It is late August in south Mississippi and that means the days are still long, but getting shorter, school has started and yes...it's football season again. Fall has always been one of my favorite seasons although as far south as I live we really do not have the typical seasons experienced by others. It begins to cool a little, days get shorter, hurricane season starts to settle and football starts. Fall is a time of transition from hot to not so hot. Football occupies that time slot. 

   For me football season has always meant something to do on Saturdays and Sundays other than yard work. Beginning with college football on Saturday and winding up on Monday night, it has always been one of my favorite times of the year. Saturdays gathered at a friends house or at my favorite watering hole have always given me a calm sense of place. Being from the south we have always taken our football too seriously although some of my friends would argue that it is impossible to be too serious about football because it is that important.

   Sundays are always a great at this time of  year with pro football filling up my entire day to the point of distraction. Believe it or not I have some friends for whom football season is trite and tiresome. I have difficulty understanding their position, but I respect it and they being the type of friends they are indulge my fervent desire to be in front of a television no matter where we find ourselves on those days. My children are the most intolerant. My daughter rolls her eyes and refuses to give an inch for football and the boy has yet to develop a true understanding of the nuance of the game. He is a great NASCAR fan, but I believe he has yet to develop an understanding of football and its place in the psyche of the south.

   I will spend this weekend watching college football and awaiting next week's start of the pro season. I will find a place that has my favorite game day foods and beverages and the most strategically placed televisions. For a few hours I can live vicariously cheering for colleges that my friends attended and my alma matter as well. I will enjoy the company of other like minded individuals striking up conversations with complete strangers and comparing our knowledge of the game. I love this time of year and all that it brings. 

   I am hoping you find the same joy in the changing of the seasons that I do, maybe not in football, but in whatever manner works for you. Time moves forward and we all mark the passing seasons in different ways. I mark the passing of summer with football and I welcome the fall with an open heart full of hope. Hope for my teams and hope for me and all of you. My hope is that somehow we can all feel like winners for a while, even if it is a short while. I will welcome the chance to escape for a few hours on weekends and gather with friends with open arms and a glad heart, as start over, over 50.

   As a student I used to dread writing assignments I hated the thought of having to do the research. I procrastinated until the days before the assignment was due and it was all that occupied my thoughts. I would cram a months worth of work into three or four days and turn in note cards, rough draft and final copy on the last day possible. I have no idea why I did this and as I got older I shied from any career that would involve these mental deadlines of methodical work that entailed certain steps in the process that had to be completed in order for the project to be done properly. However,  I ended up in careers that required just that. In college I started out as a business major and then switched to history with the thought of law school in the back of my head.

   A history degree requires a vast amount of research and writing rather cumbersome research papers that draw conclusions based on source material written by others. One has to have the discipline to ferret out these sources, organize them, read them, analyze them, draw conclusions that can be validated by these source materials and write these conclusions down in a coherent manner so that others can draw the same conclusions as you. Unlike the writing assignments of my youth I was drawn to these assignments with a sense of purpose. It was as if I had to do them in order to quench some inner thirst for knowledge that had to be exposed to the light of day so others could be enlightened and solve the same mysteries that were plaguing me. I soon found though that most others, those outside of my chosen field, had only a passing interest in my newly found avocation. Now, for me, writing is a requirement that I am obligated to fulfill so that I may continue on with the prosaic of my daily life.

   I have some friends that I can see are drawn to something in a similar fashion in which I am drawn to writing. One is a floral designer. She has what to me is an astounding ability to take plants and flowers and arrange different textures and colors in such a way that when you see them makes perfect sense. A way that seems as if nature had exactly that in mind when designing these plants. These arrangements actually seem to make sense of and have relevance to the situations and events they are designed to compliment. From funerals and weddings to births and any of other of life's events we choose to celebrate, when she is done there is no doubt that these groupings were just waiting to be put together and only she could do it. Their form clearly represents the events they are designed for.

   I have another friend that takes pictures. He works as something other than a photographer and is good at his job, but it is clear from his pictures that photographer is what he is. His pictures capture moments in time that need no captions or explanation. They are framed in such a way that one can feel what he felt as he took the picture. He can look at a vast landscape and find the one small story of interest and frame it in such a way that everything else, no matter its size, is dwarfed by what he has captured in his frame of reference. He has the ability to do this on a grand scale or on the micro level. His sense of color and space and even time are captured forever in a way that tends to burn the scene in one's mind. He translates perfectly the language of nature and puts it in context.

   These are the things that writing does for me. I was never employed as a writer. I have always done something else to put food on the table, but like the two described above I am drawn to it in such a way that I have to do it to make sense of events that have, or are taking place. With words I am compelled to arrange an event, idea or scene into a form that makes it visible to others in the same way that I saw or felt it. I no longer run from these "assignments". It is something I have to do just as I have to eat or breathe. To avoid discomfort I am driven to sit down now and reveal my thoughts and feelings and make them available to others to make sense of in the same way that my one friend arranges plants to assuage grief, or instill a sense of beauty to someone participating in or observing an event. I show others what I see as my photographer friend does on both a grand and micro level framed in a way that when observed the same thing nature reveals to me is revealed to them. Find your muse. Search out that which drives you, compels you to act and create. It can be anything. Creation can be manifested in many forms and all of them are art. In doing these things we help define our world, shape our perspective and the perspective of others. We can show the world what we see around us and how it affects us. I have to. I must, and I have no choice as I start over, over 50.

 
 

   I promised myself a few weeks ago that I would be disciplined about writing this blog. I promised myself I would stick to it no matter what and that I would be relevant, I also promised that in being disciplined I would stick to certain topics on certain days thereby forcing myself to explore some of the more mundane subjects and make them interesting. Wednesdays, I told myself, would be reserved for book, movie, song, or venue reviews. Giving myself and whoever reads this some insight into some of things I find interesting. Today will be somewhat different. I will do a review, but along with the promise of sticking to certain topics I also promised myself I would be honest. So forgive me if you find this tiresome, trite, or another trip down the road of self immolation by other means than fire, if that makes sense.

   There is a band I came across back in the late 1980s called Concrete Blonde. They have been around since about 1985, but I think they really caught my attention in 1990 with the release of their critically acclaimed album titled Bloodletting. They had a hit off of that album entitled Joey. I first heard the song on the way home one morning after a night of my usual heavy partying. Details of said behavior are irrelevant, or maybe just not necessary. I was in a dark place. I drank, and drank heavily, and drank all night. Alcohol was not my only escape route, but again all of the facts may be unnecessary. For me it was the beginning of a slow climb up from the abyss. One that I am grateful for today and believe it or nor our wake-up calls come in many forms. For me this time, it was the song Joey.

   I am a hopeless romantic. I am a voracious reader, lover of music, and cinema and any form of self expression and often times find myself in a song, I see myself in a movie character, or I see myself in the tortured soul of some artists. I understand the angst, the pain and the need to self express. As a child for some reason I felt misunderstood, or maybe I was unable to make myself understood. Maybe people did not misunderstand, maybe I misrepresented myself. As an adult I turned to self medication to stifle the need to be heard, to be understood, to be seen and found relevant. It did not work. It only seemed to dampen any creative process I may have had. It alienated those around me and to this day many people I knew then look at me in that same light, unable to see me as I see me. I digress.

   Concrete Blonde is an alternative rock band, dedicated to their art and dedicated to serving their close following and not selling out to a wider audience. The lead singer has a powerful voice and persona that lends itself to their genre and to their songs. Joey is about an alcoholic and in an interview, Johnette Napolitano, the lead singer and writer of Joey, gives a hint as to who the song is about, but that is doubted by some, and quite frankly to fans like me does not matter. I saw myself clearly in the lyrics. I saw a hopeless drunk loved by someone who was possibly an enabler. I had people like that in my life.

   The haunting lyrics describe the relationship between a drunk and the closest person to them. It allowed me to see myself where I was and what I had become and to let me see what others saw. I made it out of the gutter, I rose up form the pit and call me silly, call me maudlin, accuse me of deflecting, whatever. All I know is from that moment of clarity brought about by a song not intended for me, or about me, I was redeemed. I encourage you to listen to Concrete Blonde. Listen to Joey and maybe you will see yourself in the lyrics as the singer, or the one the song is about. Either way I am sure you will find some value in their music, not just this song. I did, and I still do as I start over, over 50.

   As a child I grew up in southern Mississippi. I am a son of the South, born in Texas and raised in the most typically southern state in the union. I am unashamed of my heritage and embrace all that is southern. The good, the bad, the hard to bear and the even harder to bare history and stigma that goes with it. Where I live life was never easy for the early settlers and difficulties continue to plague those that are determined to stay. I am determined to stay. I have visited and lived in other states and other countries, but my heart and my soul have been inexorably drawn back to the Gulf Coast of Mississippi and like the continual ebb and flow of the Gulf's tide I have left and returned to the shores of my home.

   There are obligations that come with being from the South. Loyalty, honesty, and sincerity are just a few of those. Loyalty to home in spite of the tarnished history of the South. Honesty about our past and its relevance to the present and its threat to the future. Sincerity about our feelings for home and family and friends. This region has been ruled by no less than eight sovereign entities. It has been populated by virtually every race of people there is. It has been embroiled in controversy, wracked by war, and decimated by natural disaster. For some reason it continues to draw people looking for a new beginning, or a place to live out their final days.

   The people here are personable almost to a fault. A typical greeting from someone you barely know will include the phrase, "how's your mom and them?", or some derivation. They are sincere in their inquiry and will gladly respond to the same inquiry if it is offered. I have learned to view life through the eyes of Tennessee Williams, Faulkner, Weldy, Jimmy Buffet and the king himself Elvis Presley. The blues of the Delta tell our story. Our resilience is the legacy left to us by those that came before and it is the same legacy that we leave to those who will follow. Together we weather every storm and together we have rebuilt. With stubborn resolve that almost borders on foolishness we stay and persevere.

   Those are the traits that sustain me in difficult times. However, these same trials and tribulations that seem to be common to those from the south are the same reason that we unabashedly celebrate even the most mundane events. Festivals, carnival and religious observances anchor each community and mark the passing of the seasons. Pomp and circumstance accompany every major and minor event and reverence is expected and given whether it is your heritage involved or someone else's.Look around where you live. Explore your origins and boast about your home. These are the things that bring meaning to me. These are the things that give me a sense of place and provide comfort in the darkest of times. These are some of the things I hold close to me as I start over, over 50.

   As I stated previously I write because I am compelled to write. It took me a while to understand it, but I get it now, so I write. This blog is full of memories, mostly from life's lessons that I have learned through the years. It helps me to keep perspective and balance and it seems to relieve some burning desire I have to let it all out. Today I am writing about something that has been in my head for some time screaming to be let out. It is memory of someone I knew many years ago that did not pass through sleep's dark and silent gate and emerge to face another day. He will never see another day and his passing makes me realize how grateful I must remain for everyday I have.

   His name was and I guess still is Russ Jordan. I met Russ in 1984 not long after I was out of the Air Force. I had been convinced by a good friend to go into the insurance business and signed on with a national company that Russ and my friend worked for. We had an office downtown in a larger city. The office was staffed with about four other agents. Russ was not from here but he had attended college at Ole Miss and settled here on the coast with his wife who was from Biloxi. It was great atmosphere as all of us were outgoing and gregarious, loved sports and all of us a great sense of humor.

   Russ was smart. He was smarter than I would have imagined after first meeting him and was a natural for the line of work he had chosen. He knew the business well and had an ability to meet people and make them feel as if they were immediately his friend. He was sincere in this ability and many was the time that we would run into one of his clients and they were treated as and treated him as close friends and more than client and insurance agent. Russ had a way of making everyone comfortable. Non-confrontational, friendly, quick with a laugh and even quicker to laugh at your jokes. Again there was nothing insincere about his behavior, he was genuine. Many was the time when as young adult men we would all be gathered at local restaurant, and bar and Russ seemed to spark all of the fun and leave segues for any one of us to make a wisecrack or a joke.

   Russ had a great wife that seemed to compliment his personality and eventually had two beautiful little girls. He seemed to me to be invincible. Not in a superhero kind of way, but a way that made you think he had life under control and would continue to be happy and here on this plane of existence. He was fearless, not in a Seal Team Six kind of way, but rather in a way that told you he never worried about tomorrow, or failure, or actually selling anything. He seemed to know that no matter what he would be fine, he would be successful and that everybody liked him, and they did. I have never, to this day, heard a negative remark about him. As fearless as he was he would not live forever.

   I don't quite remember the year he died. I saw the obituary in the paper. I had drifted out of the insurance business and away from the crowd we ran with. I was shocked, stunned and saddened. It seems that the universe has a way of taking those that seem so invincible. Those that seem like they have it all figured out. His death was sudden and unexpected and not long after he passed his two girls were killed in a horrible accident. I ran into his widow one day while out walking. She seemed happy and well and I often wonder how I would be able to handle the loss she experienced. But I know now. You see she and Russ were the same. She knows what may happen, will happen and could happen at any time, but chooses to live and be happy. Those were the two simple choices that Russ made. That is what he had figured out. All we needed to do was to breathe in, breathe out and be happy and grateful for that and nothing else would matter. Today and everyday I am going to try and live up to that simple standard. To breathe in and breathe out and be happy as I start over, over 50.

   I do not normally write in my blog on Saturdays for many reasons, well maybe not many, and maybe not any good reason, but today I am compelled to write. That is why I write anyway, because I am compelled to do it. There is no other reason and the only analogy I can come up with is that feeling of having to vomit, but you just resist knowing all the while you will feel better as soon as you do. That is my process. Thoughts come to me and stay in my brain until I put them down on paper, computer screen, or even give voice to them.

   I am compelled to write today because I feel I must. I have my children this weekend, and like every other time I have them it is a panacea of sorts that allows me the ability to get through a weekend that would otherwise be rather mundane. They are innocents and unabashed in their love for me and life in general. They see promise in every day and every thing we do. Each visit to them is new adventure of things to do, laughs, fights, friends, exploration and quiet time spent with each other doing nothing but enjoying our time together.

   Today will be spent at the pool. Late August is typically the hottest time of the year and this weekend is no exception. We will stay all day, eat, play in the water and generally do nothing. Simple times that I am sure they will remember fondly as will I and like me, at my age, they will look back on these times as some of the best they knew. I know I do as I remember the time when I was their age. Simpler times because our minds were unpolluted by the worries of everyday life. We did not require much to be happy, to be engaged and the safety and security of our parents love was all that we needed to allow our minds to run free with imagination and discovery.

   I will enjoy the day as they do. I will find happiness in the Sun and the heat and the cool relief of the water. I will let watermelon juice drip down my chin, I will eat without regard to the effects it has on my long term health, I will get a sunburn no matter how much sunscreen I apply and tonight when my head hits the pillow it will be with the sense of having done nothing but love my children and life. Nothing matters today but them and me. The time we spend today cannot be recovered once it has passed so we will not waste it. As adults not wasting time is something we claim to always be doing, but the reality is we are always wasting time worrying, working and fretting about things that we will not remember a week from now. 

   Today my job is to do nothing but be happy and love. Try it today, put down the list of chores. Erase the thoughts of the past week and the worry about the next. Pick up a book. Take the kids out for some fun. Lay in the sand and listen to the waves and wind and let your mind loose to run and jump through dreams and fantasies with no regard to their outcome or possibility. Do nothing but love yourself and life and that will be enough. Join me today in this worthy endeavor as I start over, over 50.

   Karma. Songs are written about it, religions teach it and many, many people believe in it. I do not. Karma is defined (and this is paraphrased) as an action that springs from intentions, or a result that arises from an action. Many people use karma to hope for, or believe in a result that will happen to them, or someone else as a result of something they have done, or believe. For most people karma is used as a sort of hope for a vengeful act that will happen to someone based on a perceived heinous act that has been committed. Belief in karma requires that one hopes for and expects someone to suffer for what they have done and in that suffering the one who has been wronged will somehow receive justice.

   I have been told by people that karma will eventually catch up with me. That karma will one day exact from me that pound of flesh they think they deserve because I may have done them wrong. Nothing could be farther from the truth. My actions are mine and the karmic results that people believe will happen are subject to interpretation by me and not the person observing the action. While you may think justice has been served I may have never noticed the correction of universal justice that has taken place. It may never appear on my radar and your happiness at my reversal of fortune being due to what you think I was responsible for in the past, in your karmic belief has now opened you up to the same retribution.

   I reserve that form of karmic thinking for the poisoned mind and I dismiss it outright. How I feel, and how I think is a construct I create. My perception of the events occurring in my life is shaped by my thinking and my belief system. I choose not to hope for karma to catch up to those who may have wronged me. I choose to forgive where I can and forget where forgiveness is beyond the little piece of spirituality I possess. That is all I can do. Wishing for the same sort of thing to happen to the person that has wronged me just shapes my perception to see those event in my life in that same light. If I always hope for retribution, for same sort of bad to happen, then that is all I will see. You see, to me my feelings shape how I see what is around me. If I stay in the negative, in the hate filled space of vengeance, then everything that happens to me will be viewed through that prism of thought.

  Instead of hoping for that pound of flesh, if we cannot forgive, then for the time being until we can get to that place, we must forget. Carrying the burden of hope for karma to catch up to someone even for an instant opens us up for the same thing. All we can do is to forgive those that harm, or wrong us no matter how difficult. We must hope for their happiness and applaud their successes. In so doing it keeps us free from the burden of revenge. As humans hoping for things to be balanced is almost an obsession. Forgive, and if you cannot, forget and let it go. Stay positive and move forward. Do not look back with anger, but rather with happiness. I am forgiving where I can and forgetting and letting go where I cannot. Join me as I start over, over 50.