Memorial Day Thoughts

It's been a while since I've written on this blog, but so much has happened to me that, frankly, I just haven't had the time, or in some cases, the desire to write. But this is Memorial Day weekend. And I feel the need to say something about that, so here I go.

I never enlisted in the military. Mine was the first generation of teenagers who needn't fear the draft, and so I had no intention of taking orders from guys with bad haircuts and worse temperaments. Besides, I had seen up close what happens to young men who go to war, and those images still haunt me occasionally.

When you're a young boy, your hero is either your father or your big brother. Since I never lived with my Dad, my big brother, who is 13 years older than me, was, and still is, my hero. We had cousins who grew up with him and I always thought they were big and tough and cool. This was in the late 60's. One of my cousins got drafted and ended up in the Marine Corps. I remember the long car ride from Massachusetts down to Camp LeJuene to see his graduation. When I saw my big cousin in his dress Blues, I thought he was a super-hero. I couldn't wait to turn 18 so I could join the Corps and be a Marine like him.

He got shipped off to Vietnam. As a child, I didn't grasp the concept of war. Every night Walter Cronkite would be on the news giving us the score, like a sports contest. "American troops confirmed 113 Vietnamese dead. We lost 39". That day, we won 113-39. That was how my undeveloped mind thought of war.

Until my cousin came home from his first tour. Boy, did my attitude change fast.

We all gathered at his parents house. He was telling us the stories of his time over there. He took out his combat bayonet and sliced a piece of paper with no effort. I had never seen a big knife like that so sharp. What happened next is emblazoned in my memory forever. He took out a photo album full of pictures from Vietnam. Most of the pictures were of his kills. Vietnamese soldiers, some almost inhuman in appearance, bloodied and dead. Some in pieces. All in color. And my 8 year-old brain was absorbing this. I decided I NEVER wanted to go to war. EVER!

My cousin never was the same smiling, happy-go-lucky guy he was before the war. It changed him. Hell, just looking at those pictures changed me, and I wasn't even seeing this stuff first hand. I could now see how war destroys everything it touches.

From then on, when I would see a Memorial Day parade, I'd think about my cousin. My Dad, and a few uncles, fought in WWII. All had some lingering effect of the war, be it physical, emotional or mental. These brave men and women went to war for their country. It was an experience that scars them permanently. Part of my job is transporting veterans to VA hospitals. The stories they tell cover a wide range of emotions, but when they are silent, staring out the window, the look in their eyes tells you far more than words could ever hope to express. You see the pain, the suffering and the loss of their dear friends that this evil called war brings to them. For them the battle never ends.

This Memorial Day, while you're rushing around getting ready for your BBQ, please take a moment to think of those who we are supposed to be honoring this weekend. The saying goes "All gave some, some gave all".

Don't you think we should give them the respect they have earned?

Be good to each other an take care my friends.

Learning from my past, not reliving it.

Okay, so recently I joined the DDP Yoga program. This is Day 7 of the DDP Yoga program for me. That means it has outlasted about 80% of the diet/exercise programs I've ever been on. You see, I have been overweight most of my 52 years and was just repeating the same mistakes over and over. At the very least my weight gain was due to unhealthy eating habits. For 12 years of my life, I was attempting suicide via food. And I almost succeeded.

I remember the day I hit rock bottom vividly. For the first time in a couple of years I visited my primary care doctor. He put me on the office scale.It had a 350 pound capacity, and didn't even pretend to move. He told me to follow him. He led me to a back room of the building and told me to stand on a FREIGHT SCALE! I was mortified. When I saw 383 lbs (I'm 5'7") on the readout I almost collapsed. How did this happen?

I got on a diet, lost some weight, but when I was feeling a little better I slacked off. It was a vicious cycle. I would lose weight, feel better, then put the weight back on plus more. For every 50 lbs I lost I put 75 back on.Next trip to the freight scale said 410. My Dr told me if I wasn't going to try he wasn't going to waste his time with me. I was shocked at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. He had other patients who actually wanted his help. I apparently didn't.

That was 10 years ago. Since then I've yo-yo dieted down to the 325-335 range. I lost some weight when I was diagnosed with sleep apnea. I lost some more when I was diagnosed with diabetes. I lost a little bit after my heart attack, but hit a plateau. Dieting alone wasn't working anymore. I needed to exercise. But I haven't been able to find an exercise program that a) works and b) I can do without hurting myself. Even walking a half hour a day was too painful to do everyday because of knees I have destroyed over the years. DDP Yoga solves that for me. It gets my heart rate up, gets me sweating, sends energy through my muscles but it doesn't hurt! There is NO IMPACT!

My past was bad eating habits. It was living a sedentary lifestyle. It was depression, self-pity and even suicidal thoughts. NO MORE! I am taking control of my life with the help of DDP Yoga. I have learned from my past mistakes and will not repeat them. I won't eat unhealthy foods. I won't be complacent about exercise. I won't be negative about my life and my future.I won't live in my past, I will learn from it and make my future ten times better! I will get healthy, fit and toned! Watch me.....

The "Liberal" media- When did facts become less important than agendas?

Hello readers. I apologize for my extended absence from this blog. I have been experiencing life. And to be quite frank, I was getting tired of arguing with some of my so-called “Liberal” friends who didn’t like the fact I constantly pointed out their hypocrisy.

So now I would like to point out some the outright LIES the "Liberal" media uses, not to defend Obama's actions, because most are indefensible, , but to STILL try to blame President Bush for everything happening now, five years after he left office. That is kind of funny, because the "Liberals" all say we shouldn’t talk about Benghazi, due to the fact that was SO LONG ago. Yeah, the “Liberals” think it’s okay to blame President Bush for Obama’s failures 5 years after the fact, but an attack 8 months ago is ancient history. Right.

The facts are now overwhelming that that the members of Obama’s regime have lied to Congress, the American people, and the families of the 4 victims of the consulate attack. The "Liberal media, instead of simply reporting facts and happenings, hides truthes that are not in line with their agenda. They instead use made up charts with questionable “facts” at best, outright fabrications in some instances, to say that things were worse when President Bush was in charge. Here is a chart the “Liberals” are spreading among their minions as “proof”:

Let’s examine the facts about these claims, remembering that all four victims in Libya were American staffers who had requested help and were denied that help from both from Secretary Clinton and Commander-in Chief Obama, who ordered the rescuers to stand down, effectively letting those people die unnecessarily.

June 14, 2002, U.S. consulate in Karachi, Pakistan - Suicide bomber kills 12 and injures 51. (1) Unlike Benghazi, this attack happened outside the walls of the consulate and yes, twelve people were killed and 51 injured, all Pakistanis. I cannot find any reports of Americans being killed or injured. And the graphic is factually wrong because there were actually 12 killed, not 10.

July 30, 2004, U.S. embassy in Taskkent, Uzbekistan - Suicide bomber kills two. (2) Again, two local Uzbek policemen were killed outside the embassy of Israel as bombs went of at the Israeli and American consulates. US and Israeli officials said none of their staff were among the casualties.

December 6, 2004, U.S. consulate in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia - Militants stormed and occupied perimeter wall. Five killed, 10 wounded. (3) This is the only attack similar to Libya in that the walls of the consulate were breached and people inside were killed. In Libya, it was 4 Americans. In Saudi Arabia, of the 9 people killed (yes, the “Liberal’s” graphic is wrong again), NONE WERE AMERICANS. And the rest of the staff were rescued by a military operation, while Obama rescinded the rescue order.

September 12, 2006, U.S. embassy in Damascus, Syria - Gunmen attacked embassy with grenades, automatic weapons, and a car bomb (though second truck bomb failed to detonate). One killed and 13 wounded. (4) Again, this attack was outside the walls, NO Americans killed or injured, and the graphic is wrong about the number of dead, who were all attackers.

January 12, 2007, U.S. embassy in Athens, Greece - A rocket-propelled grenade was fired at the embassy building. No one was injured. (5) How this is similar to Benghazi I have no idea. A single grenade was launched into an empty embassy building during early morning hours.

March 18, 2008, U.S. embassy in Sana’a, Yemen - Mortar attack misses embassy, hits nearby girls’ school instead. (6) Though there are reports by liberal websites of 2 being killed at a girl's school near this embassy when mortars were fired at it but missed, the official US Embassy website in Yemen says that there were only injuries.

September 17, 2008, U.S. embassy in Sana’a, Yemen - Militants dressed as policemen attacked the embassy with RPGs, rifles, grenades and car bombs. Six Yemeni soldiers and seven civilians were killed. Sixteen more were injured. (7) Wow. I guess the “Liberals” don’t pay attention to Yemen. Two stories, both wrong. The top story says 2 dead. There were actually none killed, only injured. On the second one, they say 10 killed. Again, way off. Actual count was 19, including 6 attackers. But NO AMERICANS.

February 22, 2008 - Rioters set fire to US Embassy in Serbia (8) Rioters did break into the embassy in this attack and one person was killed, a rioter when they got trapped in a part of one building they had set on fire. All American personnel were safe and accounted for.

This is the basic problem I have with the “Liberal” media….they make up facts to back up an agenda based on political beliefs rather than journalistic integrity. Uncited "facts" appear in blogs by "Liberals", and the media runs with these opinions as fact.Edwin Murrow and Walter Cronkite are tumultuously spinning at high RPMs seeing what is happening to their beloved profession. If you actually watched the Benghazi hearings, you learned the following facts:

• They knew IN ADVANCE something was going to happen.
• They REFUSED to acknowledge requests for additional security.
• When the attack was happening, they REFUSED to inform the unit best suited to handle the situation.
• They ORDERED a nearby unit, ready to go rescue the Americans, to STAND DOWN, effectively sentencing those four Americans to die.
• In the aftermath, they have lied on TV, lied to the press, lied to the American people and lied to Congress to attempt to cover this up.

No opinion there. No commenting on how past Presidents compare to this administration. Just facts, mostly from people who were there.

President Nixon was threatened with impeachment and was forced to resign when he looked away as some men stole papers from a hotel room. No one was hurt, or killed in that.

Obama ORDERED that these men were to die by telling a team of rescuers who were heading to the chopper, to STAND DOWN.

The blood of these four AMERICANS is on the hands of Obama, Clinton et al.

And THAT is fact.

Take care my friends.

References

(1) June 14, 2002
(2) July 30, 2004
(3) December 6, 2004
(4) September 12, 2006
(5) January 12, 2007
(6) March 18, 2008
(7) September 17, 2008
(8) February 22, 2008"

A Family Secret

I am not a child. At least not chronologically. I was born during the JFK administration. You do the math. And, just recently, I found out that I am not the person I thought I was my entire life. You see, I found out that the man listed on my Birth Certificate may not actually be my father.

This discovery came about during an investigation into a different family mystery. I had grown my entire childhood under the impression that I had only one surviving grandparent, my Me mere. It wasn't until two years ago I learned her husband, my pep ere, didn't pass until I was six.

Six was a strange year for me. It was the first time I met my father. I'll call him "E" in this blog. It was the last time I saw the man who was around our house while I was growing up. I'll call him "F". My Mom brought me to my Me mere's house, where my dad lived. My six year-old brain couldn't grasp this concept. Anyhow, I digress.

Upon the discovery that Pep ere was alive until I was six, I wondered why I wasn't allowed to know him. By this time, everyone I could think of to ask was gone...except my older brother. And he wasn't saying. Fast forward.

It was during a conversation with another relative I had not seen in a long time that I was told the reason I was never introduced to my pep ere. He would have told me that "E', his son, was not my father. My father was "F".

I was stunned. So was the relative. They were under the impression I had known already. This gave me many questions to answer.

I did some research on the internet. "F" had passed away in 2006. 76 Years-old...the same age as my mom when she passed. "F" had two daughters...whoa! I have two half-sisters? And then it hit me...my big brother is just my half-brother! I was overwhelmed at this thought. You see, in my eyes my big brother (13 years older) was my father figure. He was the one who bought me my first glove. He was the one who bought me my first ten-speed bike. He was the one who took me deep-sea fishing. He took me everywhere, and treated me like gold. I've always said I hit the brother Jackpot with him. And now I find he might only be my half-brother? I had an OMG moment....did he KNOW?

I finally got the nerve to ask him. He said he didn't know anything about it. He asked me what I thought. I said its "E"'s name on my birth certificate. I'll go with that. Then a couple days ago I found an old picture of "F". It is more than obvious that "F" was my dad, not "E". I started thinking about things that might change because of this knowledge. There are many questions:

• Did my brother really know?
• Did "F"'s daughters know about me?
• Why didn't my mom ever tell me the truth?
• Did "F" have medical history I should know about?
• What nationality am I?
• Are my sisters alive?
• If so, where are they?
• Would they want to meet me?

Then I asked myself one last question.

Does this change my relationship with my big brother?

One of my Facebook friends posted a picture. The timing couldn't have been better.

"Family is not about blood. It's about who is willing to hold your hand when you need it most." The words struck me like a sledgehammer in my chest. You see, it doesn't matter if "E" or "F" is my father...neither one was there for me at anytime in my life. Sure one of them is my biological dad, but the man who has gone above and beyond the call for over and over again, the man who cheered me on when I performed onstage, who brought to and from the hospitals when I had no one, the man who has always, and I mean ALWAYS been the stabilizing influence in my life, the one person was, and still is, "...willing to hold your hand when you need it most" is my brother. I am tremendously blessed to have him in my life. To have him...in my family.

Take care my friends.

The Experiment

When I was a very young child, I was surrounded by music. My Mom would listen incessantly to her album collection. Her choice of music was clearly delineated: Elvis and Country Western. The pictures on the album covers always stuck in my mind. Men wore bedazzled suits and often had decorated guitars, women wore frilly dresses and had big hair. The music had that whiny country twang, and even the instruments sounded like they were crying.

My babysitters would bring their 45 record collections to the house when sitting me. It was on these occasions I would hear The Beatles, Chuck Berry, and all the bands of the British Invasion period. My babysitter and her sister would dance frantically while I cowered in horror under the coffee table. Ah, the memories.

I had a teen-aged cousin who had an electric guitar...you had to say it that way so people knew you were cool. He would sit in my living room and play for hours. It was then I decided that one day, I too would play electric guitar, and be cool.

I probably started my songwriting at this point also. Because I didn't play any instruments yet, I would find instrumental versions of popular songs, or even just instrumental songs, like "Green Onion" by Booker T and the MGs, and write lyrics for them. As I got a little older, I would make up a melody in my head. Sometimes I would commit them to cassette, other times I'd just write them down. Most of the time, they were just forgotten.

As I got older I learned to play instruments. First was bass guitar, then piano and then guitar. Now I could create a whole song from scratch, and I did. Eventually, I decided to record my own 45, which I did in 1984. The two songs can be heard and/or purchased for download on several sites. I spent most of the next thirty years playing in clubs and at functions. And now, I am moving on to the next phase of my music life.

Now, so many years later, I have pretty much retired from playing live onstage, and have gotten back to my roots as a songwriter. On a whim, I decided to enter one of my songs into a songwriting competition. Let me say this...in Nashville, the mecca for songwriters, there are specific rules for writing hit songs. Knowing this, I submitted a song that broke many of the traditional rules. Why? I had heard that most songwriting contests are scams of one type or another. Oh sure, the prizes they promised were often legitimate, but the premise of the contest was usually fraudulent. I wanted to experience it on my own. So I intentionally sent in a song I knew shouldn't win.

Shortly after my entry, I got a letter with a ribbon in it...I had won the "Director's Award", which is only given to those who show the ability to be professional songwriters. Oh boy! I put the ribbon on my refrigerator. A week or so later, I got another letter offering me a "Songwriter Contract". Before I read the contract, I decided I would would try to anticipate what it would say. I figured there would be a length of time involved...maybe a year or two. I thought they would promise me to promote my songs to record companies and artists, in return for granting them exclusive license to my songs, of course with a percentage of earnings going directly to them. This is what I anticipated. Here is what I got, paraphrased: We will send you a newsletter every month for a year, and allow you to have us record your song for only $xxx for a guitar/vocal demo.

So this whole songwriting contest was just a ploy to get aspiring songwriters to use the sponsor's recording services. Oh, and the special price? Well nearly EVERY studio in Nashville charges the same price. The bottom line is this company will do nothing for me I can't do on my own. Except for the cool ribbon...

Caveat emptor, and Take care my friends.

What does it take to be a man?

After all of these years wandering around this vast planet, I have finally learned what it means to be a man. Let me tell you folks, it ain't easy.

Like many males, I grew up thinking that being a man meant you could run faster, jump higher, hit a ball farther, or climb a tree higher than all of my friends. But that was just being athletic, not being a man.

As I reached my teen and young adult years I thought being a man meant being able to drink more beers, stay up later, drive faster, or "score more chicks" than my friends. But that was just having immature fun, not being a man.

I came real close when I became a husband and father. I thought being a man meant working hard at a job I might not like, or selling a prized possession so I could pay a bill, or functioning every day although I was racked with pain in various areas of my body. And while some would call that being a man, I think that's just meeting one's responsibilities.

So, if none of these things is being a man, what is? I just figured it out within the last week. But first, a quick back-story.

Many of my friends and some readers of this blog know I have had some health issues in the last couple years. Last Thursday my primary care doctor told me flat out I have to lose weight now or I will die. Period. End of discussion. Her suggestion for dieting? If it tastes good, spit it out. So for the last week I have been substituting bland, healthy foods for the salty, sweet, fatty, tasty foods I love and crave. The other day, I faced a test the magnitude of which I have never experienced...a friend asked me to a Chinese Buffet.

Oh, the Chinese buffet. The attraction is undeniable. First, there is Chinese food. So many kinds of yummy goodness just waiting to cast its hazy satisfaction over you. Secondly, it's a buffet. All you can eat. For one low price. Even lower on Mondays. My ability to literally work up a sweat at a good buffet is legendary.

But this time, I heard someone speaking in my voice utter the word no. Who said that? Then I realized it was I who declined an invitation to the Holy Grail of overeaters everywhere. Could it be that finally, after years of threats and browbeating from multiple doctors, that the message had finally sunk in?

I know this. There are very few things in life I like more than the Chinese Buffet. And to say no because I am trying to save my health, well, that's the toughest thing I've ever done.

I guess now I know what being a man is. It's having the strength to deny yourself of one of life's greatest pleasures for the sake of the greater good. Self-sacrifice, as it were. Maybe I can't run as fast as I used to. Or throw a ball as far. Climbing trees? Surely you jest. I can't drink as much, need lots more sleep and can't get the young ladies like before either. But I can say no when push comes to shove. Welcome to Manhood.

Thanks for reading. Take care my friends.

Mother's Day Reflections-2012

Well friends, another Mother's day is upon us. Are you taking Mom out to dinner? Maybe you plan on bringing her flowers or some other gift. Perhaps a family activity is at the top of your list. Whatever it is, I'm sure Mom will love it. When I was little, I was raised by a single Mom. Granted, we never had much money, but I did what I could to give my Mom a happy Mother's Day. I had to use my ingenuity to come up with creative ideas for gifts I could make...cheaply. Mom had a collection of home-made cards from me. My cards were always unique. I would draw (poorly) some little scene on the front, and on the inside would be a little poem expressing a sentimental thought, just like the real cards you bought in the store. Mom always loved them. Of course, as a child, you don't know that you could give Mom a lint ball and she'd love that too. That's what Moms do. And that's why they are so special to us. I think those cards may have been the genesis for my songwriting. In my youth, before I could play any instruments, I would take an established melody and put my own lyrics to it. Today they call that R&B/Hip Hop. Who knew I was a trend setter? As I got older and learned to play some instruments, I started writing complete songs. When I went into a studio and recorded two of my original tunes my Mom was the most proud of me since I gave a discourse at our church when I was nine. That's another story. I told my Mom I would write a song for her one day. I'm great at procrastination. I should have done it a long time ago. Mom passed away in 1998. Many of you readers might know how I feel this weekend. Your friends are talking about the plans they have with their Moms, and you don't have any. You see a street vendor with flowers, and there is nobody to receive them. The local diner Mom loved is taking reservations for Mother's Day, but they won't seat just one. We all cope with our losses in different ways. But Mother's Day is especially tough. As for me, I'll find a quiet little spot, think about my Mom, and strum my guitar. Who knows. Maybe I'll finally write her song. Happy Mother's Day. Take care my friends.