The Caring Catalyst

Who Cares - What Matters

Refrained

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Come, have a seat with me.

W H E W. . .

we made it.

It’s OVER

and Beginning, isn’t it?

T H A N K S G I V I N G

Sometimes the best thing that can be said of it is:

WE SURVIVED IT.

We survived food–lots of it.

We survived family–lots of them.

We survived football–lots of it.

We survived early BLACK FRIDAY stampedes–lots of them.

WE SURVIVED the THANKSGIVING-TUDE

. . .barely.

There are the 3 6 4 other days we have to contend with us being reminded
why
how
that
we are a Thankful people.

So. . .

as you put the Feast coma behind you

as you begin that not-so-long journey deeper into Happy Holiday time,

How about a little REFRAINING?

No, not that kind of refraining from Something, but the Refrain of that Song that just won’t leave your mind now that you’ve heard a huge dose of it.

A simple Refrain of:

STILL THANKFUL.

Join me:

That we’ve yet to live a day where the Sun comes up and goes down. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For Hands to hold and be Held. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For Prayers answered and unanswered. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For Hearts that beat and enhances the beating of other hearts. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For Songs not yet written, still being Sung. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For bodies that break and heal. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For minds that don’t know everything but capable of learning anything. . .

STILL ThANKFUL

For pockets that aren’t always full but stomachs that mostly are. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For houses that aren’t paid for, but shelter anyway. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For jobs that might not always be fruitful, but pay the bills. . .

For clothes not always in style, but offering cover, comfort and warmth. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For all that is and isn’t, was and wasn’t. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

For____________________________________________________. . .

STILL THANKFUL.

I call it my THANKSGIVING CHAIR. I don’t sit in it as often as I should–especially when I need to the most: WHEN I’M LEAST THANKFUL.

But. . .more and more over these past few weeks I have made my way to THAT place a little more often.

Do you have a THANKSGIVING CHAIR?

Is there a P L A C E

–In Good and Bad–

where you just go, just go and sit…

Just sit and experience, THANK YOU?

In many different ways, in many different places, with many different people,

we celebrated Thanksgiving, YESTERDAY.

For all that now remains. . .continues. . .begins. . .may the Refrain be constant:

STILL THANKFUL

Come. . .have a seat with me.

A Good Day

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Do you have less than 6 minutes. . .to spare?

It’s not that very long of a time…just barely more than what could actually be called a “MOMENT.”

Everything S H O U T E D

in me, NOT to post this Monday Morning video of the fabulous photography of Louis Schwartzberg…because we just don’t HAVE. . .

or TAKE the time to NOTICE

or RECOGNIZE

. . .See

. . .Look

at what is more a part of us than our next breath and just as important.

SERIOUSLY…did you watch it?

5:54

Did you?

This is THANKSGIVING WEEK.

With each passing Thanksgiving, I’m finding it’s not the day or the food, or the football games or the Gathering. . .it’s not a Season or a Day or a Moment…it’s a Lifestyle.

W H E N. . .

I F. . .

We understand that it’s NOT who’s around the table, but WHO’S NEVER ABSENT FROM IT. . .

IT’S A GOOD DAY!

Don’t wait for Thanksgiving to happen on the last Thursday of every November. . .

Celebrate it NOW!

. . .It’ll only guarantee one thing:

A GOOD DAY!

Psssssst: And That’s enough!

When Competition, Isn’t….

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Does it ever end well. . .?

An older Pizza Hut Delivery man comes marching into McDonald’s at one of their most busiest times, right at lunch hour.

You could see that both of the Drive-Thru Lanes were packed and there were three lines of hungry people, four or five deep waiting to place their orders.

This Pizza Hut Delivery Guy wasn’t about to wait in line. As soon as he got to the center of store, he started, very loudly yelling, “WHERE’S THE MANAGER? I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANGER, NOW!” The loud

N O W

Almost sounded like an angry dog before he was ready to sink his teeth into any soft flesh available.

Everyone stood there stunned. It got very quiet.

No cash registers were ringing.

No orders were being taken.

No one was moving.

No one expected a good outcome.

Would you?

Does a scene set up like this ever end up well?

Their was hushed mumbling and then yelling for “RON” (Oh the Irony–RON–Seriously? A distant relative of THE RONALD McDONALD?)

to get out to the front.

Uh-oh. . .there he was. RON, a young manager in a not-so-white-stained-barely-tucked-in-shirt with a black wrinkled tie, and dirty eye-glasses that were somewhat askew.

SHOW TIME:

“You the manager,” the Pizza Hut Delivery man more accused than asked?

“Yes sir, my name is Ron. How may I be of help?”

“Well I came here to get something straight,” he started out, not in any low tone manner.

EVERYONE WAS WATCHING THIS…MUST SEE REALITY. . . .

“My mother was in here the other day,” the Pizza Hut man continued, “and she kinda got stuck over there in that booth. She’s having trouble getting around and she said everyone was laughing and no one was out here helping her. . . ,”

“Sir,” Ron butted in to begin defending himself, but Pizza Man was having none of it.

He put his hand up in front of Ron’s face as he continued.

“Hold on there, Son. She said everyone was laughing and snickering and talking about her and no one was doing a thing and then you came out and brought her a coffee and a glass of water and you helped her out.”

This went

H A L L M A R K

quicker than you could say: M c P I Z Z A. . . .

And then, then came the McPLAUSE and rightfully so.

Pizza Man pulled a steaming, hot pizza from his delivery bag as he said, “Here, Ron, it ain’t much but a man who does good deserves good.”

And with that he hands him over a Pizza–SPECIAL DELIVERY–as it were.”

People applauded and cheered. A few whistled.

They shook hands and then hugged.

I WANTED TO KNOW. . .to HEAR what Pizza Man told Ron McDonald Manager as they hugged there for a moment.

Quite a moment. . .still is.

When the Competition, ISN’T. . .the most amazing things happen.

Your Mission

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Happy 4th of July.

It’s a great Holiday…family get-togthers, picnics, Fairs, Festivals, cook-outs, swimming, games, car shows, merry-go-rounds, ferris-wheels, fireworks, carney food, and questions. . .maybe the truth?

I can’t believe that it’s already been about 16 years since SAVING PRIVATE RYAN first came to the screen.

Remember it?

Tom Hanks portrays an Army Captain whose unit is assigned to find a Private named Ryan in the dangerous aftermath of the D-Day Invasion. Ryan’s brothers have both been killed in combat, and, unbeknownst to him, he is his mother’s only surviving son. THE MISSION IS A MAN. It involves the Captain’s unit in brutal battles with the Germans. But Private Ryan is located and his life is saved by his Captain who dies in the process. As Private Ryan attends to his mortally wounded rescuer, the Captain speaks his last words in a hoarse whisper–“EARN THIS.” The Camera merges from the young Private’s face to the face of an old man, standing by a white cross in the cemetery at Normandy. It is Ryan many years later, near the end of his life. He kneels by his Captain’s grave and says, “EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE, I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT YOU SAID TO ME THAT DAY ON THE BRIDGE. I’VE DONE MY BEST. I HOPE AT LEAST IN YOUR EYES THAT I’VE LIVED UP TO ALL YOU GAVE FOR ME.”

Happy 4th of July.

You and I don’t need to endure some War to be grateful. To live in TRUE GRATITUDE we just have to simply remember that a lot of people FROM EVERY BRANCH OF LIFE have sacrificed to bring you to where you are. We can never squander their Gift…and it’s never too late to recapture what can never truly be lost, but OFTEN FORGOTTEN.

What. . .

WHO is your Mission?

Careful…be very, very careful.

The answer to THAT question–the ultimate WHAT or WHO–not only tells about your truest Mission, but defines your truest Self.

Happy 4th of July.

Your Mission:

To make a Happy 5th, 6th, 27th of July or any other day of the 364, Significant for ANOTHER. . .

Each Time. . .

Every Time!

Do you accept YOUR MISSION?

RE-MEMBER

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Happy Memorial Day.

How can you assure it?

One simple word: RE-MEMBERING–literally, by putting together the Pieces of your Life that have meaning and significance to you the Ones who make those Memories worth RE-Membering–Putting back together.

The World will debate and argue, but the greatest forces in and out of this World are our Memories and the Love that makes those memories significant.

It’s easy to JUST Limit these Memories to our Veterans or for those who have recently passed, but any day we truly RE-Member, that we actually put together those snipets of ‘Once-Upon-A-Time,’ and ‘Remember When’s’ that put all those glorious colors to the Tapestry of our Lives, becomes a true Memorial Day.

Like any Holiday, it really is celebrated most, not so much on it’s Noted, Dated Day, but when fully Recognized, Realized, Revitalized again and again and again with, yes, that one single, beautiful thing called Memory.

So, on this Memorial Day, RE-MEMBER: It’s not enough for us to just merely Remember, but for us to just simply Re-Member one thought, one memory past Eternity.

Five Words:

Happy Memorial Day. . .Thank You. . . .

Saving the Spider, Saving Myself

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He surprised me at 6:30 in the morning, climbing out of the bowl of my bathroom sink.

He was having a hard time trying to escape so I thought I would help. I snapped into my Albert Schweitzer role and attempted to help him out by extending a piece of paper, a hand towel and finally a rolled up newspaper…the latter had him scurrying back down the dark, black drain.

It was obvious…no brushing of the teeth or turning on the water.

I jumped into the shower and scrubbed my teeth, shaved and showered all into one, hoping that the itsy, bitsy spider would climb out of the drain and the sink.

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Toughest Job

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HB3xM93rXbY

Is it the worst job ever?

To be sure, it’s ONE job, few would ever apply, accept, or keep…and yet, there are well over a billion that holds the actual gut-wretching-never-ending position.

And to that there are only Two Words, never said enough days before, Day of, or days after. . .

T H A N K Y O U.

Go hug a mom…and if you can’t. . .

HUG A CHILD OF ONE–hard and just a little longer than usual!

…happy mother’s day–Every Day!

Chipped Ham Sandwiches

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Chipped Ham Sandwiches!

Quick: WHAT COMES TO MIND?

Hunger? Mayo? Mustard? Barbecue? Fresh Bread? Picnics? Packed Lunches? Root Beer? Pickles?

Or Him?

For me, it’s always him.

Junior High through High School and then a few times during Christmas vacations or quick Summer visits.

Chipped Ham sandwiches.

It was his signature move, but not his only one.

On Friday night sleepover’s he’d make them after basketball practice. The freshest of Italian Bread slices, sometimes with thinly sliced tomatoes and an even thinner layer of mayo. It was a masterpiece, too good, almost to eat and always slow enough to savor.

He lived his life with the same kind of Masterpiece living. He always spoke softly with a smile and kept his car clean enough to eat a sandwich or a holiday meal. His garage and house was impeccable, nothing ever out of place and I loved always the perfect fire in the basement fireplace on cold winter evenings.

He loved Sinatra and was even more of a GENTLE man. He was a perfect compliment to a wife he adored and his two children whom he cherished.

He always asked of family and others before sharing of himself. I never knew of one of his needs, even when he was hurt in a steel mill accident.

I would often see him walking a track that I ran on in both of our adult years and he would always nod in acknowledgement and extend a hand before you could get one out of your pocket.

He has grieved heroically since his wife died suddenly in 2007 and I hadn’t seen or talked with or seldom of him since.

I had heard of his death like so many other things I learn of these days: A Facebook post.

I thought of Chipped Ham Sandwiches and the ease, skill and expertise he showed as he made them very shortly after unpacking his other groceries.

I will attend his funeral today out of respect for him and mostly his Son who has been my best friend since 8th grade.

I will Honor and celebrate Him with some shared memories.

I will Remember…and be thankful for the small, great things that make Life significant. I will take the things I’ve known; the very things I’ve admired, respected; the things I’ve loved and cherished and make them a part of myself–I’ll share them as they’ve been shared with me…so that others may remember and share alike one day on my behalf, too.

. . .and I will eat a chipped ham sandwich. . .

Maybe, Two!

Of Grave Interest

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schindlers list gave

RE-MEMBERING

It’s really my favorite way to spell R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R!

In a self-published book that I co-wrote with Cynthia Morgan back in the late 90’s, “RE-MEMBER–A MEMORY BOOK,” it’s how I spelled it and I explained in the Forward that it’s RE because it is actually putting back together the Pieces of a Person’s life as they have fit themselves into the puzzles of our lives.

Do we ever RE-MEMBER enough?

Certainly not a funeral, or around a holiday table, or out back during a family reunion picnic. It’s true isn’t it? Anytime we come together to RE-MEMEMBER, it’s never long enough, which is most likely the reason we continue to come up with little personal ways of RE-MEMBERING that will continue to unfold meaning and significance for each of us.

Stones on a Grave.

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Through the Wringer

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A long, hard Winter will have you not only actively wishing, but dreaming about Summer.

You don’t always need a Winter, though, do you?

Growing up was always one of the greatest times of the year wasn’t it? For me, it meant that we could spend a whole week at my grandparents WITHOUT my brothers and sister.

I was King for a week during that time. I always got to pick the menu for the week, and lima beans wasn’t on it. I could pick out the flavor of ice-cream I liked the best and if I wanted to, I could stay up and watch Johnny Carson.

I always took the opportunity to tell my grandmother what terrible people my parents were; why they made me take out garbage, put my clothes in the hamper, make my bad and even had the audacity to make me do the dishes from time to time.

I remember asking my grandmother what terrible things her parents made her do, and she would tell me it was many, many tasks too horrible to describe, but one in particular, doing the family wash, was the worst because they didn’t have a wash machine. My grandmother would have to haul the family laundry into town, wait while it was being done, and then have to come home afterwards; an all day event, she bemoaned.

She told me she’d remembered very vividly when their neighbor was drafted into the war and he boarded up the house and moved his family in with the in-laws and asked my great-grandparents if they’d be so kind as to take care of some of the things they were leaving behind. Wouldn’t you know, one of them was their wash machine. It’s the kind you actually find out on the back porch of an antique store, the one with the tumbler and wringer. She even proudly displayed a nasty scar on her hand where she’d actually got it caught in the wringer.

She said, chasing that old wash machine across their dirt basement floor as it would shake, shimmy, spit, and spew suds all over the place was a kind of peace on earth–besides she could now do the family wash at her convenience and not for a whole Saturday.

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Professional Speaker, Author, Assurance Man