I write with a heavy heart. I just received word that one of my dear priests has passed from this life to the next. Fr. Doyle was assigned to St. Theodore for, gosh, as long as i can remember. Certainly since my formative years as an adolescent going through the Life Teen program over in good ole Moss Bluff, Louisiana. He was elderly and had been ill for a little while, so it was no surprise that his time was at hand. But it still hurts, it's still painful, to say goodbye to someone who means so much to myself and so many others.
He suffered a stroke years before i knew him. Before he did, I've been told he could recite the order of the mass from memory, that he was incredibly brilliant, that he had rare credentials in studying Canon Law, that he wrestled anacondas and yetis in the amazon with a bowie knife. I may have made that last one up, but more impressive than the stories of this man's intellect was the love i witnessed from his heart. That's not to say i think that any time developing the intellect is wasted, by all means, intellect yourself! I'm saying that the writing and preaching of philosophical and theological ideas pales in comparison to experiencing that which God has entrusted us to be to one another. That's why talking to people face-to-face is better than a phone call, e-mail or text. Speaking of faces, please do yourself a favor and read Until We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. I'm pretty sure you won't regret it.
So yeah, i only knew part of the man part of his life, but i like to think i knew the better part of the man for the better part of his life. He had a quick, dry wit (drier than Hawkeye liked his martinis), a charitable smile, wile hair and a sort of a John Wayne walk, nearly always with a dog and/or a prayer book. He loved his animals, gosh did he love them. And a i can assure you, without a doubt, he loved me. No question. I've been blessed to have been given incredible examples of love in my life. So many people. It's not fair. And he was definitely one of them. He made sure and listen to anything i spoke, as difficult as it was for me to articulate my heart to him. He made sure a heart was heard and spoke simply and plainly, accordingly. I often went to him for confession. Each time he would stand up, give me a huge bear hug and tell me he loved me. He never let me forget it.
and as selfish as it may sound, the source of much of this pain comes in knowing that i'll never again (in this life) see someone who loved me. Because love is unique; each person gives and receives it differently. Part of it's beauty is in the specifically unique dynamic of the persons involved. But as Ecclesiastes reminds us, there's a time for all things.
In closing, i'll leave y'all with a few of his quirky, dog bone dry Doyle-isms:
"Humility is my proudest possession."
"Love me, love my dogs."
"I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of what's in it."
"Thanks...be........to..............................God."
"Sometimes i just can't see how a 6 foot man fits into a little piece of bread."
01 December 2012
12 November 2012
a moment from Coach Rob
In what seems like another life, i played football at McNeese State University (i wasn't exactly an all-american). I had the wonderful opportunity to play along side a number of truly talented guys while being coached by many good men. The wide receivers coach, Coach Henry, who kinda looks like a pharaoh/Terrell Owens hybrid, was always good for a few one-liners; most memorably, "Football is easy." Not to say that we were that much better than everyone else, but to say that with everything else in life, football was simple, a game...and playing the game is the easy part.
Who helped remind us that football was easy was our strength and conditioning coach, Coach Rob, a former Marine who walked with a slight limp, was infectiously energetic and possessed an unquenchable passion for human achievement. Most people, in a word, described him as intense. He loved sweat. He loved his players. He loved America. His workouts pissed me off, wore me out, left my legs involuntarily shaking and helped make me a better man. Coach Rob challenged us physically and mentally, and for that i'm incredibly grateful.
What this little story time with uncle Dayton was all about is that every Veteran's Day i think of one specific, resounding moment during one of our summer workouts with Coach Rob.
Usually workout groups were split into 4 people each. As per usual throughout the workout, if you weren't lifting you were either spotting or shooting the breeze with anyone who was willing to catch wind of it. Those were good times. It made workouts bearable. But i digress.
One day, in the midst of some fun political banter, one of my teammates had a slip of the tongue in criticizing the role of our military. I don't remember exactly what he said but it was something along the lines of our military being useless...and i can still feel the stinging silence between his words and the reply of Coach Rob. Do you remember as a child when you accidentally bumped that first vase/statue/anything-way-too-valuable-to-keep-out-when-kids-are-around off the table? That feeling right after it crashes on the floor? That it-just-hit-the-fan, this-just-got-real moment? That moment...
...and we waited for his response, because one doesn't simply upset Coach Rob.
and his response was quite poignant:
"Young man, I sure hope that when you lay your sweet little head on your sweet little pillow in your sweet little bed tonight that you remember why you can do it safely. And i hope you remember all those who can't do the same because they're out there putting their lives on the line to protect your ass for your freedom. And you to take them for granted. Because God knows these men and women sure as hell don't do it for themselves. They do it for you. And I hope you remember that."
i'm not sure if he did, but i certainly remember that. and it's stayed with me for all these years, reminding me of the gratitude we are to have for those who give themselves in service to you and me, Democrats, Republicans and every person in between in this lovely nation we call the United States of America...even if we're at eachother's throats most of the time.
(side note/thinking point) These servicemen and servicewomen lay their necks on the line for us to live as we do. our path to freedom has been paved in blood, battle and sacrifice. do we truly respect their sacrifice by the way we govern our freedom?
"Give us a clear vision on where to stand and for what to stand--because unless we stand for something, we shall surely fall for anything." - Peter Marshall
Who helped remind us that football was easy was our strength and conditioning coach, Coach Rob, a former Marine who walked with a slight limp, was infectiously energetic and possessed an unquenchable passion for human achievement. Most people, in a word, described him as intense. He loved sweat. He loved his players. He loved America. His workouts pissed me off, wore me out, left my legs involuntarily shaking and helped make me a better man. Coach Rob challenged us physically and mentally, and for that i'm incredibly grateful.
What this little story time with uncle Dayton was all about is that every Veteran's Day i think of one specific, resounding moment during one of our summer workouts with Coach Rob.
Usually workout groups were split into 4 people each. As per usual throughout the workout, if you weren't lifting you were either spotting or shooting the breeze with anyone who was willing to catch wind of it. Those were good times. It made workouts bearable. But i digress.
One day, in the midst of some fun political banter, one of my teammates had a slip of the tongue in criticizing the role of our military. I don't remember exactly what he said but it was something along the lines of our military being useless...and i can still feel the stinging silence between his words and the reply of Coach Rob. Do you remember as a child when you accidentally bumped that first vase/statue/anything-way-too-valuable-to-keep-out-when-kids-are-around off the table? That feeling right after it crashes on the floor? That it-just-hit-the-fan, this-just-got-real moment? That moment...
...and we waited for his response, because one doesn't simply upset Coach Rob.
and his response was quite poignant:
"Young man, I sure hope that when you lay your sweet little head on your sweet little pillow in your sweet little bed tonight that you remember why you can do it safely. And i hope you remember all those who can't do the same because they're out there putting their lives on the line to protect your ass for your freedom. And you to take them for granted. Because God knows these men and women sure as hell don't do it for themselves. They do it for you. And I hope you remember that."
i'm not sure if he did, but i certainly remember that. and it's stayed with me for all these years, reminding me of the gratitude we are to have for those who give themselves in service to you and me, Democrats, Republicans and every person in between in this lovely nation we call the United States of America...even if we're at eachother's throats most of the time.
(side note/thinking point) These servicemen and servicewomen lay their necks on the line for us to live as we do. our path to freedom has been paved in blood, battle and sacrifice. do we truly respect their sacrifice by the way we govern our freedom?
"Give us a clear vision on where to stand and for what to stand--because unless we stand for something, we shall surely fall for anything." - Peter Marshall
21 September 2012
A Letter to Mr. Grumbles
Dear Sir,
I apologize for our wake up call system. I checked, double checked and confirmed that all the wake-up calls were correctly scheduled in our house phone system. I am sorry that i did not follow up immediately as i waited 5 minutes from your original scheduled time. Thank you for bringing our faults to attention as we aim to provide you with a quality guest service experience. We are working as best we can to rectify this issue.
On a side note, I do understand that your day began poorly. I urge you to please remember that i am as human as you are and i do not appreciate the condescending language your tongue provided at the expense of decency. The accusations you placed on me are completely false. Please do not make assumptions based upon less than factual circumstance. Also, if you absolutely must direct vulgar language at me, please be man enough to do so in front of me, not as you exit the door. Do not walk away from me while you accuse me of not caring, or as you so-less-than-eloquently put it "feeding (you) shit" (though breakfast is included with your stay). That is cowardly. I do care about you; as a guest and as a person. I am sorry that my efforts failed you.
I again apologize for our fault and i forgive you for the way you treated me. That you would treat a complete stranger with such animosity concerns me. Please know that i am praying for you and yours. I am sorry i was not able to share these words with you in person. I do hope we meet again in less-than-hostile circumstances.
Sincerely,
Dayton Landry
"People are often unreasonable, irrational and self-centered; Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies; Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you; Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight; Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous; Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, will often be forgotten; Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it may never be enough; Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God; It was never between you and them anyway."
- Mother Theresa
- (also an original version was credited to Kent M. Keith)
11 September 2012
boring ole lines
I went to a pancake dinner at the Lognion house this weekend. The rest of this entry is all downhill. Really. What could compete with a pancake dinner? Nothing. Especially with all the lovely ladies in their classy dresses, UL-L whipping up on Troy on the TV and the boisterous Mr. Gene filling the air with his jovial eruptions. I'm serious. I haven't slept in a while. It's all downhill from here...but if you insist:
My brother (head coach) and his John (ass. coach) (fine, assistant coach) happened to be in town for a soccer tournament Saturday evening so i brought them along with me (after clearing it with the hosts, of course. it's the cordial thing to do. remember, kids, always be cordial). Their presence at the dinner gathering had a specific purpose: to supply me with blog ammunition. j/k, j/k...but i have been running low. combine that with my lack of functional laptop and a general lack of thought and we find a reason why i've been posting scantily (lucky you)...but i digress.
At one point in the dinner conversation, ole Johnny boy made an effort to keep the conversation rolling with a wandering comment; something to the tune of "isn't it interesting how the little road markings keep so much order?" and you know what he did? he kicked him...no...nobody was kicked...but he did indeed bring up an interesting point.
Ah! they are little yellow and white lines. that's it. so simple, so plain. so cute...usually. But he's right. These aren't complicated markings. they're simple. Almost too simple...a point to which Mr. Colin Sallinger spoke, saying (again, something to the tune of) "It's funny, because those lines become reasons for so many accidents. People get lulled into boredom and veer outside so often." (nearly echoing (idea-wise) a line from a homily i heard just the week before: (again again, something to the tune of) "When people get bored in their faith, they seek other means to satisfy themselves.")
(yes, i do realize i'm getting parenthesis-happy. no, i do not apologize (and neither does the church for her rules)).
(see what's going on here?)
so we see that the lines aren't the problem...we are. the lines we so often get bored with won't change to fit what we want them to be. they won't get crazy and start jumping back and forth (because, let's be honest, that would only increase the cries, "injustice! this is unfair!"). they. just. won't. now, what they do do is adjust themselves to give us the option to do something reasonably safe, like pass, or switch lanes. you know, in case someone is impeding us from our destination. these rules (whoops, lines) help us reach our destination safely (aaaahhhh...see where we're going? you do, don't you?).
to jack an essay from G.K. Chesterton on what's wrong with the world, he simply (and humbly) says, "I am." but today, the past 5-10 years especially, we're seeing a radical RADICAL change in that mindset. and when we aren't wrong, we hear that voice: "the rules are wrong! overthrow the bigots who won't let us do whatever the hell we please!" ...and you hear the name of God...booed? (G.K., what do you think of that?) yeah, thought so.
and here we arrived. i much rather not spell it out, but people get in trouble when we get bored with the lines that are drawn for our safety, our well-being. and if we aren't humble enough to assume fault, we're on the wrong highway (i think there's a song about that). and we end up with something like a mexican traffic fiesta. (more like siesta!).
so don't be muttleys and follow the lines. they're there to protect you.
Peace,
Daytona
My brother (head coach) and his John (ass. coach) (fine, assistant coach) happened to be in town for a soccer tournament Saturday evening so i brought them along with me (after clearing it with the hosts, of course. it's the cordial thing to do. remember, kids, always be cordial). Their presence at the dinner gathering had a specific purpose: to supply me with blog ammunition. j/k, j/k...but i have been running low. combine that with my lack of functional laptop and a general lack of thought and we find a reason why i've been posting scantily (lucky you)...but i digress.
At one point in the dinner conversation, ole Johnny boy made an effort to keep the conversation rolling with a wandering comment; something to the tune of "isn't it interesting how the little road markings keep so much order?" and you know what he did? he kicked him...no...nobody was kicked...but he did indeed bring up an interesting point.
Ah! they are little yellow and white lines. that's it. so simple, so plain. so cute...usually. But he's right. These aren't complicated markings. they're simple. Almost too simple...a point to which Mr. Colin Sallinger spoke, saying (again, something to the tune of) "It's funny, because those lines become reasons for so many accidents. People get lulled into boredom and veer outside so often." (nearly echoing (idea-wise) a line from a homily i heard just the week before: (again again, something to the tune of) "When people get bored in their faith, they seek other means to satisfy themselves.")
(yes, i do realize i'm getting parenthesis-happy. no, i do not apologize (and neither does the church for her rules)).
(see what's going on here?)
so we see that the lines aren't the problem...we are. the lines we so often get bored with won't change to fit what we want them to be. they won't get crazy and start jumping back and forth (because, let's be honest, that would only increase the cries, "injustice! this is unfair!"). they. just. won't. now, what they do do is adjust themselves to give us the option to do something reasonably safe, like pass, or switch lanes. you know, in case someone is impeding us from our destination. these rules (whoops, lines) help us reach our destination safely (aaaahhhh...see where we're going? you do, don't you?).
to jack an essay from G.K. Chesterton on what's wrong with the world, he simply (and humbly) says, "I am." but today, the past 5-10 years especially, we're seeing a radical RADICAL change in that mindset. and when we aren't wrong, we hear that voice: "the rules are wrong! overthrow the bigots who won't let us do whatever the hell we please!" ...and you hear the name of God...booed? (G.K., what do you think of that?) yeah, thought so.
and here we arrived. i much rather not spell it out, but people get in trouble when we get bored with the lines that are drawn for our safety, our well-being. and if we aren't humble enough to assume fault, we're on the wrong highway (i think there's a song about that). and we end up with something like a mexican traffic fiesta. (more like siesta!).
so don't be muttleys and follow the lines. they're there to protect you.
Peace,
Daytona
23 August 2012
want
The other day i had a little journaling session about how i'd been feeling recently. One of the issues was about 'want'. From time to time i happen to want. I try not to, but it happens, and i notice that it happens with other people, too. (btw, all these "we" pretty much mean "i"...i suppose Gollum and i have something in common...stewpid fat hobbitses)
so here you go...a little something that can hopefully add a lil bit o perspective:
The human heart is a funny and fickle thing. We want. We search. We clamp and clasp and grasp for all these things we have no need for. The great sadness is that in all we want we forget (or forego) the abundances of what we have already been given. And it's not that we see it. We look with blind ambition.
I think back to the days of old; when i was but a tyke (ahh the good ole days...when Dane and David gave me a 9 point lead in a game of basketball and still beat me 10-9. that's what older brothers are for, eh)...
...but i digress...we're talking about the concept of not taking time to appreciate things that we've been given...
I remember (in those good ole days) that every time we left something out in the yard or around the house (toy on the ground, or worse, a baseball glove or bat outside!) or every time we complained of boredom, our dear mother (in the most charitable way possible) threatened us with an all-to-familiar ultimatum: "Boys! If you don't want/take care of your things i swear i'm going to give them to someone who will!" Of course, the object in question immediately became the object of our affection (if only out of fear of mom wrath...never, NEVER induce mom wrath *shudder*). And, yeah, ya know, we had good times with those toys. They were enough for us. They were more than enough for us. But really, it's a shame we let it get to mom-wrath state. We had everything we needed. Still, we needed to be woken up to that realization of "hey! whoa. This stuff is pretty great...and...it's right here; waiting for us to give it a lil' bit of TLC."
so there lies the challenge that plagues so many of us: to recognize all that has been (and continues to be) offered to us with at spirit of gratitude; to see it for what it is; and to give thanks by making the most of it.
How generous His blessings. How silent our gratitude. Heal us from a callous heart.
- DJL
so if you have 4 minutes to spare, give this little diddy a listening to. Good ole Nichole Nordeman.
peace,
Daytona
so here you go...a little something that can hopefully add a lil bit o perspective:
The human heart is a funny and fickle thing. We want. We search. We clamp and clasp and grasp for all these things we have no need for. The great sadness is that in all we want we forget (or forego) the abundances of what we have already been given. And it's not that we see it. We look with blind ambition.
I think back to the days of old; when i was but a tyke (ahh the good ole days...when Dane and David gave me a 9 point lead in a game of basketball and still beat me 10-9. that's what older brothers are for, eh)...
...but i digress...we're talking about the concept of not taking time to appreciate things that we've been given...
I remember (in those good ole days) that every time we left something out in the yard or around the house (toy on the ground, or worse, a baseball glove or bat outside!) or every time we complained of boredom, our dear mother (in the most charitable way possible) threatened us with an all-to-familiar ultimatum: "Boys! If you don't want/take care of your things i swear i'm going to give them to someone who will!" Of course, the object in question immediately became the object of our affection (if only out of fear of mom wrath...never, NEVER induce mom wrath *shudder*). And, yeah, ya know, we had good times with those toys. They were enough for us. They were more than enough for us. But really, it's a shame we let it get to mom-wrath state. We had everything we needed. Still, we needed to be woken up to that realization of "hey! whoa. This stuff is pretty great...and...it's right here; waiting for us to give it a lil' bit of TLC."
so there lies the challenge that plagues so many of us: to recognize all that has been (and continues to be) offered to us with at spirit of gratitude; to see it for what it is; and to give thanks by making the most of it.
How generous His blessings. How silent our gratitude. Heal us from a callous heart.
- DJL
so if you have 4 minutes to spare, give this little diddy a listening to. Good ole Nichole Nordeman.
peace,
Daytona
22 June 2012
It's A Party
Last night i watched Game 5 of the NBA Finals. If you've been detached from the media over the last 24 hours, the Miami Heat won the game handily, clinched the series and was crowned Champion of the NBA. So that's where i begin.
I like watching celebrations. Don't get me wrong, i like being a part of celebrations, too. Some call me a social butterfly...some just call me awesome, but there's a certain and particular joy i find in watching an individual or a team accomplish a goal. And so i watched as the Heat celebrated. And then Jeff Van Gundy said (something to the tune of), "These players get all this money, sign all these big deals but right now none of that matters! This moment is pure, unabashed joy!" And you know, i don't normally care for his commentary...but he had a good point right there.
Confetti shot out from cannons. Ticker tape fell from on high. Streamers and ribbons fluttered, fell and draped the champions as a robe covers a king. A chorus of 19,600 fans rejoiced as they lifted their voices to congratulate their boys, saying "you did it! well done!"
...then repeated in my head one of my favorite bible verses: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." - 2 Timothy 4:7
no, it's not a perfect analogy. and yes, it's just an analogy. it's basketball. it's not everything...but from the moment, this scene took on a new significance. This is how i imagine getting into heaven. We fight. We sacrifice. We trial. We trip. We rise. We persevere. And all along the way those saints, those holy men and women, wait on baited breath to see how we finish the race...if we keep the faith. They wait ever so patiently and they pray. They bring us up when we we need them. They are waiting, waiting to rejoice. And when it finally happens...it's a party.
the pinnacle of this life isn't accomplished until the next.
Peace,
Daytona
I like watching celebrations. Don't get me wrong, i like being a part of celebrations, too. Some call me a social butterfly...some just call me awesome, but there's a certain and particular joy i find in watching an individual or a team accomplish a goal. And so i watched as the Heat celebrated. And then Jeff Van Gundy said (something to the tune of), "These players get all this money, sign all these big deals but right now none of that matters! This moment is pure, unabashed joy!" And you know, i don't normally care for his commentary...but he had a good point right there.
Confetti shot out from cannons. Ticker tape fell from on high. Streamers and ribbons fluttered, fell and draped the champions as a robe covers a king. A chorus of 19,600 fans rejoiced as they lifted their voices to congratulate their boys, saying "you did it! well done!"
...then repeated in my head one of my favorite bible verses: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." - 2 Timothy 4:7
no, it's not a perfect analogy. and yes, it's just an analogy. it's basketball. it's not everything...but from the moment, this scene took on a new significance. This is how i imagine getting into heaven. We fight. We sacrifice. We trial. We trip. We rise. We persevere. And all along the way those saints, those holy men and women, wait on baited breath to see how we finish the race...if we keep the faith. They wait ever so patiently and they pray. They bring us up when we we need them. They are waiting, waiting to rejoice. And when it finally happens...it's a party.
the pinnacle of this life isn't accomplished until the next.
Peace,
Daytona
16 May 2012
Reading
Editor's note: the opening paragraph has little to do with the rest of the post.
There are many different types of reading. I don't read many books. I'm just not very good at it. I tend to gravitate toward interpersonal interactions. That's how i was made. Get me to orate Shakespeare and i'll do more shaking than spearing (just ask anyone in Mrs. Dav's SPARK classes in high school...not a pretty picture). I scored a 12 on the Reading Comprehension component on my ACT, which would translate to something like a 550 on the SAT. (pause for lols). I mean, seriously, how could i enjoy something so much but be so terrible at it? That's for me to deal with, sorry. Good thing that the dignityof a human being inherent and not relative to his performance in an academic evaluation.
But like i've always said (mostly to help myself cope at not being good at books) reading consists of more than words on a page.
Y'all know Alison Zeik, right? Well, if you don't, she's an outstanding young lady with an inquisitive mind who, on occasion, asks thoughtful questions and has a knack for saying the poignant. The other day we were at a social gathering and talking about the future (the future, Conan? ...in the yeeaaaarrrr two thousaanndd...in the yeeearr two thou-saaaaaand) and how it (the future, not the year 2000) is yet to be determined. So i says, "it's like what Natasha says, 'today is where your book begins. the rest is still unwritten.'"
(quick confession: i occasionally listen to girly pop music. In this case, specifically to "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield. I like to think it's my way of valiantly supporting the other sex...i like to think that because it's more embarassing than saying that i like it...some songs are so flippin' catchy!)
Anyway, i said what i said, and Ali playfully replied, "maybe it is written but we're just not reading it." >*explosion*<
hey, now. there's an idea.
Yeah. Come to think of it, you're absolutely right, Ms. Zeik. Maybe what we're supposed to do is already written. Maybe there's an author out there that has composed for us a beautiful story and we're just not reading it. And not only are so many of us not reading it, but we refuse to open the book! Maybe we don't have time to read. Maybe we're too busy reading another book. Maybe we're afraid we won't like it. Maybe we write it off because we don't read well. Maybe we're jealous of someone else's book. Maybe we dismiss it because we think reading is a crutch for people who don't have original thought. Maybe we give up altogether. Maybe...we're just wrong and we make excuses because reading is tough and we don't want to deal with the struggle.
In case you didn't get the metaphor:
- by "reading" i mean praying
- by "what is written" i mean God's will in our lives
.
.
.
(break in the metaphor) I read a lot when i was a child. My parents taught me how. They helped me sound out big words. They were patient with me, helped me understand the plot and answered all my questions even if the answers weren't what i wanted to hear (goodness were there questions. my family affectionately called me the "what if..." kid).
(reinstatement of the metaphor) If you're having trouble reading, read your favorite children's stories. Read your little heart full. Read with someone who knows how to read. Read every day.
Read what is written.
Peace,
Daytona
There are many different types of reading. I don't read many books. I'm just not very good at it. I tend to gravitate toward interpersonal interactions. That's how i was made. Get me to orate Shakespeare and i'll do more shaking than spearing (just ask anyone in Mrs. Dav's SPARK classes in high school...not a pretty picture). I scored a 12 on the Reading Comprehension component on my ACT, which would translate to something like a 550 on the SAT. (pause for lols). I mean, seriously, how could i enjoy something so much but be so terrible at it? That's for me to deal with, sorry. Good thing that the dignityof a human being inherent and not relative to his performance in an academic evaluation.
But like i've always said (mostly to help myself cope at not being good at books) reading consists of more than words on a page.
Y'all know Alison Zeik, right? Well, if you don't, she's an outstanding young lady with an inquisitive mind who, on occasion, asks thoughtful questions and has a knack for saying the poignant. The other day we were at a social gathering and talking about the future (the future, Conan? ...in the yeeaaaarrrr two thousaanndd...in the yeeearr two thou-saaaaaand) and how it (the future, not the year 2000) is yet to be determined. So i says, "it's like what Natasha says, 'today is where your book begins. the rest is still unwritten.'"
(quick confession: i occasionally listen to girly pop music. In this case, specifically to "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield. I like to think it's my way of valiantly supporting the other sex...i like to think that because it's more embarassing than saying that i like it...some songs are so flippin' catchy!)
Anyway, i said what i said, and Ali playfully replied, "maybe it is written but we're just not reading it." >*explosion*<
hey, now. there's an idea.
Yeah. Come to think of it, you're absolutely right, Ms. Zeik. Maybe what we're supposed to do is already written. Maybe there's an author out there that has composed for us a beautiful story and we're just not reading it. And not only are so many of us not reading it, but we refuse to open the book! Maybe we don't have time to read. Maybe we're too busy reading another book. Maybe we're afraid we won't like it. Maybe we write it off because we don't read well. Maybe we're jealous of someone else's book. Maybe we dismiss it because we think reading is a crutch for people who don't have original thought. Maybe we give up altogether. Maybe...we're just wrong and we make excuses because reading is tough and we don't want to deal with the struggle.
In case you didn't get the metaphor:
- by "reading" i mean praying
- by "what is written" i mean God's will in our lives
.
.
.
(break in the metaphor) I read a lot when i was a child. My parents taught me how. They helped me sound out big words. They were patient with me, helped me understand the plot and answered all my questions even if the answers weren't what i wanted to hear (goodness were there questions. my family affectionately called me the "what if..." kid).
(reinstatement of the metaphor) If you're having trouble reading, read your favorite children's stories. Read your little heart full. Read with someone who knows how to read. Read every day.
Read what is written.
Peace,
Daytona
01 May 2012
Check Yoself
hello boys and girls (and all...you...others? out there)
straying a bit from the immediate theme of the bloggity blog blog, i have a story to tell.
a curious thing happened at l'hotel this past weekend. maybe i was bothered, sour and surly at the fact that i inconveniently had to work Friday, Saturday and Sunday afternoon (thus missing a grand portion of Festival), or maybe the cause was my insistence on promoting personal responsibility. Either way. here's a story for y'ens.
i have pet peeves. and i've been known to be a jerk sometimes. to be fair, yeah. i can be a jerk, but usually it is because i'm calling someone out. some of y'all might call it 'being real'. i call it...taking preventative measures.
(sidebar: uh oh. i found out how to embed photos...this is bad news bears.)
back up
story time:
i'm behind the desk at work, doing what i do, when a visibly agitated lady storms up to the desk.
Lady: excuse me. there are about seven 6-year-olds in your pool and their parents are just sitting outside while the kids are just going nuts! They are jumping in the pool! They're splashing water all over the ground! It is ridiculous!
Me: yes ma'am. i can see how this can be upsetting. have you spoken with the parents outside?
Lady in a crescendo-ed anger: Like hell, i will! It isn't my job to tell these people that!
Me calmly: Well, ma'am...it seems that you're having an issue with the parents and their children, not with me. I'll gladly speak with them, but for future reference i encourage you to speak with the source of the problem rather than avoiding it.
...to which she storms away.
i'm pretty sure i'll be getting written up for that. que sera sera. but honestly, i've been at the hotel for nearly 2 years now and most issues i tend to diffuse are the result of a passive-type "it's my problem but i don't want to look it in the face and want someone else to fix it" attitude.
i'm sorry. i'm not okay with that.
(getting all psychy here). we'll call her Sally
Sally's attitude encourages what we in the biz (i'm not technically in the biz) call learned helplessness. it reduces Sally's need for (and ability to activate) critical thinking skills. with no problem solving exercise, Sally's brain goes into panic mode at the first sign of disorder. when she's alone and conditioned to let someone else take care of her problems, Sally's brain sends signals to her heart, shuts down the already under-utilized reasoning functions and increases stress levels, potentially leading to bouts of hypertension.
Not only that, but Sally becomes a dangerously susceptible candidate for dependency, seeking everything she lacks in others. Relinquishing her understanding of personal responsibility (owning this shit), her agitation and aggression to others could possibly increase based on their inability to fill her dependence.
it kinda reminds me of one of those directv commercials.
Just a thought.
Every effect has a cause...
Peace,
Daytona
straying a bit from the immediate theme of the bloggity blog blog, i have a story to tell.
a curious thing happened at l'hotel this past weekend. maybe i was bothered, sour and surly at the fact that i inconveniently had to work Friday, Saturday and Sunday afternoon (thus missing a grand portion of Festival), or maybe the cause was my insistence on promoting personal responsibility. Either way. here's a story for y'ens.
i have pet peeves. and i've been known to be a jerk sometimes. to be fair, yeah. i can be a jerk, but usually it is because i'm calling someone out. some of y'all might call it 'being real'. i call it...taking preventative measures.
(sidebar: uh oh. i found out how to embed photos...this is bad news bears.)
back up
story time:
i'm behind the desk at work, doing what i do, when a visibly agitated lady storms up to the desk.
Lady: excuse me. there are about seven 6-year-olds in your pool and their parents are just sitting outside while the kids are just going nuts! They are jumping in the pool! They're splashing water all over the ground! It is ridiculous!
Me: yes ma'am. i can see how this can be upsetting. have you spoken with the parents outside?
Lady in a crescendo-ed anger: Like hell, i will! It isn't my job to tell these people that!
Me calmly: Well, ma'am...it seems that you're having an issue with the parents and their children, not with me. I'll gladly speak with them, but for future reference i encourage you to speak with the source of the problem rather than avoiding it.
...to which she storms away.
i'm pretty sure i'll be getting written up for that. que sera sera. but honestly, i've been at the hotel for nearly 2 years now and most issues i tend to diffuse are the result of a passive-type "it's my problem but i don't want to look it in the face and want someone else to fix it" attitude.
i'm sorry. i'm not okay with that.
(getting all psychy here). we'll call her Sally
Sally's attitude encourages what we in the biz (i'm not technically in the biz) call learned helplessness. it reduces Sally's need for (and ability to activate) critical thinking skills. with no problem solving exercise, Sally's brain goes into panic mode at the first sign of disorder. when she's alone and conditioned to let someone else take care of her problems, Sally's brain sends signals to her heart, shuts down the already under-utilized reasoning functions and increases stress levels, potentially leading to bouts of hypertension.
Not only that, but Sally becomes a dangerously susceptible candidate for dependency, seeking everything she lacks in others. Relinquishing her understanding of personal responsibility (owning this shit), her agitation and aggression to others could possibly increase based on their inability to fill her dependence.
it kinda reminds me of one of those directv commercials.
Just a thought.
Every effect has a cause...
Peace,
Daytona
15 April 2012
I still think of him, too
Today was a particularly beautiful day. I'm sorry if we didn't share the same sentiments. Now, if you'll excuse me, i have a blog to compose. Allow me to be me.
My grandmother likes to talk. A lot. So spending four hours in a car with her can be trying. She doesn't appreciate silence like i do. Her talking is understandable, though. She lives by herself and we don't see each other that often. Still, as much as i love her (and i do, dearly), there's only so much i can hear about (so-and-so's uncle's nephew who worked on the farm until he went to work at the mill...). Honestly, it can be a bit drab. But kids, here is an example of when patience pays off.
btw, we rode together in order to witness the baptism of my baby nephew, the now newly sanctified Duane Anthony Watson. And those of you who know me, i love baptisms for multiple reasons: 1. i love the Sacraments, 2. I love babies, 3. Baptism reminds the parents and godparents of their responsibilities as educators (and examples) of the faith, 4. Satan gets pwned again, 5. I love the smell of chrism, so, so much (sensory win).
Right, so
After we enjoyed a wonderful lunch, nap and cake, it was time to travel back home with bright-eyes and bushy beard.
So i turn my ears to auto-pilot for about 50 minutes until she mentions my grandfather. It's not often she talks about papa Pervis. He passed away about 17 years ago and i don't remember much of him. I just remember that he was loving, joyous, liked basketball and didn't like blue jays (they messed up his garden).
I have been around a few funerals too many over the past 8 months and so i have become fairly well versed in funeral etiquette. Mostly it's filled with accepting condolences, thanking people for paying their respects and other hum-drum distractions and hollow noises. But every now and then, someone shares a story with you on how how much the departed meant to them...and it blows you away..
and my grandmother told me a story from her husband's funeral that a young mane told her nearly 2 decades ago:
in her paraphrased words:
A week before Pervis passed away he was wrapping up some work one evening and happened upon sharing a cup of coffee with one of his younger friends (and by younger, i mean about 40). They shared some conversation about life and all that jazz and then he told me Pervis said, "you know, (guy), i'm not sure what you believe on this stuff, but i think God wants us to suffer. I don't think people really understand that now-a-days. You know, life isn't all about getting what you want all the time. I don't think that's how we're supposed to be. I think to make this life worth something we have to suffer." The young man said he never thought of it that way but Pervis made him think about it. He told me that he'd never forget what Pervis told him...a week before his death...
...and neither did my grandma. To remember something for so long says that it won't soon be forgotten. She still has coffee with the not-so-young man every now and again.
She also told me how my grandfather was lonesome for us when we lived away, how he loved us so much always and how he would always share pictures with everyone and tell his younger co-workers how great it was to be a grandpa...our grandpa.
She told me that she still thinks of papa Pervis every so often.
I do, too, grandma. I do, too.
Peace,
Daytona
29 March 2012
All Clear
In late October, the year 2010, i drove home from one of my little brother's high school football games when a rock hippity hopped off the ground and pelted my windshield. to be fair, the velocity of the car caused most of the damage. what i failed to realize until October 2011 is that my vehicle couldn't pass inspection with a crack halfway across the windshield. durmp.
I replaced my windshield last week.
that's right, folks. if you've been counting, that's 5 months i been ridin' dirty. In that time i had to replace a headlight, tail light, windshield wipers and of course, that furshlugginer windshield. multiple reminders that i be ridin' dirty.
from the month of November jusque'a last week, i've been very conscientious of the po-po...leery would be a better word. i've often leered. i didn't want to get caught. i knew i was doing wrong and didn't do anything to fix it. even when my right tail light went out i altered my route to make as many left turns as possible. what's that say, my friends? GUILTY!
all these things are true, by the way. but all is good now, so double jeopardy, right?
so last week the fine people at AOK windshield fixed up my windshield (and it is looking dapper, thank you) and i say to myself, "alright. now we're on the right track."
of course, i still needed to do the deed (state inspections, people), so i was still illegal. can you guess what happened next??
a) stopped by the po-pos and got a ticket?
b) got hit by another rock while pulling out of the driveway?
d) made it to the inspection station and am legal now?
cliff hanger!!
though i considered all those possibilities multiple times, the correct answer is d (of course it's D. have you met my family?).
what happened when i got my car inspected; when i finally faced my months of malfeasance; when i abided (abode? aboded? about?) by the law?
it's funny i should ask. a curious thing happened when i righted what i once wronged. the cloud was lifted. i was set free. there was no fear. i wasn't altering my route. i was driving how i was operating a vehicle how it was intended to be operated.
then i reflected...
...then i went to Confession.
such is the beauty of the sacramental vision.
Peace,
Daytona
06 February 2012
No Big Deal
so, having a minimally functional computer has relegated my blog-ourtunities to picking the lock of my roommate's locked door at 2:00 a.m. and sneakily (and creepily) hunch in the corner while i reconnect with that alluring typing sound that fulfills my ambitions. yes...type, Dayton, type.
(i'll keep you updated on each song that plays on Tyrone's 'Sleep' Playlist on iTunes. so far i've heard "The Dance" by Garth Brooks and "U Got it Bad" by Usher. i love this guy.)
as previously promised by the author of an archaic entry (yes, me), little needs to be discussed...and staying true to the overall mantra of this bloggity blog blog, we shall address a topic through a story.
first, the reference:
the fall semester, for me, began with the death of my grandmother; a beautiful woman who gave all her life and love to her family. she lived in a small life, but with great influence and impact on the lives she touched. (more on that in my next entry)
i now realize that the pronoun 'that' is a bit ambiguous. 'that' is referring to the smallness of actions; the "Little Way" if you will.
("Mr. Jones" Counting Crows, top 25 for me, btw)
a couple months ago i hit the links with Dane and Dono (that means golf). now, we aren't the best golfers in the world, but i challenge those who enjoy their rounds as much as we do. i mean, three lefties in a group naturally lends itself to awesomeness. natural law...ish. so long story short we're on the par 5 tenth hole and i hit a drive well enough to put me in position to be aggressive and put the second shot on the front lawn (that means green). *pause to pat myself on the back, uh thank you*. in preparation for my shot, i grabbed my 5-iron (which i rarely hit well) and surveyed the land in order to see any hazards i needed to negotiate.
("My Immortal" Evanescence)
so i stand over the ball, take a practice swing, take another look at my target and...
see folks, this is what i find so interesting about the human mind: that in any moment, under any circumstance, inspiration happens. well, i call it inspiration, my doctor in middle school called it ADD. but at that moment, between my practice and actual swing, this thought monologued through my mind:
little things. get the little things right. St. Therese was onto something. something much grander and deeper than i, no doubt, but hey, we all gotta start somewhere.
("Something in the Way She Moves" James Taylor <- awesome)
if we get the little things right, the "big" things take care of themselves. Like what blessed Theresa of Calcutta said: "We can do no great things; only small things with great love." so get the little things right. gosh, i've had awesome role models from my youth. My parents, grandparents, priests, teachers and friends...what'd they all have in common? they pay attention to detail. little things matter to them. we need more people who care about little things.
("Where We Gonna Go from Here" Matt Kearney)
...so i hit my shot on the green, then snickered to myself as i three-putted.
and here we are. we cut corners, glaze over footnotes, brush away the little things. go ahead. pay attention. it's around more than we realize. we snitch a brownie bit when nobody is looking. we push in the margins a half-inch to lengthen our research papers. we skip class because we can just get the notes online. we take a $.10 mint because "it's only ten cents". we speed. it's no big deal. everyone does it and nobody is really paying attention anyway.
except that we are. everyone is watching you. muuaahahahahaha...j/k...but really, these things DO matter. maybe not much monetarily, but in principle. in themselves, these menial motions reveal our innermost character. they ARE the big things that tell others who we are. were we called to greatness, to honor, to glory, to Christ (who, in fulfilling the Law, had to be preeetttyy poignant). so go ahead: choose wisely.
("Fifteen" Taylor Swift <--aww, tyyyrrooonneee)
...really, Tyrone? Fifteen by Taylor Swift? Really? :-p
and that's where i leave you for now.
until next time:
Peace,
Daytona
P.S.: while labeling tags for this post, the last song playing was "A Song For Mama" - Boyz II Men. gets me every time. yeah...i love my mom...wanna fight about it?
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