapy dog, but he would become my therapy dog.

What I have learned?

I don’t mean to be self depricating…. but I truly am a mess.  I have been a fairly miserable partner in most of my relationships.  I start strong, but finish flat.  Nearly every meaningful “in love” with a woman type relationship has ended poorly.  I have some long time friendships and am grateful for them.  I did not get married until I was 54.  I was a widower by age 59.  My second marriage lasted only 10 months.  I really thought when I was growing up that I would make a spectacular partner.  That was not, and is not the case.

I have spent the last decade, since Michelle’s death, researching and revisiting old relationships.  I have been motivated to ask for forgiveness.  Some of the relationships are from the 60’s.  Half a century of knowing I needed to apologize for being an ass. Almost no one who reads this will understand.  Well maybe there will be a few accidental visitors.  I know who you are.  I think I have found all of you.  All but Katy.       I so wish I could find you.  By the way, marriage number 2 was to a woman who was among the long ago relationships which was rekindled on Facebook.  I was certain it would be a storybook ending.  All it had was an ending.

So why all these relationship ramblings?

My life is filled with regrets.  I don’t believe people that say they have a life with no regrets.  That makes no sense to me.  How can a person not regret hurting someone, or disappointing a partner, or betraying a confidant?  Seriously, NO Regrets.  Then I don’t believe you.  I am thankful for the path my life has taken.  I have learned from my bad decisions… at least from some of them.  I have a better life because I have had regrets.  I don’t live in regret, I live in victory over the bad decisions.  But a bad decision…. is still a bad decision.  I have grown….but I regret that I hurt someone else on my blessed journey. A journey in which things “fit into a pattern for good.”  But not all things are good.

What is the purpose?

For me, there is purpose in the midst of this journey.   Well I was raised in the Presbyterian Church, and for all their shortcomings….. and mine.  I learned this in my middle school years at Colonial Presbyterian Church in Kansas City, Mo.  Thank you Rev. Ted Nissen.   The first question in the Shorter Westminster Catachism.  Most of you will not know this question.  But if you Google “what is the chief end of man?”  You will learn what I “know.”  This line is from Wikipedia…. “The most famous of the questions (known to a great many Presbyterian children) is the first: Q. What is the chief end of man? A.Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.”

And through this sieve is poured the results of my decisions.  If I understand who God is then this is a glorious time in my life.  Every day is glorious.  At least when I recognize my purpose.

What does it have to do with me now?

Well my today is a sum total of my decisions yesterday.  Life experience is a mathematical equation of sorts.  Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division.  A series of events that create form and substance.    Very rarely is my string of life events just a march in forward progress.  The graph of life is a reality.  The ups, the downs, “the two steps forward and……….!”  See you could finish that phrase without me.  Because your life is a graph also.  You also have taken “one step back.”

What does this have to do with my dog Tank?


Tank was a forward march dog.  He never complained.  He was half hound… so he could be a bit hornery if I decided to leave the dog park before he wanted to go.  And in his early days if I let him off leash in an unfenced area, he might disappear for up to 90 minutes (but obviously he always came back).  And there were occasions that he was not allowed to sleep in a stranger’s house and hence we did not share a bed.  But mostly Tank was just a kind, loving, lean in to a new human, hump a new pooch, tolerate a puppy, train a foster, love me without condition, snuggle with me at night kind of dog.  We could just sit quietly for hours.  In his younger days he would chase a ball for hours… always to bring it back to my hand.  He was a good boy.  He was what I want to be.  A caring loving, move forward kind of friend and companion.


Tank was a dog without regrets, or so it seemed.  He glorified life and those around him.  Yes I am biased.  But those who were blessed to know him, know he was unique among the dog world.  He was just one of those dogs.  If you needed a hug, he would just give you a hug.  He did however hope you would scratch his butt or his ears.

And now he is gone.  No new pictures. No more kisses.  No visits to the dog park.  No sharing my bed. I had no idea just how critical Tank was to my well being.  I know now.


For since he left

My nights are







“Today is a good day to die”

And so it was, September 25, 2017.

I don’t mean to be morbid or unfeeling. I am far from unfeeling, but it is a day I planned on since June 16, 2013. The day I adopted Fred. My number 2 dog. Fred, the Basset/Beagle… the Bagle. Adopted because I loved him from the moment I saw his picture on the internet. I had to have a second dog.


I had to have a second dog because too many of my friends like Ann and Steve had shared that when they lost their dog, the pain was so great they knew they could not replace their lost companion. But because of one Canine spirit I had to get a second pooch. One dog had brought me so much joy that I knew I could not let pain prevent me from living each day without a fur baby. And so many of you know who this great spirit is and was. Tank Fulton… the dog I can never replace…


September 25, 2017, a good day to die.

Tank’s final week began on Tuesday, September 18. I called it visiting day. I had seen Tank begin to slow down, though his energy would ebb and flow… He had lost his appetite…

I noticed it for real the month before when we went to Kansas City to visit Annie, and Lynn, and my sister Barb. But Tank was a trooper.. and he did well on the drive up and back, but he would never eat a great big meal again… even when I fixed him steak. But I digress… or maybe I just am remembering.

I rarely kennelled Tank. Not it 13 years. And when I had to leave him since my move to Tulsa… which I rarely did, I entrusted his care to two people. Tank loved Nancy and Beth. and so we went visiting. It was a contrast in styles… he had love for both, but his energy waned as the day lengthened… Nancy first, who saw a boy ready to take on another day, and then Beth who saw an exhausted boy ready to visit the rainbow bridge. I listened to them both… it is why I went visiting. Their love for Tank was known and their opinions are trusted.

And the week passed.

Off to the dog park to visit friends… but sadly we often missed our favorites… Tank would tire quickly. I am most sorry that we missed our special friends there and their furry companions… But we tried, we really tried…

Most of the week we just spent together, resting… the park… well the backyard of Casa Canine was park enough for Tank.

Tank was a dog of great spirit and compassion. And he had eyes that were filled with compassion and life. That is until they were no longer filled with life. And so it was on September 25, 2017

It was a good day to die

The night of September 24, 2017. Tank was restless, pacing the house. I fell asleep knowing he would come to bed… Tank always came to bed, or at the very least the bedside ottoman at the foot of my bed. We rarely slept apart.

September 25, 2017.

Tank was missing. No where in the house. I have a doggy door. So I went to look outside. Tank was in the corner of the side yard, nearly under my window. I do now know how long he had been standing there. But the moment I saw him, I knew. Everyone said I would know. There is no script. But I knew.


Today is a good day to die.

So I made THE appointment and late morning we loaded up to take our final road trip. The park, the drive around, ice cream and hot dogs from QuikTrip (he ate neither), and time alone together in the air conditioned car just remembering.

And by the end of our conversation, Tank’s gums were turning blue. He had been gasping for air for too long. It was time. It was a good day………. to die.


And it truly was time. We arrived at the vet. It was a peaceful and quiet room. We sat together. Then he was taken to get prepped for his moment… to be brought back to out quiet room… but when the injection site was prepared, Tank collapsed. He could not stand another moment… He had given me his all for his final week.

And so as he lay on the table, I carressed and held him. I whispered in his ear. I told him I loved him. I knew he was moments from being with Michelle, the woman who rescued him, the woman who married me and died way too young in 2009. And then Tank was



Fred. FRED FRED FRED…come give me a kiss please

It’s all downhill from here.


I use to love to ride my bike.  I have not enjoyed that for a long time.  But there was a time.  Century rides (100 miles) in Colorado… Denver to Colorado Springs.  The Springs to the Royal Gorge.  Long, grueling rides.  And the very best part… coasting at some ridiculously dangerous speed heading down the mountain.  Tuck down low and let it all out.  It was like flying for me.

The climb was a GRIND.  But, I love going downhill.  I won’t lie to you.  I feel the wind in what little hair I have when I head downhill.  And unexpected small stings on my forehead and cheeks.  It reminds me of an old joke my Mom told me once… or several times.  “How do you tell you are talking with a happy motorcyclist?”   How?  “By the bugs in his teeth?”  I love going downhill.

I am now an urban dweller.. I don’t really ride anymore.  My life on 2 wheels has been traded in for romps around the park with 4-legged companions.  But every once in a while I return to the hills.

I arrived in front of the school this morning.  Fridays are the days I teach/advise at a high school work study program.  I am always the first to arrive on Friday.  I open the school, prepare for the student arrival… enjoy a cup of coffee.   It is coasting at a slow pace.  I nice time of the day.  Today was different.

I park my car as always,  at the curb by the front door.  Coffee in hand, I retreat to the rear of my car and pop the trunk.  I have a few items to carry in this morning.  While bending oer and head inside the trunk… there is a voice.  I look at me phone… did I butt dial someone.  Nope.  Screen is blank.  I return to retrieving my trunk treasure.  The voice from nowhere… again I check my phone.  NADA, nothing.  And again the voice.  And I do a 180 to discover a woman in a wheel chair.

“Good Morning” say I.

“Good Morning, do you know where the library is?”  I am asked.

I do, and we chat for just a moment.  I know where I am.  I know without looking, as I face her, what is now to my back for the next three blocks.  She is facing it.  I am remembering it. It is a gentle walk for someone on foot.  But it is all uphill.


“How can I help you?”  She responded, “Can you help me up this hill?”  And so it began.  Our 3 block relationship.  We did not converse, other than for me to share with here the location of the Tulsa Downtown Library.  One block, two blocks, Three blocks, FREE.

It’s all downhill from here, farewell.


Enjoy the wind in your face.  And the bugs in your teeth.



A step away from my cowardice


I saw a quote last week that I must paraphrase.  “How important must a person be to elevate their murder to being an assassination”  You get the drift.

“As Charleston gradually lays to rest nine shooting victims from last week’s church massacre” The report on the AP wire read.  And I say, Truly this is/was a planned act of randomly targeted hate and cowardice.

I was at one of those hotels this morning.  You know the ones that have rooms and also include a free breakfast in the little dining area.  This morning I was at one of those places. So I grab a biscuit, a glass of juice, and a cup of coffee..  and I sit to watch the morning news.  Most folks watch some sort of TV in the morning, The Today Show, Fox and friends, CBS whatever…….   I am not one of those watchers except in unique circumstances.  I sold my TV over 2 years ago.  This morning was a unique circumstance for me.

This morning’s television topic.  The Charleston massacre and the recent burning of 3 Black churches in the South.  And I began to cry.  This all makes me so sad.  This is a continuation and it is just the beginning of the atrocities I believe.  People hating people for no good reason.  I do not expect it to get better.  Cowards are everywhere.  If they were brave, like soldiers, they would put their names on their actions… and face the consequences.  Cowards take lighter fluid to ant hills.

When I was growing up in Kansas City, Missouri, I use to burn ant hills.  As a prepubescent, I would go to our garage, find the charcoal lighter fluid, find an ant hill, spray it with fluid, drop a lit match…. the ants never knew what hit them.  They would writhe in pain and die.  It was fun to do this.. until is was fun no longer.  I couldn’t stand the action.  What was I doing?  Why did I do it?  It made no sense to me.  It was planned act of randomly targeted hate and cowardice.  I walked away from my foolishness, my ignorance, my cowardice.

So I am enjoying my biscuit and juice and coffee.  I am not enjoying the news of the morning.  People killed by a coward.  Assassinated.  I am getting sadder.  I am in public.  My eyes are tearing up.  I am disgusted.  I am appalled.  I am filled with rage.  And suddenly I remember, I am not alone.  I look over to see the couple at the next table.  My God, it is THEM.  THEY are right fricken next to me, and they have seen my tears and sadness.

Should I run.  Should I hide.  Should I pretend I just had something in my eye.  Get up and leave?  What the f@#K should I do.  They are BLACK people, a Black couple, right next to me.

So I look them directly in the eyes… I put my name on it.  I look at them, and I know that they know that I know that they are Black people.  I say, “I am so sorry.”

And they say. “thank you.”

And in this moment, I walked away from my fear.  I am NOT a coward in the moment.  I am Bob Fulton, Man of God, lover of people, griever for those who suffer.

And we talk.  And we never ask each other’s names… we are hotel lobby friends.  Passers by and passers through.  But we talk from the heart.

He is a barber at a “black barber shop”  — his words

Since the church shooting he mentioned that a white guy had come to the shop last week and needed to use the restroom.  Very odd for a white guy to be in this neighborhood.  They said yes.  However they could not help but wonder if this stranger might be assembling a gun while in the restroom and come out shooting.  Copycat, copycat.  Nothing happened.  But he could not help but wonder.

He could not help but wonder if he would be in the room when the next coward came to visit a group of Black folks.  I was saddened that though he and his wife were absolutely at peace in the skin they lived…. there are people who hated them for skin pigmentation.

We spoke for about 15 minutes.

And I shook both their hands.  It was NOT a particularly brave moment for me.  But in that moment I was a coward no more.

Three people brave enough to be who we were suppose to be.

Today I lived…. A step away from my cowardice.

Crappie… crappy….crappie


That my friend is how we met.  On Facebook.  We were both fans of George Takei.  Oh My! And one day around 3 years ago he posted some toilet humor cartoon with a fish.  I don’t recall the joke.

But I remember what I typed in the reply line.  And I replied “Crappie”  (for the non-initiated, a Midwest freshwater pan fish similar to a perch, and actually pronounced Croppy) But it looks like it should be pronounced Crappy.  And it really was a perfectly funny response to the “fish turd” joke.  And apparently  you were in a laughing kind of mood…. and you “liked” my comment.  You and several other absolute strangers.  And I felt good and that was that.


But that was not that.  You mustered up the energy to message me and asked to be my friend.  Now I must say… I was attracted immediately to your picture.  And I hoped you were not some Nigerian scam artist, targeting my massive American wealth.  Fortunately it was my humor that you were after.  And we became friends.  You moved outside of your comfort circle… and friend-ed a stranger.  Someone you would never have to meet.  And we would joke and we laughed and just enjoyed each other…. and then came the second day.  And someone you thought would be a random, never meet, make me smile kind of guy from some distant land…. well…. if I may put words in your mouth… “Holy Sh*!, the guy lives in Tulsa, less than 30 miles from my Owasso home.”  Spoiler!!

The first months were delightful.  We were funny together.  We never met.  We planned on it, we never followed through.  There were discoveries and journeys via phone, text and facebook.   We we members of similar “clubs”  The multiple dog owner club.  The I lost my spouse to a horrible accident club.  The quick wit/funny club.  The on a spiritual journey club.  The enjoy a good wine club.  And the being in a relationship is exhausting and leave me alone clubs.


So during “our” first two years, I think there were 3 befriending and 3 unfriending events on Facebook.  We were together.   We were silent and apart.   We lived alone.  After a period, there would be a tap on the door, an open moment, with smiles, laughter, and even one meet for brunch event.  Two hours at the cafe in Utica Square.  Delightful, refreshing, for both of us I believe.  And I will add…. glorious for me.  You were just a joy to be with and talk with.  You are so attractive… what a wonderful breath of fresh air.   And then you would “disappear.”  For those moments, closeness was not to be a part of your life.  I was asked to lose your number.  I had not “done” anything, it just was NOT time.

But there were big changes coming.  You became a Grandma.  And frankly, you changed I think.  “Boo” changed you.  That little boy was a big life changer.  I will not attempt to put words in your mouth, nor outline the changes.  Nor even suppose to understand, having never been neither a parent nor obviously then a grandparent.  But I will say, your world exploded and expanded.  And around a year ago, I became a part of your new expansion process.  I will be forever grateful.  Though our together times are infrequent, they are a part of us…. and for me they are wonderful.

We have indeed become friends over the last year.

We have done business together.  You have entrusted me to sell things for you an Ebay.  I have been blessed financially because of “us.”

But more importantly, you have given me some firsts and lasts.  The kind of things that will linger in my brain for the remainder of my life as I think of you.

Our date at the Tulsa state fair.  You where there… for my first ever scorpion and meal worm pizza.  I will think of you every time I am stung by a scorpion.  It will be our dance.

And you are the last woman to let me in her bed.  You were not in it, you were on the couch. Because after and evening in your home, with conversation, dogs, a beautifully cooked meal, jinga and yahtzee, and too much wine… you took my car keys and safely tucked me in.  Among the many reasons, I love you for that concern and level of sharing.

And the truth is, I don’t remember any dates in our together time.  Couples often remember dates and times.  I will for the moment say that I now will remember one.  June 2, 2015.  I was suppose to visit you at your home, I had to postpone.  However, during the evening we did speak on the phone.

It was so nice to hear your voice.  You just cause me to smile every time we speak.  You are just a light.  I am not always good at listening, though I try.  And I am not always good at remembering unless I write it down.

This is my June 2, 2015 memory.  This is what I heard.  “liver disease” and “auto-immune” and “terminal” and “six months.”

I promised you I would not feel sorry for you.  I don’t.  But I do adore you.  I do love you.  I will be here or there for you.

Maybe while there is still time… we can escape Tulsa together.

Maybe a trip to Grand Lake.






At a loss for words…

People Die

Dogs Die

Living things Die

I saw my Father for the last time in October, 1990, I believe.  I shared some of my growing up pains and sufferings.  I spoke to him in a small way about his.  It was the first conversation of that kind I can recall.. I was 40, He was 70.  Three months later he fell, hit his head, and died within 48 hours, thousands of miles away.  At his memorial service I saw members of his family, including his mother–my grandmother, who I did not even know was still alive.  Along with his siblings who I had not seen in decades.  Uncle John.  Aunt Betty.

And when they die, I will no longer stare at the dead person and say anything to them, and get a response.  Whatever it is you want to say or do or express… do it before they die.  I had no idea that when I walked out of the house in 2009, I would return to find my wife dead, drowned in the bathtub.  I never spoke to Michelle again.  But I did speak with her family and friend.

I knew my Mother was about to die when I saw her last in 2013.  I said what I said.  I was clumsy and loving.   And when she passed I joined with family members in a celebration of her unbelievable life.

I love my life.  I am a believer that I am involved in an eternal process.  It is my hope that you might also understand your eternal options.  But for now this is about me and my life in the flesh, and what I do on “this side of eternity” as my Mom might say.  “We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.”  But now, for this time, it is a moment for the living.  And I believe that there are important things to do… maybe not for you.  But I want to do something that I deem to be important.

But I am going to die… don’t know when.  Pretty sure I will finish writing this…..but I do have a couple of projects and errands to run first.

I write often about grief.  For years I had NO idea what that meant.  I did not grieve when someone died… I mean I might get sad.  But grief.  I had no idea.  And I guess I thought it was a sign of weakness, or unnecessary, or—hell I don’t know.  I just know I thought it was probably a more serious sad.  And I would get sad about stuff, but rarely did I get my “third degree black belt” in emotionally challenged and prolonged sadness.  Not when my Dad died, or wife, or Mom.  And certainly not when a friend or someone else’s family member passed.

Death would come…I would at some point have to say something to some family member and I would comment “sorry for your loss.”  I do not judge that statement by the way.  But for me it was a band-aid.  A covering for my absence of feeling,  I could move on.  Sorry…for your loss.

I don’t know when this happened exactly.  I am good at remembering details.  I rarely am able to connect them to a timeline.  It happened sometime in the last couple of years… it happened after I moved to Tulsa and Casa Canine.

As many of you know, I am a believer.  I read the Bible.  I am not much of a preacher.  But I hope I a much of an exampler… (spell check does not like that word–sorry for your loss spell check, I am using it).

I believe I am created in the image of God… I believe we all are.  I believe if you want a picture of God I should get about 10,000 of us in a room and use a long selfie-stick to snap a picture.

So one day I see that God was grieved… What??   “How often they rebelled against him in the wilderness and grieved him in the wasteland! 41Again and again they put God to the test; they vexed the Holy One of Israel.”  God was not saddened… He was grieved.  And I am in His image.  And so I began a journey.  A journey in search of my lost grief.  If grief is good enough for God… well you get the drift..

I continue to search.  Grief is a life force.  I have written of this before.  It is Holy Ground.  I am just beginning to understand.  I am so grateful for this element.  And I will share more through the days.  And omg, I have experienced grief in my life now.

And sharing in grief is so important.  For me, and for those grieving.  So during my time of reflection and meditation, I asked for wisdom and words.  Words that mean something to the delivered as well at to that person I deliver to.  “Sorry for you loss” would cut it no more. But I did NOT want to be at a loss for words……

I wanted to do something important.  I want to say something I believe.  So many of my friends will see this phrase I share after I hear of a loss.

“I sorrow in your sorrow, I grieve with your grief, and when appropriate, I will smile with your remembrance.”

I am thankful I am a man of constant sorrow… I rejoice in this life.  May your grief ultimately bring you richness and peace.

Through Laughter and through tears, forever grateful for both..

It was the quinquennial gathering.  In the reunion infancy it would occur every 10 years, but since anniversary 25, it now is an every 5 year event.  Baby boomer Yellowjackets from around the country begin to energize and swarm, and for two hot August nights they swarm to Kansas City to experience a rebirth.  It is the return to the hive.  Like spawning salmon, we swim upstream, and return to remember, to laugh, to cry, to share, to relive moments of glory.  Who could ever have know when we sang these words together for the last time as a group, graduation night, June 5, 1969, that they would be so prophetic.   At least for me.

“Hail oh Center High School, We will all be true, to the colors high above us, Gold and Blue,  Memories everlasting through the coming years, we will always treasure them                Through Laughter and through tears”

And so it was this past weekend, the swarm of Yellowjackets, Center High, Kansas City, Mo. class of ’69


1969, We are the class of ’69.  We loved being able to say that.  Or at least I loved saying it. After all, those from the class of 1869, have long passed.  And the graduates of 2069, well they are not even a twinkle.  So we are the only living class of ’69.  The world should cherish us… I certainly do.  We were special, we remain special, just slightly older than we were, but we are constant in age as the class of 69..  I must confess I did look around the reunion room and wonder where all the “old folks” came from.  But boy did I love being with them for 2 days.

1969, the end of the 60’s.  That was who we were.  It is who we are.  So much I could remember… “Abraham, Martin, and John.”  Vietnam.   Man on the Moon.  The Beatles at Municipal Stadium.  The Chiefs.  The A’s.  So many memories… so many things forgotten.  And then it is reunion time and the stories revive and come alive.  Some stories grow as legends, some are just a reason to smile, and seemingly with each notch in the 5-year reunion belt there are more stories that might include tears or trigger grief.

One of my memories was of Saturday afternoons.. particularly as the weather would become more inviting for indoor activity.  I still hear the voice of Jim McKay, “Spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of sport, the thrill of victory….the agony of defeat…the human drama of athletic competition.”   The thrill… the agony… it is a part of my lexicon.  And so it is magnified, or more correctly given renewed life and realized mortality with the passing of each reunion event.


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Though many choose to join the event, there are so many who choose not to come.  They are actually missed.  I know because even the most “obscure” fellow graduates are included and welcomed and enjoyed.  People choose not to come for many reasons… I pray that feeling awkward in the group would not be one of those reasons to choose not to come.  This is one loving and inclusive group of “friends.”  Even if only for 2 days, every 5 years.

Through Laughter and through tears.

I must say, it seems that laughter does abound when we gather.  I am so joyful as I join to share moments with friends now, that have been friends for life. Friends that include though not exclusive too… Ric, Curtis, Joanna, Don, Sydna, Paula, Clay, Pat… folks and friends who have endured and supported my nonsense, my quirkiness,  and my love and my life for decades.

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Through Laughter and through tears.   The thrill, the agony…….

And to see friends that I graduated with who were only acquaintances in 1969.  And now because of social media like Facebook, there has grown a special “love connection” It was beyond special to see some friends who have invaded my heart in only the last year or two.  Ann, Pam, Lynn, Gary… thanks for becoming a part of my present day joy.  (And Scarecrow, I love you most of all…. you know who you are!)

What a glorious time for me.  I am not much of a social butterfly, except in this moment.  “remind me who you are”  let us share our history.  As vaguely remembered as it might be, it IS remembered.


Because even if we had nothing else in common.  We had shared hallways and carhops.


Through Laughter and through tears,   The thrill and the agony…

So I have shared my laughter, and my thrill.   My laughter and the thrill…   What of tears and agony?

For the first time in my life I faced my sense of mortality.  Don’t get me wrong..  I have experienced the grief of my Mother’s passing in the last year.  I came home in 2009, to find my wife dead, drowned in our bathtub.  I know terrible and sad events.  I have just begun to  understand the grieving process..  But for whatever the reason… mortality never affected me… until this weekend.

On Saturday morning, between reunion events,  I visited the VA hospital in Kansas City.  I went to visit one of my classmates who had become a Facebook friend but had disappeared from my sight about 2 years ago.  I had know idea why.  Garrett is very ill.  I looked in his eyes.  We spoke for an hour.  He “was” me.  A seemingly healthy middle aged guy.  Now he clings to life in a 105 pound body.  Garrett is the first “me” I have ever looked in the eyes to reveal my mortality.  And I agonized for him.  Even if he did not ask me to agonize.   Because there but by the grace of God, go I.

And Saturday night, I wept openly and without shame at the reunion while I visited “the board”.  I grieved for my friends who could not choose to attend the reunion.  And so, “the board”,  the memorial board… I grieve for the passing of friends I will not see again on this side of the curtain.  I was a man of sorrow.  And I realize that in five years we will need a bigger board.


I am sorry I missed seeing you at this reunion Angie…

Memories everlasting, Through Laughter and through tears

The song lives on..

May you live on also.