People watching–Strangers in a familiar land.

Bob Fulton Uncategorized Leave a comment

It’s something I see and it’s something I hear you talk about. Facebook and other social media platforms are loaded with people watching sites.. I can’t remember the first time I saw the first version online of the “people of Walmart.” Social media has so enhanced the people watching experience, that I often take for granted how important it is to actually watch real people… not just digital input.

But the fact is people watching it’s now a lost art because of social media. What I watch on social media is usually a low life or highlight reel. We are surrounded with sound bites and site bites. Cute puppies, funny kittens, and people we laugh at and want to make fun of. We are inundated with loud politicians and even louder critics of those politician\ns. The non-connected social media news feed where nothing is safe and certainly nothing is sacred. People watching used to be so much fun the truth be told it involved watching living people in live situations. Now we watch on handheld devices peering at digital images. And the poster cries out… “look at me.” “Make this go viral” is the new battle cry. I often forget that those images are actually analog and involve people who feel and have the ability to touch one another.

Then something happens to remind me that people watching is so special. Oh, that is when it is so special. And the opening event of the Center High School 50 year reunion was something very special. A conclave of strangers in a familiar land. Nothing I randomly watch provides more enjoyment than watching my friends from a half century past stirs my heart more.

I found myself in the midst of a large group of familiar strangers… I don’t see many of these folks often… I argue with a few of the on Facebook frequently, for what seems to serve absolutely no purpose. I don’t live in the “why don’t you come over and have a beer with me” proximity with any if these folks. And yet, there I was, looking once again at my history. I absolutely fell in love with just watching people. I see these folks less often than I see people at my local Walmart.

And so the night went. Nothing spectacular, everything memorable. And then in the midst of what is my people watching extravaganza, I get a moment. Nothing is sweeter that being surprised by joy. Nothing surpasses people watching for me, except when it becomes a people involved moment. Sometimes they are moments I hope will actually be. And they indeed did came to fruition.

And then, from out of nowhere, someone appears out of nowhere. It can’t be anticipated, To be Surprised by Joy, it must come out of nowhere. Like a salvation experience. It is something I will never forget. Well maybe at the 100th reunion, I might forget. But this can’t happen at the Walmart. I will never meet a “stranger” at the Walmart when I practice my people watching who will come up to me and say… “I wasn’t going to shop today, but I knew I would see you…. so I came to buy a bag of potatoes.” I will forever be grateful that my “stranger friends” have the courage and boldness to change my life.

So here’s to what is left… Here is to what still lies ahead. Here’s to your moment of boldness. Surprise someone with joy.

May you smile with a Stranger before you just are a memory on a board.

To the sons of Perry, a Father’s Day letter, 2013

Bob Fulton Uncategorized Leave a comment
I want to share.
la-na-nn-okla-senator-inhofe-son-killed-in-plane-crash-20131112
(file photo)
I start with sharing my sorrow.  I am so deeply saddened by the loss of Father, Husband, Son, Brother, as a result of the premature and horrible death of Perry Inhofe.  I last saw Perry in June or July of 1980.  Decades ago, I moved from Tulsa, August, 1980, He left for Duke.  The summer of 1980, Perry use to come to my home on a regular nearly weekly basis.  He was a soph/jr/sr at Edison High school in 1977-1980.  During those years I was Perry’s Young Life leader.  You heard the name Young Life 4 times during his Memorial Service.  The mention of his Young Life leader.  And I was the Young Life guy.  Perry Inhofe was my friend.  I was also involved with Uncle Jim, Aunt Molly, and Aunt Katy.  But my young friend Perry and I were together in friendship and fellowship for 3 years I lived in Tulsa.  I was there when he met Keith Green, and made a commitment to his Lord.
So by default, I get to be your Young Life leader, if for only a moment.  I will take some liberties,  my door is always open, and my ear available.  And I would like to share with you as I would have shared with Perry had he suffered the loss you now know.\par
Three things I will share.
Grief
Hope and Redemption
A Private story that only Perry and I knew.  At least I have never shared until now.
GRIEF:  First and foremost.  Grieve as loudly as you want.  Grieve as often as you need. Grieve to heal, Grieve because you need to.  Grieve in tears and anger as need be.  Grief is so much a part of your process now.  Don’t try to rush it, avoid it, or listen to people who tell you to get over it.   You will be sad, and lonely, and angry, and bitter.  You will experience a depth of feeling like NO other.  I can’t imagine it.  But  my wife died 4 years ago, at age 44 in an unexpected accident…. so I have an idea.   Grieve in the quiet of your heart, wail openly if you need.  Get Mad.  Ask Why.  Do not be surprised if you do not get answers immediately.  But I promise, you will get answers.  I promise even more, that those answers will take time.  If you despair, do NOT be alone.  Grieving is absolutely critical for your healing process.
I encourage you to express your grief in any way you must, as long as it does not bring harm to you or another.  People will come up to you I am sure, because they did when my wife died, and tell you that something good will come of this.  Well do not be confused…. the death of your Father was not good, is not good, and you don’t have to listen.  Horrible accidents are just that… HORRIBLE accidents. Some day you might see the pattern for good that will appear in your lives… but make NO mistake.  Nothing was ever good when my wife drowned in our bathtub.  Nothing will ever be good about your Father dying in a plane crash.  I will tell you I know that there will be a pattern for good, because God promises there will be a pattern for good.  But this is the promise of a sovereign God to His Children.  From the Hebrew Scriptures, Numbers 23:19 King James Version (KJV)
19 God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent: hath he said, and shall he not do it? or hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good?.
And from the New Testament.  Romans 8:28
New American Standard Bible (NASB)
28 And we know that [a]God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.
And this leads me to share about HOPE AND REDEMPTION.
There is hope to be found with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.  For God is a Glorious God.  And as was shared at the service for your Father, there will be times of comfort, and green pastures.  As well as the wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Do not travel this life alone.  Get to know God.  He seeks to know you
You know the biggest difference between the old and new Testaments, is the reaction and relationship the man named Jesus.   I need not run a philosophy and religion course here.  But for thousands of years the nation of Israel awaited a Messiah.  For some of us in the world we believe the Messiah arrived and his name was and is Jesus.  This is a story I shared with Perry Inhofe in the late 1970’s.
I will not use this as a platform for a lesson in theology.  I will tell you the God is a God of Hope and Redemption.  I can guarantee that.  I know that.  I believe that.  I shared that with your father.  We shared that together on many occasions.  And though separated by 3 decades, in the scope of eternity I was with Perry Inhofe only yesterday.  In the scope of eternity, 10,000 years is but a day.
You may spend this time asking God why?  Why did your father have to die.  And my experience will tell you that NO answer will suffice.  You will have to become men of faith to find anything that approaches an answer.  Faith that God is a sovereign, loving, caring God.  God loved and loves still your father.  God loves you.  I pray that as your father sought, you will seek also.
This life is a life of Hope and Redemption.  My prayer is that you will discover that while you are still young.  Like your Father.
And Finally a PERSONAL STORY…I met your Grandfather Jim Inhofe during the same 1977-80 time period.  He was a newly elected mayor of Tulsa during those years.  When your Grandfather shared at the Memorial service what people might some things that folk may or may not know about his son Perry.  Jim used the word Private.  Perry and I shared many Private moments while in Young Life.  And I am happy to share with you a sweet and funny private story that I believe ONLY your father and I knew… well and the policeman who stopped us..  It is a story I remember fondly, and regularly.
I had every intention when I moved back to Tulsa one year ago, to reacquaint with Perry Inhofe and share this story with him again, and laugh.   Don’t let anyone tell you thay have NO regrets in life.  I should NOT have waited 54 weeks.   I so regret having waited to look up my friend Perry Inhofe..  I will see him again on the other side of eternity… but I too will miss laughing with him in a moment of now fellowship.
And now the story.  It was the Fall of ’79, after an Edison Football Game, and a stop at some after game hangout, Perry decided he wanted to show me his father’s new airplane.  It could well be the plane that Perry learned to fly in, and as I read perhaps Cole also learned in this plane.  It was late.  Perhaps approaching 11 pm.  But Southward we headed, to 81st Street and a hanger at Jones airport.
We entered the property and drove toward a hanger.  It was pitch black except for some safety lights on the property.. and the suddenly appearing red and blue rooftop police lights.
We we stopped and questioned.  Late night trespassing.  Unless of course you pull out your license, Pronounce and spell I-N-H-O-F-E.    Well I thought as I chuckled, “the mayor’s kid card”  sweet.   After a few minutes we went to see the plane.  Perry was like a kid in a candy store… and for a moment, the mayor’s kid in the candy store.  Like the Cat that ate the Canary.  I promised I would not share that story and well, I am glad now that I can break that promise.  I sure it would have been Perry approved had I sought him out.
I sorrow in your sorrow.  I grieve in your grief.  And when the time is appropriate I will laugh with you in his memory.  I loved Perry Inhofe, and in the shadow of eternity, it was like yesterday.
I miss your Father.
Shalom. Mizpah.
“The eternal God is our dwelling place and underneath are the everlasting arms. (Duet. 33:37) For God’s presence and control we can be thankful and rejoice.

98.6 & 65.8 & 71.6 and the 50 year reunion

Bob Fulton Uncategorized 1 Comment

So sometime in May I will drive up to Kansas City and spend some time with the Center High School 50 year reunion committee.  I am not an official “member”, but I am and interested observer and part time participant.  So I barged in a few months ago… and I am thankful I did, and grateful to be welcomed aboard the Good Ship Yellowjacket 69.

Obviously it is filled with my CHS classmates.  people that I have known since I moved to the Boone School district in 5th grade, and some of these folks are nearly friends with each other from the womb.  For me it is a round table of folks I have been far more absent from than present.  I have moved so many times in my life.  I have kept in touch with a handful of my old cohorts, but for the most part, I spend very little social time with anyone from CHS.

That being said, It is a special time to share a table, talk briefly about the past and ponder the schedule for the upcoming event.  It is NEVER a time to talk religion or politics, though it is filled with people who would happily discuss, argue and question both.  It is just a time to celebrate.  Mostly, as I have observed, it is just a group of people who want to celebrate life.  And the celebrants have more in common with each other than can be found with almost any other folks that I might encounter in any random gathering at any time in any place, from now until the moment of my last breath.  Or so I would guess.

The purpose of the committee is really singular.  What can be done to celebrate life, provide venues for smiles and good times.  What will attract the most folks to a couple of events so that both the seeker and those being sought can have a really good time with a not some random group of devotees gathering to rejoice as a result of a common experience.

So here is my experience regarding reunions…   I have been to a few… Some I really enjoyed… from start to finish…. some I enjoyed for only moments.  I am glad I went to all of them… However, rarely did I come away with any meaningful moments.  In my earlier days I got to be reunited with Paula, and would visit her when I visited my Mother in Austin.  Paula passed several years ago of Cancer.  For the most part, I would just spend time with the guys I spent time with decades ago.  A poker game at Cal’s house, with Bob, Ric, Curtis, Marco, Don, Joe, a few others… So reunions were just moments in time.  Happy moments, but brief and then over.

That was true until the last reunion.  My life changed.  Two people who were merely moments in my CHS life became two of my besties…  It is not easy to make new friends at my age.  At OUR age.  People from Center have their own lives.  I am thankful they do.  I am more thankful that Ann and Lynn let me into theirs.

lynnannbob

I knew Ann Asel and I knew Lynn Joseph whey I went to Center.  I probably spoke to them for nearly and hour.  I mean an hour total during our entire 3 years during our shared high school experience.  We did not date, we did not have the same circle of friends, Ann and I had Journalism class together I think.

Because of the Last Center Reunion… my life has changed.  I have stories to tell, but the relationship started because I had been selling stuff on Ebay for nearly 20 years.  I sold some stuff for both of them..  I don’t list anything for them on Ebay any longer, but I drive to Kansas City from Tulsa with some regularity to see these two friends.  I love Annie and Lynn.  I am shocked.

Maybe you should come to the reunion and get shocked.

By the way, 98.6 degrees,  as you know is our average body temperature, while alive.  In 1951 the projected life span for men was 65.8 years, for women 71.6 years.

I will be 68.3 at the next reunion.  I hope to laugh with you there.

Gold and Blue lives matter

Bob Fulton Uncategorized 3 Comments

I’m really a bit surprised. I’m surprised because I really didn’t know Carol or Shirley very well. They had become Facebook friends over the last few years.  It’s been nearly 50 years since I was in the same room with both of them. So, how long do I need to wait before I get over this kind of departure.? Is there a point in time when this kind of goodbye won’t matter? Seriously I’ve only seen one of these people in the last 50 years at a CHS reunion, and one of them I haven’t seen at all.  For the most part all we really had in common “to the colors high above us Gold and Blue.”  And yet I am profoundly affected by the recent news of their departures from this plane of existence. I mean how in Heaven’s name can I miss them now when I haven’t missed them for decades  But I do miss them now.

I feel like Center High School was my Goldilocks Journey. I’ve talked to people who have had many thoughts and memories regarding their High School experience. I’ve talked to people who have been obsessed with the high school journey, Similar to Al Bundy from Polk High.  I know folks who hated their CHS journey.  I’ve talked to people who studied really really hard, and I’ve talked to people who didn’t study a lick. I’ve talked to people who went to huge high schools and graduated with thousands of classmates. I talked to people who went to small schools and they attended School with a handful of mates. But Center High School (CHS) was the Goldilocks adventure for me. Not too big. not too small, it was just right. And as I get older it gets just “righter”. But my Band Of living classmates is shrinking in size.  How terribly strange.

High School is a unique American Adventure. It is one that people of my age all experienced. Very few private schools in the 60s, Most kids went to a public high school. Therefor, High school is often common ground… So many of us just took the yellow bus. Looking back on my life, it is special because CHS provided a unique band of friends that I knew and explored life with, for nearly a decade. In some cases, I have High School friends who married their High School sweethearts, and remain together to this very day. It is in many ways uniquely American. And for children of the 60’s, for children who are the last of the Baby Boomers, I think High School can be even more special and more unique. But I can only compare it to my own experience. And because of that I hold my years at Center High School in Kansas City Missouri as some of the most precious years of my life.

One of the things that is part, a large part of the shared CHS experience during the 60s is GREAT music. Rock, pop, folk, Motown, soul, R&B. Music to sing to, and dance to, and cry to, and to make-out to, and live life to. I went to the first live music concert when I was in junior high I guess. I mean I saw the Beatles live in September 1964. I Saw The Who in the Shawnee Mission South gymnasium… and Iron Butterfly and the freaking Cowsills on back to back days at Municipal Auditorium in June of 1969. My friends and I treasured our vinyl and Turntables. We knew the WHB top 40 list.

And we “all” sang “Hey Jude” together at OUR assembly…

My musical favorite however, was Simon and Garfunkel. And Paul Simon could write words that were sheer poetry for me. His words touched my heart. I would play his records for hours..Paul Simon affected me profoundly. Simon & Garfunkel we’re best known for songs like the Sounds of Silence and Bridge Over Troubled Water. They had some great music. And some great lyrics. I became the Boxer…

“In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down or cut him
‘Til he cried out in his anger and his shame
“I am leaving, I am leaving”, but the fighter still remains”

But in the midst of all of the music, and all of the words one quiet little tune became my favorite. It still is my favorite.

Nothing and no other song and has ever touched me it continues to touch me like “Old Friends”. It’s amazing, I tear up even now as I talk about it. It is so much a part of who I am. And the depth of its meaning continues to grow every time I hear it or sing it or recite it There is a a picture of my dog gazing at a park bench. My dear friend Beth commissioned this picture for me, when my best dog friend left me in September, 2017. I posted this song in my blog once before…

https://wordpress.com/post/casacaninetulsa.com/343

My friend Tank,  the Georgetown, Texas, Dog Park, 2010..

Old friends, sat on a park bench like bookends…… old friends how terribly strange to be 70. Those phrases have been a part of my heart since 1968.  And now more than ever I am moved when I hear about the passing of my Center High School classmates.

When I was still at Center High School it truly was a song line that I listened to often. I don’t know why. How terribly strange to be 70. A few years back my classmates would do a Beatles reprise “When I’m 64.” And when I heard that song I was reminded that it was less than a decade until my life would be terribly strange. And I have to tell you my life is getting stranger.

How terribly strange to be 70. I had No idea what that line would mean… when I first heard this, I was only 17.  I have a better understanding now. 

And now, how terribly strange not to make it to 70.

Farewell to some very special Yellowjackets.

I hope I see many Gold and Blue lives at the Center Reunion, Fall, 1969.  I would love to see some of my terribly strange friends…

 

There is NO Santa, and there is NO Christmas

Bob Fulton Asking, Reflecting, Searching 1 Comment

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.

santabob

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.

christmascamps

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

Bob Fulton Grief, Reflecting Leave a comment

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.

https://casacaninetulsa.com/2013/12/20/tank-my-friend/

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

Bob Fulton Grief, Memories, Reflecting Leave a comment

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

tanktongue

 

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.

dig·i·tal
ˈdijidl/
adjective
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.

an-a-log

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.
thebed
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.

Sleepless

Bob Fulton Grief, Memories, Reflecting 1 Comment

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?

metank

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.

tanklean

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.

tanksleep

For since he left

My nights are

Sleepless.

 

 

 

 

Breathless

Bob Fulton Grief, Honoring, Reflecting 10 Comments

“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.

Fredday

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…

tankrock

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

September 18, 2017
September 25, 2017

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.

gooddaytodie

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.

bluegums

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

Breathless.

breathless

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

Planes, Trains, Automobiles….. and sneakers

Bob Fulton Fiction Leave a comment

Call me Sam.  I was born to travel.   I lived a fairly mundane life most of the time.  I could sit in the house for hours on end.  Content to relax at home.  Some might say I was a closet homebody.  And all too often it did appear that way.

Get out of the house “they” would say.  Go.  Do something.  Don’t be so lazy.  Fulfill your destiny.  Go.  Go.  Go.

And then inspiration hits.  A destination.  A dream.  A driving desire to fill my life with a few changes of underwear and socks and a whatever else might be needed during my time away from home.  And I was off to my destination with a dream and a companion.

suitcase

I do love to travel.  I was born it seems to travel.  Long trips, short trips, exotic encounters, domestic weekends.  Frankly…. the longer the better.  I feel purpose during a pilgrimage.   It is like a mission accomplished when I finally leave home.  I don’t know what takes me so long to finally leave the house.  Blame it on my traveling companion I guess.  I am not good at leaving and venturing out by myself. I am not afraid, but I am just a bit immobile at times.

But when I move, I am like that bodies in motion tend to stay in motion kind of thing.  I really will go anywhere, anytime, and honestly, not that I am unfaithful… but I will go with anyone.

And I could tell you all some stories… don’t get me started.  I could talk for hours.  OK, get me started… here are a few short snippets regarding my jaunts around the world.

When did this travel thing start for me?  Summer Camp on a Greyhound with dozens of high school aged strangers.  A bus trip to Colorado and a week in the mountains.  The Collegiate Peaks and Mount Princeton and a rustic cabin on the banks of Chalk Creek.  I loved to just sit in that cabin and be quiet and listen to the sounds of hundreds of high school campers playing outside during the day.  Or when the sun went down, and in the stillness of the night, I could hear the water of Chalk Creek rushing by my  cabin on its way to and through the West.  And I loved the week.  But secretly it was the bus trip that I remember most.

This was my first encounter with a group of strangers.  Strangers of every size and color it seemed.   It was and incredible experience.  There were at least 40 of us on that bus.  Crammed in a small moving compartment.  It was the first trip of its kind for most of us.  And though the highlight of the trip should have been the Colorado Camp.  And that camp.  And  Silver Spurs Ranch was special.  But what is my favorite recollection?  The trip home.  You heard me… the fricken bus ride home. And really after a week in close proximity we were hardly just strangers any longer.  An overnight bus ride with now familiar companions.  And a special closeness to at least one new friend.  I won’t kiss and tell… but I guess I just did.  And then we parted, having made our way together to Colorado, and back, and some might say… second base.  OK, I would say it.  Thank you Greyhound.  From that point on… I had to go somewhere and meet new sojourners when I had the chance.

The best somewhere was probably the 2 week European vacation.  Two weeks with my companion and no one else.  No tour guide.  Not another soul going with us.  But I knew I would meet some special friends along the way.  Oh my.  Oh my.  What a chance to be filled and be fulfilled.  This was not just a sweatshirt and shorts kind of journey.  I was a careful carrier of clothes and film and brochures and a journal and special snacks.  I was committed to carrying everything I would need and nothing I didn’t.

This trip included my first overseas plane flight.  May I say that Newark International airport is a zoo.  I was not treated too kindly.  And that Amsterdam Airport Schiphol is quite the place to meet up with the friendliest strangers.  Everything they say about Amsterdam is true… at least the parts I still remember.

And the European train system.  Eurail Train passes are the best.  Snuggled tightly in an overnight train compartment, to take a night train from Oslo, Norway, and wake up in Stockholm, Sweden, the next morning.  Then repeat the process for Stockholm to Copenhagen. And on and on around Europe.

Well there are many stories I could tell.  Vacations in Tahiti.  Cancun.  Vancouver.  The Aloha State. Phoenix, Seattle and New York City. Business in San Francisco and Spokane. And of course the Goodwill Donation Center.

And that is the real start of this story.  One day I was taken from my resting spot in the closet or my house to the doors of the Goodwill Donation Center.  There I was inspected and cleaned and approved for a trip to the Goodwill Retail Store.

My rebirth, my re-purposed life, my real adventure started at Goodwill.  Well it actually started when I left the store.  Believe it or not.  I actually once stayed at a Goodwill store for several weeks until the adventure began with a new companion.  I was taken from this store by my new walkabout buddy.  My new best friend found me and fitted me with straps so we would always be together.  What a life.  I live life anew.

I move around now on shoulders, powered by sneakers.  I have the best travel companion ever. No closet life for me.

Call me Sam.  My full name is Samsonite.  I was born to travel with you.

I will come along for the trip of your life.

I am your servant.  I will hold your dirty socks.

No complaints. Whether Planes, Trains, Automobiles….. or sneakers

All Aboard.