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

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?

c) commençais a parler en français sans but?

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

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?

Christmas

Happy Feast of the Incarnation, y'all.

see previous post

the same holds true today.

Life, Death and a BBQ Sandwich

aaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnndddddddd nous sommes back!

goodness, where to begin? i've nearly forgotten how to write for fun. paraphrasing Ms. Annie Connolly "the world needs you to write, Dayton". You're right, Annie. You're right...but not handed. left-handed is all right with me. (see what i did there?).

I've been so wrapped up in the world of academia that i've long abandoned my speck of dust in the vast universe of cyberspace. In summation of the past 8 months or so, allow me to share with you an excerpt of a conversation i shared with Mr. Daniel Bollich (forgive me if it's not verbatim):

Me: "that's your term paper?"
DB: "yeah. it's on the psychology of fans and sports."
Me: "hey that sounds like a fun topic."
DB: "10 pages can take the fun out of anything."

onto the discussion of our title...but first, a little reference. let me, how you say, mis-un-scene:

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)

a month or so later, a dear friend of mine, the beautiful Emily Richard, tragically lost her mother; deeply affecting her and her community of friends. now, i didn't know Emily's mom, but to have raised a daughter like Emily, she must have been a beautiful woman.

the following week we (my family and i) discovered that the cancer in my aunt's body had returned aggressively. she died a week later.

and not two weeks later, the mother of my soon-to-be roommate passed away after her bouts with sick.

death is real. and it is not fun. (fun fact: the leading cause of death is life.)

between losses i spent the majority of my time working a l'hotel and reading and evaluating french novels. i didn't go home much. the most i saw of my family was at funerals or wakes.

finding myself in the midst of this whirlwind of death, i naturally began to evaluate life and how i wanted to live it.

what's this all have to do with a BBQ Sandwich?

i like the night. i find that it contains a certain and appealing tranquility. i do most of my driving at night for that reason...and i don't like traffic. the drawback of driving at night is that most restaurants are closed by the time i get hungry. such was the case when i went to visit the folks late one night (stay with me. we're getting closer to the BBQ sandwich).

on that particular night my car needed gasoline. on that particular night i was quite hungry. on that particular night i stopped at the 5-Star Quick Stop in Moss Bluff, LA. on that particular night i ordered a (ready for it?) BBQ pork sandwich from their 24-hour grill.

(why are you still reading this?)

i unwrapped the sandwich (i took it to go) in my parked car in the driveway of my parent's house (i wasn't ready to go inside and it was 2 a.m.). like i said, i like the night. i appreciate it's tranquility. contemplation is rooted in tranquility. and in that tranquility i consumed my BBQ sandwich (have you realized that i really like the word 'tranquility'?). about halfway through, i noticed that the next bite was about to be the best bite of the sandwich. great bun/pork ratio, appropriate juiciness; just great. and so i took the bite. and it was delicious. then i looked at the rest of the sandwich and asked, "now what? now what can you offer me? the best part of you is done. finished." In my arrogance i sat; just finishing it off.

and with that i was snapped back into thinking about life, it's quality and how it's to be lived. you know, because i have all the answers.

i don't.

but i'm here in my mid-20s, looking at everyone around me. watching people take bites out of life.

some knit-pick at the edges, thinking what little they have is safely sufficient and never experience a great bite. some ambitiously or aimlessly bite off more than they chew, just rushing through the sandwich to finish it. some try to meticulously plan exactly when and where they're going to take that perfect bite (sometimes it works, sometimes it all falls out right when they're ready to take it). some are off-put by the texture and don't bother with it at all. some have it taken away before they can fully experience it. and some take it for what it is, and realize that while not every bite is going to be the best, they're still eating a pretty darn good sandwich.

so while you eat your BBQ sandwich, i hope that you can appreciate it in it's entirety. i hope you get a perfect bite. and i hope you finish it worthily.

Peace,
Daytona


“To live without faith, without a patrimony to defend, without a steady struggle for truth, that is not living, but existing.” - Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati

Run! Run! Run! As fast as you can!

Hey y'all.

Man, it's been a while since i've been able to sit down, chill out and actually type about something enjoyable (yes, that was a shot at you, Madame Bovary (go ahead, keep looking persnickety, see where it gets you).). Uh huh, i just went with the end parentheses-period-end parentheses-period combo. It's been a while since i've done this. go crazy, folks! go crazy!

Life, life, life...it's all about perspective...

I've been working a lot (and by working i mean at work and by a lot i mean standing at a desk and checking my phone every 10 minutes with each glance giving me a painful reminder of my soul being sucked away...speaking of which, have you met my new manager?)

Follow all that, Annie Connolly?

but i digress

somewhere between lot and dementors i meant to note that i worked this past weekend. I enjoy the shift in demeanor on the weekend. Weekends are typically more relaxed. I get to have a little more fun, interact and have dialogs with the guests, let life happen, stuff like that. Why is this significant? Usually over the weekend we'll have some families stay for a night or two. Typically families come with children (it's kinda one of those 'you must be this tall to ride' things...only in this case it'd be one of those 'you must have at least one child to be a family' type thing). With children, comes excitement, wonder (and wander) and a bit of a mischievousness. They're kids...which leads me to the main point of this entry:

Kids like to run...a lot. Most of the kids between ages of 3-12 skip, prance, saunter, jog, sneak and pitter-patter their way around the lobby. Rarely do they walk. They really attack their destination (wherever it may be).

i thought to myself, "does this happen everywhere?" and the more i thought about it, the more i observed, the more i saw that yes, they run everywhere.

I've always thought we can learn a lot from kids. Of course, i also think that we can learn a lot from everyone. But kids have such an exuberance to their makeup. They're energetic, considerate, observant and inquisitive. They're just fun to be around.

And they run

they run

and run.

Why don't adults run everywhere? And by run, i don't mean that 'humph-humph-get-out-of-my-way walk. I'm talking a nice 3/4 speed stride down to the water cooler to get a drink. I'm talking 'hey-let's-race-to-the-library' Erin Garrett type enthusiasm.

Wouldn't that be outstanding?

But at some point throughout our lives we lose that zeal, that passion, that 'joie de vivre' and we blame a myriad of external stimuli instead of looking at the one element we actually have control over: our selves.

(this one's for you, Ty) i believe Katt Williams agrees with me: warning, includes strong language - viewer discretion is advised.

So go for a run. jog around for a little bit. play some tennis (Friday @ 3 - Bourgeois). kick a ball around with some friends. Be active. do something! Studies show social connections and physical activity improve mental health and well-being (of course, so does sex...but i would only recommend that to married couples open to conception).


in closing:

I've heard that we live in a dog-eat-dog world. Kids live in a share-puppies-and-play-with-each-other world.

that was fun.

keep it real,
- Daytona

Until we find our mommy

Last week i went to mass at St. Mary Mother of the Church Roman Catholic Church (or St. Mary's Church, for short). Forgive me for the elongated name, but i was just introduced to 'Pushing Daisies'.

I don't feel like flowery talk or dramatic setups tonight

Toward the end of 'the service', as per usual, the children were invited to grab children's bulletins from Mr. Fr. Priest man. I'm starting to think that they do this more for the entertainment value. Kids are so stinking cute. So as i ogled at the prancing, skipping, running and mischievously wandering children maneuvering their way to and from the sanctuary, i noticed this one little kiddo (about 7 years, 4 months, 17 hours and 42 minutes old) who was standing petrifyingly still...for like 5 seconds, which doesn't seem like a long time, but it is when there is a whirlwind carnival of activity going on around you. Stand perfectly still for five seconds, i dare you. Now do it in the middle of an intersection. okay, don't...but i imagine your senses would be a bit more heightened for the second situation.

So, naturally, all my attention is focused on this kid (probably exactly what he's afraid of)...then i notice his eyes darting back and forth. "oh no," i thought, "he doesn't know where his family is sitting." so he takes a couple of 'is-this-where-i'm-supposed-to-go' steps...peeks around for a little bit, then bolts around the pews to a woman standing in the shadows.

He found his mommy.
.
.
.
Maybe it was because i've been Catholic all my life, maybe it's because i'm a momma's boy, but i love the Blessed Virgin Mary...like, a lot. So seeing that boy run to his mother's arms affected me...like, a lot. Something mysteriously started blurring my vision (maybe it's because i'm a momma's boy). It brought to mind the times i've been lost or scared or heading in the wrong direction and noticed mom, just standing there, waiting for me to love her again.

Catholicism is so beautiful in how we honor our Holy Mother, in that she's an example of openness to God's will in our lives, in that she knows how to suffer and, if for no other reason, she is the mother of God himself.

Your momma loves you.

Peace,
Daytona