The Caring Catalyst

Who Cares - What Matters

FIDDLE FARTING AROUND

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I know, I know,  it almost sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher, here, blah blah, blah blah blah, and I really do wish it was more of Kurt and less of the commentator. However, the quotes are real. The lessons are true, especially since they are so very, very simple, and I also include my own poem, which was somewhat inspired by Kurt a long time ago when I was so fortunate and grateful enough by taking a cold wintry afternoon off in January fiddle farting around to go see him down at Severance Hall.  Case Western Reserve University put on a symposium that featured Mr. Vonnegut giving a lecture.   They put me down in the second row so when they filmed it, it looked like it was a full audience. CLASSIC STUFFS that I’ll forever cherish, even all the way back then as I scribbled down these lines on an old left over orchestra program.


FIDDLE FARTING

Don’t fiddle fart around
they all said
grandparents, parents, teachers, friends
because it’ll all lead to NOTHING
they all said
Now your words won’t come out
and your thoughts won’t go away
as you lay in a hospice bed
where other Fiddle Farters have died
Your memories rattle much louder
than your wheezing-can’t-take-in-any-more-air-lungs
knowing that fiddle farting around
was much more than a NOTHING
and a flavorable dash more of SOMETHING
that’ll have you dying wishing
for a lot more of EVERYTHING
Thanks again, Kurt for an awesome fiddle farting afternoon and now, a lifetime of ongoing lessons, especially seeing the miraculous in the mundane.          .          .

A PIECE OF AMERICANA PIE

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I love pie, especially pecan, but I’m a sucker for a good piece of AMERICANA PIE no matter whenever or however it’s served up.  Nobody serves us a better slice than the late, great Paul Harvey.  Here.  Enjoy a slab of AMERICANA PIE:

PAUL HARVEY’S LETTER TO HIS GRANDCHILDREN:

We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I’d like better.

I’d really like for them to know about hand me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches.. I really would.

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.

I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.

And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.

It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies born and your old dog put to sleep.

I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.

I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother/sister. And it’s all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you because he’s scared, I hope you let him.

When you want to see a movie and your little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope you’ll let him/her.

I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.

On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don’t ask your driver to drop you two blocks away so you won’t be seen riding with someone as uncool as your Mom.

If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one.

I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books.

When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.

I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a boy / girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.

May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.

I don’t care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don’t like it… And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he/she is not your friend.

I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your Grandma/Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle.

May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.

I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbor’s window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a plaster mold of your hand.

These things I wish for you – tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it’s the only way to appreciate life.

IT IS ALL GOOD
ALL OF IT
Hint: THAT’S THE SECRET INGREDIENT IN A SLICE OF AMERICANA PIE
(the Good and the Bad and everything in between)

Enjoy every crumb and don’t be afraid to ask for seconds; there’s always plenty for all.           .             .

Y                    U                    M                    M                    Y

JUST A MOMENT: UNLEARNING TO LEARN

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What are some of the lessons that you learned, were taught, or even punished for not learning fast enough when you were a kid?

Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson to learn it in a new way that would benefit your life?

It’s not that we were taught things to harm us. We were always taught lessons to protect us from the world and yes, sometimes from ourselves.

Come on we, don’t wait for the rain so that we could go outside and play or barbecue or lay out.  We don’t dance in mud puddles in our bare feet or worse, our brand new shoes. We know better because we were taught better and maybe, maybe we need to know a little bit more.  Go ahead, take a walk in the rain, stomp in a mud puddle, even with people watching.  Who knows, who knows, the exhilaration that kids have could just be what’s worth feeling for us, too.
S      P      L      A      S      H 
O  N

FROM THE SOUL TO THE THROAT TO THE PAGE

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Photo by Hannah Wright on Unsplash

My emptiness
has a fullness
that is hard to carry
It’s a thick sludge in my veins
that refuses to pump
through my soul’s heart
while it oxygenates the darkest
parts of me I wish dead

Consider these words from Richard Rohr, excerpted from his meditation on “The Sacred in the Concrete”:

Robert Frost said, “A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a home-sickness or a love-sickness.”¹ If a poem doesn’t give us a lump in the throat, is it really great poetry? My final theological conclusion is that there’s only one world and that it’s all sacred. However, we have to be prepared to know what we’re saying when we say that. If we say too glibly that the trees are sacred, along with our dog, a friend, and the roses, then we don’t really believe it. We first need to experience “a lump in the throat” to have encountered the sacred. The sacred is something that inspires awe and wonder, something that makes us cry, something that gives us the lump in the throat. We must first encounter the sacred in the concrete and kneel before it there, because we can’t start with the universal.

Poets . . . make the connection between the concrete and the universal. When we make that connection, there’s suddenly a great leap of meaning, an understanding that it’s one world. The very word “metaphor,” which comes from two Greek words, means to “carry across.” A good metaphor carries us across, and we don’t even know how it’s occurred.

. . . If we’re reading a poem too quickly, between two urgent meetings or other hurried spaces, we probably won’t get it, because we don’t have time to release ourselves. We need quiet, solitude, and open space to read poetry at greater depth. Then and only then do poems work their magic.

(My thanks to Fr. Richard Rohr, via the Center for Action and Contemplation 

Robert Frost, “Some Definitions,” in Collected Poems, Prose, and Plays (New York: Library of America, 1995), 701.

It’s not that the Sun doesn’t gloriously melt through the clouds so much as we just don’t take time to NOTICE; which kind of means that the worst poem of all isn’t the one not yet written, just the one not recognized or read.         .           .p o n d e r e d

THE VILLAGE

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This video guts me. It filets me in a way that makes me more aware of what I should be aware of and maybe what I shouldn’t be aware of as much.

Most of the time when I stand up for the LGBTQ Community in any of its forms, I’m often asked, “Is there somebody in your family that’s like that?”  The generalize thought is that would be a reason why I should stand up for somebody that’s different than me, somebody who’s life and lifestyle I will never be able to understand or on my best day, comprehend.  Somehow the thought is, “Well, I could maybe understand if someone close to you lives this kind of lifestyle or why they chose it and you’re showing support”  Uh, NO, NO, when you interacted with those who live such lives and the people who love and support them suffer, you’d know it’s anything but a choosing anyone would purposely put themselves through and yet, STILL, THE ASKINGS.          .          .
I am also asked what’s your most difficult kind of funeral to conduct and my knee-jerk reaction often is a baby, especially one that may be premature; but in my heart of hearts, I think again the one the ones that get me the most are not suicides but suicide because somebody is different sexually, and a family member or members or society can’t accept that and they find no other way to cope, but to die, to commit suicide.
So yes, there’s somebody in my family that’s different,  just like there’s somebody in your family that’s different, just like everybody in the world is different and so now I have to choose, will I be different too and maybe more importantly will I treat people differently because of my differences?
QUESTIONS, CLASS?
Uhhhhh.    .   .if it takes a Village
.        .       .maybe it really takes a
BETTER ONE!

What say YOU?

EVERYDAYNESSES

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“A flat tire. An extra fee tacked on to a hotel bill. A cracked screen on your phone. A bike stolen from your garage. A large charge that they won’t refund. A deal blown up by a missed email.

Nobody likes these things. But does anyone think that a life without them is possible?

No, of course not. We understand that sometimes you get ripped off. Sometimes you make mistakes. Sometimes stuff falls apart on the one-yard line.

Ok, then why are you so upset? You know it’s a statistical certainty, a basic fact of life. Yet here you are, cursing it as if it’s unfair. As if you’ve been singled out. Instead of just accepting it, instead of just saying to yourself as Marcus Aurelius tried to say of shameless people (who he also believed were a statistical inevitability), ok this is one of those people. Don’t ask for the impossible, he said, don’t get upset that someone who was bound to exist, exists or that something that was bound to happen, has happened.

We can’t escape it. We can only accept it…and be grateful that it’s rarer than it could be.”
When I read this in a random DAILY STOIC post I started wondering why I don’t like it when bad things happen to good people for no apparent reason or any catchy rhyming, especially to this trying-so-hard-to-be-a-better-person striving to do good for good.         .           .
B  U  T .      .     .the sacred isn’t always what you think it is or where you think you can find it.     .      .Embrace your EVERYDAYNESSESS
Now about that flat tire, well right after the leaky pipe but before the locked keys in the car or the lost credit card that I swear I put in my secret SECRET place and my pen, my Montblanc Pen.        .        .

Psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst: 
BRING YOUR EVERYDAYNESSES
TO YOUR
EVERYTHINGNESSESS
ENCHANTMENT ABOUNDS
(and be the Caring Catalyst you are but rarely recognize)

THE THING ABOUT KINDNESS

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Simple Acts of Kindness can change the people we become. When we take the time to support other’s needs, we create habits of change and here’s the real clincher,
WE BECOME BETTER

Here’s a thing about kindness: It’s only a word!  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a really nice word but words don’t do much these days and they don’t get us too far down the road; they kind of leave us in an alleyway, don’t they? Dark.  Dingy.  Not always a comforting place to be at midnight with a few streetlights missing.

I mean come on, they’re just words, but when a word like KINDNESS becomes a verb that’s right, verb is just a word too. But when our KINDNESS puts on tennis shoes and workout clothes it all of the sudden becomes kindness is an action. though, When KINDNESS becomes something we do, it really defines who we are.  And then PRESTO:  We just don’t become different but everyone who’s shore our ripple hits and crashes down upon becomes different and a little bit better, too.

IF they become more than just words.          .          .

A GIFT OF TITANIC PROPORTIONS

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When the Titanic sank, it carried millionaire John Jacob Astor IV. The money in his bank account was enough to build 30 Titanics. However, faced with mortal danger, he chose what he deemed morally right and gave up his spot in a lifeboat to save two frightened children.

Millionaire Isidor Straus, co-owner of the largest American chain of department stores, “Macy’s,” who was also on the Titanic, said:

“I will never enter a lifeboat before other men.”

His wife, Ida Straus, also refused to board the lifeboat, giving her spot to her newly appointed maid, Ellen Bird. She decided to spend her last moments of life with her husband.

These wealthy individuals preferred to part with their wealth, and even their lives, rather than compromise their moral principles. Their choice in favor of moral values highlighted the brilliance of human civilization and human nature.


Just when I think I’ve
G        I        V        E        N
a five dollar bill to someone standing on a corner with an unreadable sign
a paid for Starbucks order to the car behind me
a meal for an elderly couple who held hands during their dinner
a well-intentioned compliment
I don’t think I know the real definition.            .            . YOU?

Maybe when you put a
D          O          L          L          A          R
amount of what you
G            I            V            E
you haven’t shared much at all.     .     .      ?

DEEP PEACE

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While in office one Christmas, President Reagan was asked what he wanted for Christmas and he stated without pause, “PEACE!”  The reporter followed up with the question, what would you like for Christmas that comes in a box and again, without pause, President Reagan said, “If you can wrap it up in a box, I’ll take it!”

AND YOU.         .          .

What would you like, not so much for Christmas, but NOW.       .       .wrapped in a box of unbundantly untethered?  WHAT DO YOU WANT?

“The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you can hope for. The most you can do is live inside that hope, running down its hallways, touching the walls on both sides”

Barbara Kingsolver
Photography B. Berenika
Psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst:
Whatever brings you
P  E  A  C  E
DO
I  T

And then
let the warm rays of your
DEEP
P E A C E
shine about to others
T               H                  I                 S.       .        .

 

 

The Hey, H E Y Moments

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h e y
is a lot different than
H          E          Y

unless we go around treating
L I F E
ho-humily-all-of-the-same.       .       .
‘hey, so what the lights are off.’

hey, HEY.    .    .sometimes life screams at us. HEY, stop! Look at me!  Pay attention! and no matter how much it shouts at us, no matter how much it flicks us behind the ear, thumps in the head, we don’t look, we pay it no mind and there’s the ultimate Ba-BAM across the head,  with the 2 x 4 right between the eyes: DEATH and even though we die millions of times we resurrect in even more and many ways that unfortunately, we never notice.          .          .          .

Yes, the lights were off in more than one way last Friday night early in the evening as high winds and rain swept through the Northeastern Ohio area knocking out power in a lot of places; one of them a funeral home where we were celebrating the life of a 24 year old young man who had been diagnosed with epilepsy just 10 months ago out of nowhere and now after a seizure, died.

Now, that’s a HEY kind of a moment that’ll grab you by the throat and make you breathe a little differently.

All of his friends and family were gathered together in a darkened funeral parlor, with the lights from their phones being the only light as one of several of his friends, his sister and his fiancé stood and recounted the memories that needed know background lights.

A family priest came and offered the sacred words that were meant to bring some comfort and some sense out of the dark senselessness that brought us together.  Holding his phone to bring some illumination where none seemed to be found he read,
“And for this reason we never become discouraged; even though are physical beings are gradually decaying our spiritual beings are renewed day after day; in fact, this small, temporary trouble we suffer will bring us an eternal glory much greater than any of the trouble, for we fix our attention not on the things that are seen but the things that are unseen; the things that are seen are transient; they last but for a time.  But the things that are unseen, these are the things that are eternal; they last forever.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

And then came the HEY that is different than all other HEY’S; the HEY MOMENT that we often miss; that we seldom never notice or pay much attention:

THE LIGHTS CAME ON

The priest ended with the ‘Our Father’ and led everyone through the “Hail Mary” before turning it back over to me for some final thoughts and a Benediction.

“H   E    Y !”  I shouted. . .”WHAT JUST HAPPENED HERE?”  I reminded this group that we just literally became a different group.  Sad, YES.  Hurt, YES.  Disillusioned, YES! but a different group.  Here, on one of the most brutal, DARKEST moments in their lives, they had come together to celebrate a special person who had suddenly, tragically been taken from each of them and in that inky Blackness, the lights literally came on.

I reminded this group of LOVERS what I’m reminding you and others before, one of our biggest flaws in life is that we don’t always recognize what we notice and for their family member and friend I wasn’t going to let that happen for this 24 year old young man.  Some were now laughing instead of crying stating the obvious, “He said we would never hear the last of him!”  hey.  .  .HEY!

Aren’t these the questions we ask at times like this: WHY?  HOW COME?  WHAT FOR?  And then right in the middle of all those questions we also have to ask, as the lights literally came on in this darkness, WHY?  HOW COME?  WHAT FOR?  How come why what for Do we have these THE LIGHTS COME ON kind of moments where we literally see resurrections are all around us and don’t notice them.

Psssssssssssssssssssssst:  There is no deaths that last forever.  No death that hasn’t been followed by a resurrection. Go ahead step outside. I dare you to look at the green grass. I dare you to look at the flowers that are blooming and all their colors. I dare you to listen to the birds that are filling the trees as they sprout their leaves.

Maybe the lights
ARE NEVER OFF
we just don’t have eyes
O     P      E       N       E       D
wide enough
to see
to notice
to recognize.          .            .
hey,
H          E         Y

Professional Speaker, Author, Assurance Man