Wednesday, November 26, 2008

A Tale of Two Cigarettes

(From the storyteller's pen)


"Got a smoke, man?" A gravelly voice came out of the shadows. On this block, it neither startled nor scared me.

"Sorry, I don't smoke. Get you a cup of coffee?" Now that startled me, coming out of my mouth. I had three minutes to get back on the road or I'd be late. I hate being late.

"Sure whatever. Can I come along in to get it? Kinda chilly here." I looked at his frayed flannel shirt and tattered baseball cap. Compared to my leather coat and ski cap, it seemed frigid.

"Come on, we'll sit inside for a while." What am I saying? I don't have time to hang out with friends, much less strangers. And this man moved like he could handle himself in a fight.

We picked up our coffee at the bar and found a table. I watched as he added cream and sugar with the care and precision of a barista crafting a perfect cappuccino. This was a man who cared about the details of life. I wonder...

"So are you homeless, or do you just like to bum smokes outside coffee shops?" What am I saying? I don't talk like that. I smiled, hoping he would get the lame attempt at humor.

I met his quiet eyes, deep-set in a lined and worn face. I realized he was analyzing me, and that was unsettling somehow. Then his mouth twitched in a grin, and he pointed to the office building across the street. "See the light up there on the fourth floor. Little studio apartment. I take care of the building, so I get to sleep there."

"Just no money for cigarettes, I guess." Apparently that bothered me.

"I work security midnights at the WG warehouse over on southside. Buys food, clothes like this, and medication. And one brandy on Saturday night."

"But no smokes?" I was intrigued.

He sighed a resigned sigh. "I don't tell anyone about the cigarettes. Unless they need to know. I guess you need to know."

"I'm sorry, that's how we met, I didn't mean to be nosy."

"No, I find when somebody asks, they need to know. It's simple, really. I bum smokes to remind myself that I need help from people. I didn't used to know that."

Now I regarded him quietly. There was unexpected depth here. He nodded over at the office building again. "I used to own that building. This one too. And the warehouse where I work."

"Used to?"

"Got it all through hard work and listening to my gut. Did it on my own, so I thought. Course, life taught me otherwise."

I nodded. "Life has a way of doing that."

"Now I'm down to basics. I don't have much, but I'm not taking handouts."

"Except for cigarettes."

"I ask total strangers to give me cigarettes. It's good for the ego. And I don't even smoke. I trade them for my weekly brandy down at Jack's on the corner.

"You don't even smoke?" I was still confused.

"A man who won't give you money will still share his smokes. And it does something to you when you ask for something without having anything to give in return. Keeps you humble, I guess."

I nodded, speechless in the face of his simple wisdom. He stood, and extended his hand. "Hey man, thanks for the coffee. I still have to get my cigarette."

He ambled out to his post, leaving me agitated. He helped me more than I helped him. I hate to owe anybody anything. Even worse, now I knew what to do about it.

Ten minutes later, I watched the plaid shirt cross the street, tucking a cigarette safely in his pocket. I pulled on my cap, and took his place in the shadows, hoping to remain anonymous.

Five long minutes later, three teenagers came walking by. I took a deep breath and asked, "Hey man, you got a smoke?"

The one in front smirked, "We're too young to smoke, Pops."

But the skinny kid in the back pulled out a pack and handed me one. "Here ya go, man. Need a light?" I nodded, and we leaned close with the lighter between us. "Good luck, man," he said as he followed his friends.

"Thank you, thanks a lot." I walked to my car, smoking my first cigarette in twenty years. I stopped, and looked up at the fourth floor window. I think he saluted.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Sex at Church

So if God created sex, why don't we ask Him how it's supposed to work?

Yeah, our fearless pastor talked about sex. The goal is of sex is not the act, but intimacy. Anything else is a cheap and unsatisfying substitute.

So I was sitting in church with Nickelback playing on my mental ipod. You can hear the longing for intimacy in Gotta Be Somebody.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Happy Birthday, Mom


76 years ago today, on November 17, 1932, Elizabeth was born to Emmanuel and Mary Wengerd, the fourth (I think) of eight children in this Amish family. I wonder what her first few birthday parties were like?

I don't know if it's side effects of her stroke, or just more time to think and to talk, but I'm hearing stories of her girlhood like never before.

Two of her siblings, Uncle Mel and Aunt Edna used to play in a band. A band! Amish teenagers in the early 1940's, playing guitar and ukelele (we think) in what I'm guessing was a folk/bluegrass band. This would be the aunt that I have known only as a roly-poly Amish lady with too many kids for me to remember all their names.

Her brother once took my Mom and her sister to Nashville to see the Grand Ol' Opry. She thinks Minnie Pearl sang. And I thought Mom never got off the farm.

Mom and her friends used to meet for a much frowned upon Bible study. The Amish church did not approve of such activities, but Dawdy turned a blind eye. Mom the rebel. As Dad would have said, "Whodathunkit?"

Happy Birthday, Mom, and lots of love.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

21 Ruminations


These are not things I worry or obsess about.

These are things I ruminate on.

(Thanks Scout.)


* Working 6 days a week.
* Not making any money 6 days a week.
* Keeping the gremlins out of two coffee shops.
* Selling three rental houses.
* Finding more time to write.
* Actually getting paid to write.
* Knowing that my house is twice as big as it needs to be.
* Helping my son get on a college/career track
* Not letting my daughter's dream of acting/modeling die.
* Getting my Mom out of the nursing home.
* Keeping my Mom happy in the nursing home.
* Selling Mom's house.
* Managing Mom's money.
* Growing my faith beyond mustard seed size.
* Regaining faith in Divine involvement in my life.
* Having time for friends.
* Getting to know the redhead that lives in my house.
* Watching all the movies that I really need to.
* Creating time to give back.
* Seeing the other 99% of the world.
* Mining the other 90% of my potential

Random thought: Cows are ruminants, right?

Friday, November 7, 2008

Subliminal Ooze*

I sits me down
I stops to think
And listen to
My brain cells clink

Why does it seem
I try too hard
Ideas die
In some graveyard

But if I catch
Myself off guard
I write a bit
Don’t try too hard

The thoughts leak out
From hidden place
Ooze out to fill
My writing space

Line up with care
Each precious drop
When it’s all gone
I know to stop.


*This is what happens when my subconcious springs a leak for six minutes.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Barfly vs. Banker

Much as I love words, I think wisdom for the ages can be found in the comic strips. I yield the floor to the Rogers -- Mahoney and Kettle -- and their associate, Andy Capp.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Your House Got Soul?


Perfection is reached, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing more to take away. - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

A sculptor in his sunlit studio contemplates a cold block of marble. Within that stone, he alone sees the beautiful shape wanting to emerge. So he strips away everything else to get to that image. Cutting, chipping, sanding, polishing till he’s down to perfection.

That’s my ideal when I write, to get down to the pure essence of the matter. I instinctively write short, saying the most I can with the fewest words. Too many words clutter the landscape and get in the way of the story.

Now I find the same principle at work as I look at home design. Where is my home bigger, more bloated than it needs to be? What’s the excess that’s getting in the way of the best use of my house? For that matter, what’s the primary purpose of my house?

Ah, now we’re talking. What do I want from my house? A shelter to live in? A mansion to impress my friends? Or an estate to maintain? Do I want a palace to rule from? A fortress with which to intimidate? Or a museum to fill with beautiful things? Do I just want a home for my family?

If I don’t know what I want, how will I know when I have it? If I get what I don’t want, I’m dissatisfied and so I want more. Maybe it’s not more I want, but different.

You can’t get enough of what you don’t really want. That’s the root of excess. Even better, it’s the key to simplicity. Know what you want, and why. When you have it, it will be enough. Strip away everything else and you may just discover the image of what was tucked away in your soul as happiness.

Sometimes contentment comes not from having more, but having less.