It’s been an interesting year thus far.
Long story short: A week before Christmas I had pain that radiated from the lower back through the hip to the leg, and eventually settled into the lower leg and foot. The pain was relentless, and sleep was scarce. I sought the help of a chiropractor whose treatments eventually moderated the pain. Then my foot dropped and became floppy (in technical medical parlance: not a good sign). I saw an orthopedist that ordered an MRI and soon thereafter advised that my back was, as we say in the South, a mess. So, in early February I underwent back surgery to relieve the compressed nerves. And the surgery went well.
Already on my schedule was a trip to Israel, the trip of a lifetime with the tour being guided by none other than my eldest son.
Yep, now I’m in a real mess.
So, less than a week after surgery I decided to start walking to strengthen the muscles in my leg. I really want to make this trip. My doc’s withholding judgment until my two-week follow up visit. The walking is physically taxing but tolerable, but the aftermath the next day hurts. I mean, really hurts. So I walk some more. And it hurts too.
I came upon a hawk in the road ahead on one of my walks, a gorgeous, golden, powerful creature, and he was busily studying something in the asphalt and paid me little heed. Finally he ascended to a nearby limb and waited for me to limp on by. He then looked down at me and made a calm, restrained noise as I passed, but since I don’t speak hawk, I greeted him in English, tipped my cap, and moved along.
It took a while, but I think the hawk was telling me, “No pain, no gain. You’re doing the right thing.”
Get up offa that thang!
At the follow up visit, my doc said he loved my motivation but didn’t want me to overdue things. After all, he had cut into the muscles in my lower back, and as you’ve already noticed they’ll bark loudly when stressed. My back is otherwise structurally sound, even though the feeling has not yet returned to my foot. He also said that if I felt like I can tolerate the trip, then he’d leave it up to me to make the decision.
So I walked some more. And the pain began to lessen. I knew my friend the hawk was right all along. And so was James Brown.
I’m going to Israel.
Shalom.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Ali - Still the Greatest!
Muhammad Ali recently celebrated his 70th birthday. He has been, and remains, my favorite professional athlete of my lifetime.
I remember when, as a 22-year-old challenger to heavyweight-champion Sonny Liston, young Cassius Clay danced and jabbed and frustrated Liston, the prohibitive favorite, to such a point where the champ remained on his stool for the start of the 7th round. He became the ex-champ in an astonishing upset. “I shook up the world,” shouted the newly crowned Clay, the Louisville Lip. And I loved every minute of it.
I remember listening to the weak signal of my hometown Atlanta’s WSB Radio from Lawton, Oklahoma for a round-by-round recap of the first Ali-Frazier fight in Madison Square Garden in 1971. I hated it when Ali lost.
I remember when Ali was stripped of his title for failing to enter the Army in 1967. I remember when he fought and defeated an outclassed Jerry Quarry in Atlanta in 1970 to begin his quest to regain the heavyweight championship. I remember his rope-a-dope strategy to defeat a younger, stronger George Foreman in Zaire in 1974. And the 3rd fight with Frazier, the Thrilla in Manila in 1975, was perhaps the bravest athletic exhibition by two competitors I’ve ever seen. I loved it when Ali won back his championship belt.
I remember how sad I felt when Ali’s skills deteriorated to a point where he began losing badly in the late Seventies and early Eighties. He was getting hit in the head a lot, and at times it was almost too ugly to bear. It made me feel my own mortality in an odd way that I’d never experienced before, and in that odd way I felt for both of us.
I remember Ali walking out of the shadows with the Olympic torch in his trembling hand to light the flame for the 1996 Summer Games in Atlanta. My wife pointed and shouted, “It’s Muhammad!” With tears in both our eyes, I realized that Billy Payne, the Atlanta Olympics chief and a classmate of mine at UGA, had gotten it exactly right. Billy’s choice to light the flame had been spot-on perfect. The most famous person in the world was once again on a world stage, and I’ll never forget it.
I didn’t agree with Ali’s politics; I didn’t agree with his stance on serving in the military; I didn’t always like the way he taunted opponents in and outside the ring. But he has the heart of a lion, still, and I love that about him. Like it or not, he stood up for what he believed. He never flinched, never took a step backward. He paid a heavy price for his stance, but then he fought his way back to the top of his sport.
There’s been no one like him. He is truly an American treasure.
You’re still the greatest, champ. Happy birthday.
I remember when, as a 22-year-old challenger to heavyweight-champion Sonny Liston, young Cassius Clay danced and jabbed and frustrated Liston, the prohibitive favorite, to such a point where the champ remained on his stool for the start of the 7th round. He became the ex-champ in an astonishing upset. “I shook up the world,” shouted the newly crowned Clay, the Louisville Lip. And I loved every minute of it.
I remember listening to the weak signal of my hometown Atlanta’s WSB Radio from Lawton, Oklahoma for a round-by-round recap of the first Ali-Frazier fight in Madison Square Garden in 1971. I hated it when Ali lost.
I remember when Ali was stripped of his title for failing to enter the Army in 1967. I remember when he fought and defeated an outclassed Jerry Quarry in Atlanta in 1970 to begin his quest to regain the heavyweight championship. I remember his rope-a-dope strategy to defeat a younger, stronger George Foreman in Zaire in 1974. And the 3rd fight with Frazier, the Thrilla in Manila in 1975, was perhaps the bravest athletic exhibition by two competitors I’ve ever seen. I loved it when Ali won back his championship belt.
I remember how sad I felt when Ali’s skills deteriorated to a point where he began losing badly in the late Seventies and early Eighties. He was getting hit in the head a lot, and at times it was almost too ugly to bear. It made me feel my own mortality in an odd way that I’d never experienced before, and in that odd way I felt for both of us.
I remember Ali walking out of the shadows with the Olympic torch in his trembling hand to light the flame for the 1996 Summer Games in Atlanta. My wife pointed and shouted, “It’s Muhammad!” With tears in both our eyes, I realized that Billy Payne, the Atlanta Olympics chief and a classmate of mine at UGA, had gotten it exactly right. Billy’s choice to light the flame had been spot-on perfect. The most famous person in the world was once again on a world stage, and I’ll never forget it.
I didn’t agree with Ali’s politics; I didn’t agree with his stance on serving in the military; I didn’t always like the way he taunted opponents in and outside the ring. But he has the heart of a lion, still, and I love that about him. Like it or not, he stood up for what he believed. He never flinched, never took a step backward. He paid a heavy price for his stance, but then he fought his way back to the top of his sport.
There’s been no one like him. He is truly an American treasure.
You’re still the greatest, champ. Happy birthday.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Captain of the Ship
Like many of you, I’ve been struck by the news of the recent cruise-ship fiasco off the coast of Italy. If the stories are indeed accurate about the behavior of the captain after his ship’s grounding and incapacitation, then his name may become synonymous with cowardice in the same sense that Benedict Arnold’s is identified as traitorous. And cowardice may be the least of the captain’s problems before all is finally settled.
How could such a man be entrusted with an expensive vessel and hundreds of lives in his care? Shouldn’t something in his character have been noticed along the way which would’ve raised a red flag about his fitness? I’m guessing that the red flags were there all along. Maybe not, but I’d bet that clues will surface suggesting this guy was a loose cannon. And just as likely, we’ll find that nobody in a position of authority did anything about it. Now, lives have been lost, property has been destroyed, and the threat of an environmental disaster is looming.
Captains stay with their ships.
Did no one ever teach this guy that age-old maxim? Can you imagine the chaos that would’ve followed if a panicked Capt. Sullenberger had immediately elbowed his way out of the cockpit and jumped into a lifeboat after the airliner he was piloting crash-landed in the Hudson River?
The Marine Corps taught us as young lieutenants that officers eat last. When the troops have been fed, only then do the officers eat (and only if anything is left). It’s all about responsibility; it’s about being in charge and looking out for your people. Commanders stay with their men. Captains stay with their ships.
The marketplace will not be kind to the cruise-ship company. And it shouldn’t. The company had a buffoon in its employ whose judgment was suspect in normal times and whose spinelessness was tragically evident in a crisis. It was a recipe for disaster, and a disaster is what they got. It’s virtually guaranteed that other cruise-ship companies are reviewing their ship captains’ records of performance, at this very moment, looking for those red flags.
It’s sad that this one slipped through the cracks only after his ship was on its side and he was elsewhere.
How could such a man be entrusted with an expensive vessel and hundreds of lives in his care? Shouldn’t something in his character have been noticed along the way which would’ve raised a red flag about his fitness? I’m guessing that the red flags were there all along. Maybe not, but I’d bet that clues will surface suggesting this guy was a loose cannon. And just as likely, we’ll find that nobody in a position of authority did anything about it. Now, lives have been lost, property has been destroyed, and the threat of an environmental disaster is looming.
Captains stay with their ships.
Did no one ever teach this guy that age-old maxim? Can you imagine the chaos that would’ve followed if a panicked Capt. Sullenberger had immediately elbowed his way out of the cockpit and jumped into a lifeboat after the airliner he was piloting crash-landed in the Hudson River?
The Marine Corps taught us as young lieutenants that officers eat last. When the troops have been fed, only then do the officers eat (and only if anything is left). It’s all about responsibility; it’s about being in charge and looking out for your people. Commanders stay with their men. Captains stay with their ships.
The marketplace will not be kind to the cruise-ship company. And it shouldn’t. The company had a buffoon in its employ whose judgment was suspect in normal times and whose spinelessness was tragically evident in a crisis. It was a recipe for disaster, and a disaster is what they got. It’s virtually guaranteed that other cruise-ship companies are reviewing their ship captains’ records of performance, at this very moment, looking for those red flags.
It’s sad that this one slipped through the cracks only after his ship was on its side and he was elsewhere.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Year of the Dragon
Did you know that 2012 in the Chinese New Year is the Year of the Dragon?
I kinda like that. There’s something powerful and mysterious about a dragon. Dragons usually appear with a body like a huge lizard, or a snake with two pairs of lizard-type legs, able to emit fire from its mouth. The European dragon has bat-type wings growing from its back. An American dragon might be seen in a New England Patriots cap and holding a bolt-action rifle. Hence no need for the fiery breath, or the wings. Or anything else European, for that matter.
I think 2012 will be a great year. Here’s why:
• Novel #3 will be released later this year through my new publisher, Navigator Books.
• My eldest son will guide a tour of Israel for a group that will include his mom and dad. My middle son’s non-profit will start benefiting orphans who at this moment have no hope. My daughter’s small business will start acting mid-sized.
• I’ll get another terrific annual treat and get to see my grandkids play baseball and soccer.
• My sciatic nerve will stop being angry with me, my wife’s knee will be scoped and fixed, and we'll celebrate being pain-free with a Mexican dinner in Marietta.
• My kids and grandkids will fight the successful fight with the allergies that so exasperate them.
• The Atlanta Braves will give Chipper Jones a National League pennant and a chance for a World Series ring as his fabulous career comes to an end.
• The Georgia Bulldogs will win the SEC and get to the national-championship game.
• The U.S. economy will gain even more traction and put more Americans back to work.
• There will be a national election in November (Thank God!).
Here’s hoping the very best for you and yours in 2012!
I kinda like that. There’s something powerful and mysterious about a dragon. Dragons usually appear with a body like a huge lizard, or a snake with two pairs of lizard-type legs, able to emit fire from its mouth. The European dragon has bat-type wings growing from its back. An American dragon might be seen in a New England Patriots cap and holding a bolt-action rifle. Hence no need for the fiery breath, or the wings. Or anything else European, for that matter.
I think 2012 will be a great year. Here’s why:
• Novel #3 will be released later this year through my new publisher, Navigator Books.
• My eldest son will guide a tour of Israel for a group that will include his mom and dad. My middle son’s non-profit will start benefiting orphans who at this moment have no hope. My daughter’s small business will start acting mid-sized.
• I’ll get another terrific annual treat and get to see my grandkids play baseball and soccer.
• My sciatic nerve will stop being angry with me, my wife’s knee will be scoped and fixed, and we'll celebrate being pain-free with a Mexican dinner in Marietta.
• My kids and grandkids will fight the successful fight with the allergies that so exasperate them.
• The Atlanta Braves will give Chipper Jones a National League pennant and a chance for a World Series ring as his fabulous career comes to an end.
• The Georgia Bulldogs will win the SEC and get to the national-championship game.
• The U.S. economy will gain even more traction and put more Americans back to work.
• There will be a national election in November (Thank God!).
Here’s hoping the very best for you and yours in 2012!
Monday, December 5, 2011
Christmas Thoughts
As a boy, Christmas was by far my most anxiously awaited day of the year. I used to mark the days off a calendar tacked to my bedroom wall, starting the day after Thanksgiving. My mother adored all things Christmas, and her enthusiasm was infectious. You couldn’t live in her house and not be excited about Christmas. I would hear her singing, “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” every single day of the season.
I made my Christmas wishes known early in a personal letter to Santa Claus. I wrote a copy for my mother just in case the rumors swirling around elementary school concerning the “Santa Question” turned out to be factual. I didn’t want to believe it then, and I’m still not happy about it even now. I understand the universal truths about no free lunches and what goes around comes around, but c’mon, wouldn’t the world be a far better place with a real Santa Claus in it? Oh sure, I know what you’re thinking. Somebody, somewhere would be offended. Santa would be forced to lawyer up to deal with all the injunctions. His liability insurance would go out the roof, so to speak. And attempts would be made to unionize his helpers and risk outsourcing the entire production process to India. But wouldn’t an iPod or an iPad or an iPhone underneath the tree help? Or a pair of iMittens and a scarf? Or a signed copy of Shall Never See So Much? Of course it would.
But I digress.
On Christmas Eve, our tradition was to have our family gathering at my grandmother’s home. Our family budgets were always limited, but that didn’t stop my grandmother and uncles from giving terrific gifts. I couldn’t wait to tear into my stack of boxes. And I was never disappointed.
On Christmas Day, my brother and I awoke early and charged into the living room to see what awaited. I remember some of the sights, but what I remember more clearly were the smells of the electronic devices like radios and trains and games. Santa was perpetually generous, a nice return on the investment of a cookie and glass of milk, which he never entirely finished. We then opened the gifts we exchanged as a family, which, in my case, tended more toward gifts of clothing. A big breakfast with big biscuits and sausage followed, and then it was on to playing with the new stuff.
Our extended family gathered in the afternoon at our home. I wish I could turn back the clock and have just one more hour with my parents and relatives all under that same roof again. One more hour to share the laughter and the revel in the fellowship of family. Just one hour.
When our family gathers this Christmas, I’ll make it a point to remember that priceless memories are being made. I’ll enjoy each moment, each person, like we always do, like we used to do when I was a kid. No, I can’t get that long-ago hour back, but I can enjoy and savor the hour I’ll be gifted when we’re all together again.
I can’t wait. And for the record, I still miss Santa Claus.
I made my Christmas wishes known early in a personal letter to Santa Claus. I wrote a copy for my mother just in case the rumors swirling around elementary school concerning the “Santa Question” turned out to be factual. I didn’t want to believe it then, and I’m still not happy about it even now. I understand the universal truths about no free lunches and what goes around comes around, but c’mon, wouldn’t the world be a far better place with a real Santa Claus in it? Oh sure, I know what you’re thinking. Somebody, somewhere would be offended. Santa would be forced to lawyer up to deal with all the injunctions. His liability insurance would go out the roof, so to speak. And attempts would be made to unionize his helpers and risk outsourcing the entire production process to India. But wouldn’t an iPod or an iPad or an iPhone underneath the tree help? Or a pair of iMittens and a scarf? Or a signed copy of Shall Never See So Much? Of course it would.
But I digress.
On Christmas Eve, our tradition was to have our family gathering at my grandmother’s home. Our family budgets were always limited, but that didn’t stop my grandmother and uncles from giving terrific gifts. I couldn’t wait to tear into my stack of boxes. And I was never disappointed.
On Christmas Day, my brother and I awoke early and charged into the living room to see what awaited. I remember some of the sights, but what I remember more clearly were the smells of the electronic devices like radios and trains and games. Santa was perpetually generous, a nice return on the investment of a cookie and glass of milk, which he never entirely finished. We then opened the gifts we exchanged as a family, which, in my case, tended more toward gifts of clothing. A big breakfast with big biscuits and sausage followed, and then it was on to playing with the new stuff.
Our extended family gathered in the afternoon at our home. I wish I could turn back the clock and have just one more hour with my parents and relatives all under that same roof again. One more hour to share the laughter and the revel in the fellowship of family. Just one hour.
When our family gathers this Christmas, I’ll make it a point to remember that priceless memories are being made. I’ll enjoy each moment, each person, like we always do, like we used to do when I was a kid. No, I can’t get that long-ago hour back, but I can enjoy and savor the hour I’ll be gifted when we’re all together again.
I can’t wait. And for the record, I still miss Santa Claus.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Birthday of the Marine Corps
November 10th is the 236th birthday of the United States Marine Corps.
I had the great privilege of serving on active duty in the Marine Corps for three years back in the early Seventies. Apart from my family members, a few close friends, and the 4th of July, the only other birthday I point to each year is the birthday of the Corps.
It’s worth noting that the Marine Corps birthday is a big deal to Marines. It’s been celebrated for as long as this nation has existed. Marines have been mounting up, moving out, and following their commanders into every clime and place since those first young men stepped forward at Philadelphia’s Tun Tavern in 1775. And they’re still stepping forward, thankfully. Indeed, they’re still performing brilliantly—the very best and brightest and bravest this nation possesses, as good now as they’ve ever been.
These young men and women who wear the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor belong to the United States of America, to us, to all of us, and we should stop and thank God for them. Countless generations of Marines have said goodbye to loved ones, endured harsh weather and debilitating disease, faced and defeated determined enemies, shed their blood, lost their buddies and sometimes even their own lives, and in the process honored us and the Corps they served by keeping us a free nation. Their sacrifices, their courage, their magnificence is what I remember and celebrate every November 10. It’s a small act for such an incredible lineage of honorable, gallant, and victorious service.
I feel blessed to have worn a uniform upon which the world-renowned initials USMC were etched.
Happy birthday, Marines.
And by the way, Thank You.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Airports & Airplanes: Observations of Useful Things (Or Not)
• When eating peanuts, women often place the peanuts on a napkin and proceed to consume one at a time. Men will often open the bag and invert directly into the mouth. Southerners will open the bag, pour a few into their free hand, gently shake back and forth as if cleansing, and then toss into the mouth. I can always spot a fellow grit.
• If someone in the coach section reclines their seatback into your face, well past the one or two customary clicks, then try coughing with such force that their hair actually parts. It very often works. Throw in some sniffles for additional urgency. “Oh, I think I’m gonna sneeze,” can be the clincher. If it’s a long flight, throw in a warning cough every half-hour, or so.
• If a female traveler with a carry-on bag strikes up a conversation with you in the gate area, know that she is judging your trustworthiness. Soon you may hear, “Will you watch my bag while I make a quick trip to the ladies room?” Just beware that on average a quick trip will take 16.25 minutes, so if you’re eligible to board early, you’re obliged to stay with her bag. You gotta do it. A good preemptive move would be to declare, “Yes, I’ll watch your bag,” as soon as eye contact is made. Could save you five or six minutes; could make you look like a fool, too. Whatever.
• American air carriers have an extraordinary record of safety, but it’s always worthwhile to know where the emergency exits are located. It’s also worthwhile to guess which of the passengers will be the ones pushing and crawling over others in a mad attempt to escape first. I’ve always assumed that the biggest men would be the most ruthless (and thereby the least helpful) in an emergency. And then I have to remind myself that I’m a big man.
• Remember that the most dangerous part of any trip starts when you get off the airplane and get into a car.
• If someone in the coach section reclines their seatback into your face, well past the one or two customary clicks, then try coughing with such force that their hair actually parts. It very often works. Throw in some sniffles for additional urgency. “Oh, I think I’m gonna sneeze,” can be the clincher. If it’s a long flight, throw in a warning cough every half-hour, or so.
• If a female traveler with a carry-on bag strikes up a conversation with you in the gate area, know that she is judging your trustworthiness. Soon you may hear, “Will you watch my bag while I make a quick trip to the ladies room?” Just beware that on average a quick trip will take 16.25 minutes, so if you’re eligible to board early, you’re obliged to stay with her bag. You gotta do it. A good preemptive move would be to declare, “Yes, I’ll watch your bag,” as soon as eye contact is made. Could save you five or six minutes; could make you look like a fool, too. Whatever.
• American air carriers have an extraordinary record of safety, but it’s always worthwhile to know where the emergency exits are located. It’s also worthwhile to guess which of the passengers will be the ones pushing and crawling over others in a mad attempt to escape first. I’ve always assumed that the biggest men would be the most ruthless (and thereby the least helpful) in an emergency. And then I have to remind myself that I’m a big man.
• Remember that the most dangerous part of any trip starts when you get off the airplane and get into a car.
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