My Life (As told by Ezra)

My daddy was born a long time ago.  I don’t know when but it was before I was born.  I know he was in Nonna’s belly just like I was in Mommy’s belly.  He’s pretty old.  He even has some gray hairs!

When he was a little boy he lived in Florida where Nonna and Jamie and Ethan and Alex and Uncle Jim and Auntie Dawn live.  I don’t think his daddy  was there.  We saw him this summer though. I like going to Florida to see my cousins.  I think my daddy was pretty lucky to live there.  Uncle Vince and Auntie Dawn lived there. I bet they went swimming every day.

Then Daddy  married Mommy and they lived on Saipan which is where my brother Elijah was born.  Then they came to Columbus and that’s where I was born.  My birthday is November 20 and I’m almost five!

Daddy works a lot. I wish he could stay home more and we could have Time Together.  We used to do that a lot but now we hardly  ever do. But he still comes in our room and does his work while we are playing before we go to bed.

Daddy cooks on the weekends and I like to help him. He says that I could really help him by  going and playing but I think he’s just saying that.  He really needs my help.  I also help with the laundry.

Daddy and me like to sleep in the morning and stay up late at night. He says we are not morning people. Every morning he dresses me for school while I’m still asleep.  Then he carries me out to our van, puts me in my car seat and then puts my wrap around me so I’ll be warm and toasty all the way to school!

And that’s the story of my daddy.

Standout

What sets you apart from the crowd?

What are some aspects of me that are unusual, that make me different from most people?  I came up with a few things that make me stand out from the crowd:

My metabolism. I have an unusually high metabolism. I’ve always been a good 20-30 lbs underweight and I have also always been a big eater.  I’ve just never been able to gain weight. I think my metabolism is only now beginning to slow ever so slightly.  But at least so far I’ve been able to eat and drink what I want, exercise when the mood strikes, all without consequences.

My memory. I have remarkably good memory.  I keep a whole calendar in my head, and learning lines has always been easy for me.

My life in paradise. Most people dream of the life Barbara and I lived for 11 years on the tropical island paradise of Saipan in the Northern Marianas Islands.  We were lucky enough to live that life. Living the tropical island dream comes with costs though--I think it’s why more people don’t  do it.  Distance from family, the inconveniences that come with island living, and the fishbowl existence of missionary life are sacrifices the average person isn’t willing to make.  But we were, and indeed most of the time it barely felt like a sacrifice at all.  

There are other things that make me different but most, but I think three will do for now.

On the Menu

“Call me pls. Bentley won’t eat the food.”

Claire noticed the text on her phone as she breezed into the kitchen to get more cheese. The cheese plate seemed to be particularly popular tonight.  She groaned inwardly. This was her first soiree since the twins had been born. It was the sort of thing that she and Mike used to do all the time before kids.  A carefully selected guest list, an ambitious menu, great music--it was their specialty.  But then the boys arrived and their lives changed.  Their friends self-segregated into those that had kids and “got it” and those who didn’t, and found it odd to end the evening by 10.  Mike had taken on more of the cooking responsibilities but his tastes ran more towards convenience than inventiveness.  And music? Who had time to listen to music?

But the boys were on solid food, finally, which meant for the first time Claire felt she could take on the challenge of hosting an evening like she did in the old days.  Like most modern American women she had felt the pressure to breastfeed as long as possible, and she was proud to say she had done so.  She didn’t even like to pump if she could avoid it.  And with twins her commitment had been especially challenging, but she’d gone six solid months and now the boys were transitioning to baby food. She had triumphed, at least by her own considerably high standards.

Unfortunately, her mother didn’t see things the same way.  Her mother felt that the boys were transitioning too soon, and never let an opportunity pass to point it out.

Sure enough, there was another three texts when she walked by the phone to grab more wine.

“I told u too soon.”

“Did u at least send a bottle?”

“Call me. Bentley not eating. I’m not even gonna try Barkley.”

Claire felt the rage rising in her.  Couldn’t her mother just watch the children for one night without trying to guilt her for her matronly failings.  Couldn’t she appreciate the efforts Claire put into being a good mother?  Hell, she made her own baby food most of the time. Her mother had never done that.  It had been nothing but Gerber for Claire and her brothers, filled with all those preservatives and chemicals.  Granted, she had broken down and bought some strained pwA today because she just didn’t have time to put together a new batch of homemade baby food. But it was EarthFirst, all organic and no artificial anything. But she got credit for nothing.

As Claire passed into the kitchen for more ice she saw three missed calls.   She considered continuing to ignore her mother’s attempts to reach her.  But then she knew Mother would try Mike’s phone and Mike had never met a call he’d screen.  She’d end up talking to her one way or the other.

She unplugged the phone, and put a finger in her ear to muffle the noise of the party.  Mother picked up on the first ring.

“Clarie! Did you send anything besides this baby food?  Did you pump?”

“No, mother,” Claire sighed.

“You’ve got to pump, dearie.  The children aren’t ready to be completely free of the breast.”

“They aren’t completely free of the breast, mother!  I still nurse them to put them down for naps and bedtime!” Claire’s voice rose against her will.

“There’s no need to shout, Claire,” her mother reprimanded. “The boys do not like this food you sent them. I know you’re trying, but they just don’t like it.”

“They;re babies mother!  They don’t know what they like. You  just have to keep trying.”

“I have been trying, Claire.  But I’m not at all sure this food is appropriate for children.”

“Oh my gosh! Mom, stop it!  The food is fine!”

“No, I don’t think it is.  It has a very strong smell.  They’re too young for food like that.”

“It’s strained peas, Mother,” Claire hissed.  “Baby food often seems a little off-putting to adults.”

“This is not strained peas.”

“Yes it is!”  Julie ducked her head into the kitchen and gave Claire a quizzical look.  Claire mouthed an apology and spun into the pantry where she could fight with her mother without disturbing her guests.  “Okay, I failed to be the perfect mother and I bought some baby food okay! It’s not home-made, it’s strained peas from--”

“Babe!” Mike had come into the kitchen in wake of an upwelling of laughter over some joke she hadn’t heard and he was chuckling too.

Claire peered out of the pantry.

“What are you doing in there?” he asked, his face flushed and pleasant.

“It’s Mother,” Claire replied as if that explained everything.  “What do you need?”

“What’s up with the pesto?”

“What do you mean ‘what’s up with the pesto’?”

“It just doesn’t taste like much.  Did you leave out the garlic or something?”

“No. . . I did not leave out the garlic. I’m already having to put up with crap from Mother and you criticizing my pesto doesn’t help.”

“Language, dearie,” Claire’s mother chimed in over the phone.”

“Well, nobody’s eating it, which is a good thing.  There was only the one little container in the fridge.”

With that Mike ambled back to the party.

And suddenly it all made sense.

“Mother, I’m coming over with the food,” Claire said quietly, defeated.

“Breast is best, Clarie. Might as well feed them properly while you’re here.”

“Yes, mother.”

Claire hung up, dropped the phone into her purse, went out into the great room and picked up the appetizer plate with barely touched pesto at the center.

“I gotta go feed the kids,” she announced, and walked out the door without another word.

The Journey

To ensure quality and for training purposes this call may be monitored & recorded.

“Thank you for calling Travelers, this is Jeanie speaking. How may I help you.”

“Yeah. . uh hi, umm. . . I was trying to buy  some insurance on your website and I was having some trouble?”

“Ok, what kind of insurance were you trying to buy?”

“I wanted to buy travel insurance?”

“Okay, I can help you with that. Let me just get some information from you.”

“Okay.  Thanks so much. I kept trying to submit my application and I kept getting these error messages, you know?”

“I understand. Let’s get started with your dates of travel.”

“Umm, well it’s kind of open-ended. I’d like to begin my journey as soon as possible really, but I’m not sure when I’ll. . .arrive, you know.”

“Okay, we can work with that.  Do you have a ballpark, a general of idea of when you want to depart and return.”

“Well, in terms of departure, I’m thinking today would be great.  You know what they say:

‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’  As for return, ideally I don’t ever want to come back.”

“Ok. . .that is a little tricky. We can insure you for same day travel as long as you haven’t already begun your trip.  But we can only insure your travel for a specified length of time. It sounds like you’re considering an open ended trip so what I’d suggest you do is buy insurance for however long you think your trip is going to be--a week, a month, 90 days, whatever.  And then you can always extend it if you want.”

“Ok that sounds workable. What’s the longest amount of time I can buy insurance for.”

“90 days is the maximum, but you can always extend that.”

“Ok, so let’s do 90 days.”

“Very good.  And will your travel be domestic or international?”

“I don’t really know. . .I may have to stay close to home, because you know, I have a job and everything.  But then again, I might just quit--you know, tell the boss to take this job and shove it.  Man, that would feel so good.  Another thing is, I”m not sure how my wife is gonna feel about all of this. I might need to flee to Mexico, if you know what I mean.  I’m not even sure if I believe in marriage anymore, you know.  I’m kind of interested in exploring open marriage?  But again I don’t know how that’s going to go.”

“I’m not quite sure I follow. . .you’re not sure where you’re going?”

“Well, I don’t where I’m going.  But I sure know where I’ve been. Hanging on the promises and the songs of yesterday. But I’ve made up my mind; I ain’t wasting no more time. “

“Pardon me?”

“I’m going down the only road I’ve ever known.  Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone.”

“So it sounds like you’re staying fairly local.  Domestic travel it is.”

“Sure.  But like I said, that could change.”

“Ok, but just to be clear, the type of package we offer does depend on the nature of your travel.  And I have to stress that once you’ve begun travel we aren’t able to change your coverage.”

“I understand.  I just know I need to do this and I know I need insurance.”

“That’s fine. We’ll do our best to work with you.  Let’s talk about coverage.  What kind of coverage do you need?”

“I don’t know. Probably best to get it all.”

“Well, our most popular package is our vacation package--that includes trip cancellation--”

“Oh no, I don’t want that!”

“You don’t want what?”

“The trip cancellation.  The last thing I need is anything that will tempt me to back out. "

“Well, just to be clear it applies to certain common situations in which your trip might be cancelled--family health emergency, hurricane damaging your destination or cancelling your flight, that sort of thing. You can’t just cancel your trip and expect insurance to cover you.”

“I don’t care. I don’t need any excuses not to take this journey. No cancellation insurance"

“Okay, that’s a bit unusual but we can do that.  What about the other provisions of a vacation package. We have medical emergencies, evacuation, lost, stolen, or delayed baggage, all covered in one convenient plan.”

“Okay, so medical emergencies. .. yeah, let’s go with that.  Like I said, I don’t know how my wife is gonna take this. She might kill me!”

“So we can add AD&D. ..”

“AD&D?”

“Accidental Death and Dismemberment”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Dismemberment could be in my future especially when she finds out about the Porsche I bought.  Now, about the baggage.  My whole goal is to get rid of my baggage, so I don’t think I need that.”

“You’re traveling without baggage?”

“That’s the goal.  That’s the goal.”

“Okay. ..”

“And what’s this about evacuation?”

“If you needed to be evacuated due to natural disaster or unrest.”

“So if I’ve found I’ve backed myself into a corner, I could be bailed out, right? I like the sound of that.”

“Sir, I’m not quite sure if you’re understanding how this works.  May I ask, exactly what kind of trip you are planning to take?”

“Well, I guess the best way to put it is that I’m embarking on a journey of self-discovery.”

“A what?”

“A journey of self-discovery. You know, finding myself.  My therapist says it’s important that I take this journey. And I feel like I really need insurance, because honestly I don’t know how this is going to go.”

“I’m sorry, we can’t insure you for a journey like that. We deal with actual, physical travel, not. . .mid-life crises.”

“Hey, that’s kind of low.”

“Just calling it like I see it, sir.”

“Damn.  Isn’t there anything I can purchase?  I mean what if something happens? I need some protection.”

“I hate to break it to you, sir.  But when it comes to self-discovery, I know what it means to walk along a lonely street of dreams.  And, well, it’s like you said earlier. . .you’re on your own.”

“I get the feeling you’re mocking me.”

“Not at all, sir. Not at all.”

“Okay, well I guess that’s it, huh.”

“Yes sir.”

**sigh**  “Here I go again.”

“Best of luck to you sir.”

Call disconnected.

Oops (Confessions of a Less-Than-Perfect Husband)

A less than flattering picture for a less than flattering moment. This is photo is of the actual sermon in which I ran afoul of good sense.  Who knows it might have even been the very moment when I firmly planted my foot in my mouth!

“Sean, nobody talks as much as you do.”  So said my 8th grade teacher, Mr. Grant, and I have to admit he’s probably right.  For me talking is as easy as breathing.  Whether holding court in conversation or speaking to a crowd from the front of the room, talking is my talent.  You would think that someone who talks as much as I do has many examples of verbal indiscretions--those moments where you say something and immediately your face feels prickly and hot as you ask yourself “Why on earth did I just say that.”  Open mouth, insert foot.  It happens to the best of us, and it stands to reason that it would happen to someone like me more than most.

But another thing about me is that I’m very careful with the words I use.  I rarely speak carelessly without carefully considering how my words will be received. I may talk a lot but I don’t shoot from the hip.   So when I had to think about the worst time I’d ever put my foot in my mouth, I not only couldn’t come up with the worst time, I couldn’t think of any time.  I knew that couldn’t be true--so I turned to the one person who would certainly be able to remind me of a time I’d put my foot in my mouth: my wife.  

I asked Barbara if she could think of a time when I’d said something I shouldn’t have to the embarrassment of myself and others.  And eventually she came up with an incident.  And honestly, I’d thought of that incident immediately when I read today’s prompt,  but I felt I dared not write about it.  After all I’d embarrassed my lovely wife once before, surely she wouldn’t want me to rehash it again.  But she insisted I tell the story in full, making sure my readers understood exactly how clueless I had been.  

As I’ve continued to reflect, I’ve realized that actually I put my foot in my mouth a lot with Barbara. As recently as today I’ve spoken carelessly to her and immediately realized the words that exited my mouth were foolishness.  Granted, most of the time these ill-chosen words happened just between us but on occasion I’ve brought my foolhardy tongue out in public.  One particularly egregious incident is the subject of this post:

In the spring of 2014 my family and I returned to Saipan where we’d spent eleven years as missionaries.  I had been invited to be the Week of Prayer speaker for the Saipan SDA School and my family joined me for the journey back to our island home.  It was a fantastic week.  It was such a pleasure to spend time with old friends and see all the familiar places we’d loved.  I spoke a lot that week.  Vespers the first Sabbath there, two stories for the preschool daily during week of prayer, as well as the talks to the elementary school, and the Sabbath morning sermon at the end of the week at the Central Saipan SDA Church.  It was during that Sabbath morning sermon that I committed my faux pas; and I didn’t even realize I’d said anything out of line at first.

Barbara hadn’t been feeling well that morning and hadn’t come to church with me. It seemed like I should provide some brief explanation to the congregation about her absence. Of course it wasn’t  in my prepared notes, but I thought I’d mention in passing the reason for her absence.   In hindsight, I don’t know why I didn’t simply leave it at “Barbara isn’t feeling well this morning, and will hopefully get here later in the service.”  But for whatever reason I decided to go this route instead:

“Good morning church, and happy Sabbath.  It’s been such a joy and privilege to be back here on our island home ministering, and worshiping here with you on Sabbath morning.  I know many of you are probably wondering where Barbara is this morning, and I’m sad to report that she isn’t feeling well. I don’t think it’s that serious, most likely it’s just a bad case of gas.  But do keep her in your prayers.  Today I’d like to talk about. . . “

And I went on with my sermon.  If I’d been paying attention, I might have noticed a few gasps of horror in the audience, some uncomfortable titters, women looking at each other aghast at this clown at the podium.  I went on, oblivious, and it was only when church was over that it was brought to my attention that I’d stepped in it--seriously.

Barbara had actually arrived at church and was in the mother’s room with Ezra when my sermon began.  She heard me sharing her gastrointestinal challenges with the entire church and was appalled.  She wanted to join the rest of the church for our last time of worship together before we returned to the States, but felt sure all heads would turn to see the “Gas Girl” miraculously healed of her affliction.  So she stayed in the mother’s room for the duration of the service.

I was feeling pretty good about my message until Barbara got me by the elbow after church and hauled me aside for a heated reprimand:

“Why would you tell everyone that I had gas?” she demanded.

“I don’t know love, I didn’t think it was that big deal.”

“Maycock! You don’t tell the whole church that your wife has gas. It’s humiliating.”

I might have been tempted to argue that she was being overly sensitive.   But the other women in the church were as incensed as Babs was.  The school principal, Sharon, in particular couldn’t stop talking about it.  “Why you would say that?” she kept asking me.  “Who does that?”

Apparently, I do.  And I never will again.

Finding Home

Suddenly David realized he didn’t know where he was.  It didn’t seem possible that one could get lost in one's own neighborhood, but then again this was a very large subdivision, with endless blocks of homes with vaulted ceilings and three car garages that all began to look the same when you weren’t really paying attention.  And David hadn’t been paying attention.

And also, David hadn’t done any running in the neighborhood until just recently even though he and Lauryn had bought their home there almost two years ago.  David hadn’t run much since college.

And also David hadn’t lived in his house for more than three months now--that’s how long he’d been separated from Lauryn.

And finally, David didn’t like to run by the house too much. He tried to time his runs when he knew Lauryn would still be at work.  He’d gotten in the habit of coming out for a run in the late afternoon before going back to the firm to work late into the night.  That way he could run and know she wouldn’t likely see him. But still, just to be on the safe side he’d only take a pass or two of the house before running up and down other streets in the vast, leafy, perfectly picturesque neighborhood.

He came here to run because he needed, in some small way, to hold on to the home he’d so carelessly lost.  He needed to see the gray siding and bright white trim, the brick driveway, the big windows Lauryn had fallen in love with.  He needed to imagine her still living there and hope she was still thinking of him.  He needed to find his way back.

But he also knew she might think him weak, pathetic, even creepy, so he tried to make sure she never saw him, which is why he ran away and how he ended up lost.

Breathing hard from the run he stood at the quiet intersection of a cul-de-sac very much like his own, but definitely not his, and tried to figure out where he’d come from and how he’d gotten here and how he could get back.

He was determined.  That was sure.  He was in it for however long it took; he would do whatever he had to.  She was worth it.  He knew that now.  He’d stopped paying attention. He’d gotten so lost inside his head that he’d wandered off course before he even realized it.  And now, now he must retrace his steps.  Find familiar landmarks amidst the numbing sameness. He could not give up in despair, not now.

And then as he stood there, a wet gust of wind blowing autumn leaves around his feet, the answer came to him.  So simple, he couldn’t believe it. He pulled out his phone and put in his home address. In seconds, the phone was telling him to turn left on Brookfield.  He was only 6 minutes away.

It turned out that finding the house he’d lost was easy.  Finding the home he’d lost would prove much more difficult.

Last Sentence

The Prompt: Select a book at random in the room.  Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.

In the first case, the need was to renounce the consciousness of a nonexistent immobility in space and recognize a movement we do not feel; in the present case, it is just as necessary to renounce a nonexistent freedom and recognize a dependence we do not feel.

Or to put it more bluntly. I was in real trouble.

To put it still more severely, everything was happening too fast for me to have any real thoughtful reflection on my predicament. But if I’d been able to slow time down, like they do in the movies, that’s probably what I would have thought.

It’s funny how you keep doing stupid things right up until they really cost you and then it’s like scrabbling at air as you go off a cliff, wishing you could somehow take it all back and be smarter this time.

A thousand times I gambled.  Fiddled with the radio, opened a bag of chips--taking my hand off the wheel and willing the car to stay in it’s lane for the split second it would take me to get the bag open.  And then there was my phone.  The phone!  Finding my songs, taking a call, and yes, yes even checking my text messages and shooting a reply.

But it was so easy to do, so easy to trick myself, to “renounce consciousness” as a I would say if I were a great novelist instead of someone literally, but unwillingly, about to renounce consciousness.  You know it’s dangerous, but it feels so safe.  Sure it’s two tons of metal hurtling along at 80 mph. But in a quality car--like the one I drive, unfortunately--it feels like you’re barely moving at all.  Just floating on air, and who wouldn’t take a second to que up the perfect song for the drive when you’re essentially at a standstill.  

And now I have no choice but to recognize that it’s all out of my control now--the song, the drive, the car even now careening towards the guardrail.  There’s nothing left to do but depend on that which I’ve never needed more but never felt less certain of:

Jesus, take the wheel.

Tom Petty: Songs for the Moment

I remember it as a beautiful day. The hot Florida sun beat down on the smooth open stretch of I-75 out of Ocala towards Gainesville.  We had the radio on. Chris was driving his fiery red Mustang, Greg was riding shotgun, and I was scrunched in the back.

The trees flew by, and we and Tom were singing. . .

Well, we were singing "Runnin' Down a Dream".  I was only vaguely familiar with "Little Runaway" by Del Shannon, but I could sing Tom's song full-throated from memory.  We all could.  We might have thrown a few other cassettes in the tape player, maybe some Beatles or Guns N' Roses but we always came back to Full Moon Fever.  The way I remember it, we listened to it all the way up J's house (north of Micanopy and just west of Brooker) in High Springs. And then we played it all the way home at the end of the weekend.  We knew every song--not just the big hits that had Tom Petty all over the radio in those days--"Free Fallin'" and "I Won't Back Down" but the deep cuts, the reflective "A Face in the Crowd" and the lullaby "Alright for Now."  I haven't heard those tunes in years, and yet I hear them all the time.  They were the songs that bound four high school boys--two black, two white--together in friendship.  They were the soundtrack to the open roads, the long drives and long talks. Something about Tom Petty enabled this group of guys ordinarily prone to rough trash talk and constant ribbing to feel safe enough to sing with our hearts into the great wide open, free-falling.

Tom Petty's songs were a reference in so many points in my life.  He had a way with words and a way of putting those words to music that made his songs just right for the moment.  I often found his songs were the perfect coda to blog entry:  whether it was walking way from two plus years trying to "build our dream" or saying goodbye to a former student "learning to fly,"  Petty's songs fit the moment perfectly.  The first sermon I ever preached, believe it or not, was inspired by a Tom Petty song--"The Waiting."  "You take it on faith, you take it the heart, but the waiting is the hardest part." Just recently I've been listening to his song "Walls" from the She's the One soundtrack to inform my character in a play I'll be appearing in next month. Maybe his nasal twang and southern rock vibe aren't you're thing, but listen to the songs and I think you'll find the man could write.

There are songs that tell stories and there are songs that evoke emotion.  Tom Petty's songs managed to do both and the result were rich, nuanced moments in music that felt instantly recognizable. Check out "Listen to Her Heart"--the lyrics are seemingly confident, but you listen to the song and there's an undercurrent of uncertainty, as if the singer knows he's destined to lose his girl despite his apparent bravado. Tom Petty could sum up the human experience of love and loss and living at a particular moment in time like few others. That was his gift.

When I first heard the news that Tom Petty was clinging to life after suffering a massive heart attack Sunday evening, I had the immediate sense of denial, the sinking feeling of a lost opportunity slipping through my fingers forever.  Tom was easily one of my top five recording artists, and the only one I'd never seen in concert.  For awhile now I'd been thinking I really needed to make it a priority to buy some tickets, make it a road trip and see Tom Petty live.  Maybe on the next tour.  And then suddenly, there would be no more next tour.  No more music. Just like that all I had was the memories and the records.  It was not unlike the feeling I had realizing that the thank you letter to my Aunt Patsy would never be delivered, that the fill-in-the-blanks memory book I'd just purchased to share with my father-in-law would be blank forever.  Just like that, the moment had passed.

When will I learn?  We have to take these moments when we can.  Send the thank you note.  Ask Dad about those stories from when he was young.  Buy those tickets so you can sing along with your favorite artist in real life, instead of just behind the wheel of your car.  Because the hard truth, one that struck home on Sunday night for 59 families in Las Vegas and one family in Malibu (and countless more around this heartbroken world), is that at any second, the moment can pass, never to be retrieved again.

It's hard to put into words how this particular moment feels, when you realize your chance is gone forever.  There's one man who I know could have expressed it perfectly. But he's gone now.

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free

Run away, find you a lover
Go away somewhere all bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free

Run away, go find a lover
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worries
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere you feel free

                                            --Tom Petty (October 20, 1950-October 2, 2017)