What a wonderful World

I'm sitting by the open patio door listening to the stiff southern breeze blow through our ash trees while gazing at the blue tinted mountains looming close on the horizon. 

Does anyone remember the words to that old song by Louie Armstrong "What a Wonderful World?"

Here they are, as inspirational to me as they were long ago. 

         What a Wonderful World

I see trees of green, red roses too. 

I see them bloom for me and you. 

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world. 

I see skies of blue and clouds of white. 

The bright blessed day,

the dark sacred night. 

And I think to myself what a wonderful world. 

The colors of the rainbow are pretty in the sky. 

Are also on the faces of people going by. 

I see friends shaking hands and saying how do you do. 

They're really saying I love you. 

I hear babies crying, watching them grow. 

They'll learn much more than I'll ever know. 

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. 

Yes I think to myself, what a wonderful world. 

Autumn Reflections

The flaming red hills of October 

spark memories of rare days in June,

reminding me that the past summer

has hastened away much too soon. 

The passing of summer brings longings

that Autumn's crisp air congeals. 

Hence cometh the advent of winter, 

transforming the green colored hills. 

The longings I have won't destroy me. 

They steal o're my soul every fall. 

Just something that I've learned to live with, 

not serious in nature at all. 

I'm prone to sit back and ponder, 

Yes welcoming natures display. 

Preparing myself for the stillness 

brought on by a cold winters day. 

Years ago I sat down and in a fit of nostalgia, wrote this poem. For years I was plagued with melancholy as fall approached. Since we moved from California to Arizona, that fall sadness has, for the most part, left me. However, this year the same old feelings have, for some unknown reason, crept back into my consciousness. Maybe posting my thoughts in this blog will assuage that little imp that wants to come back and trouble me this time of year. 

What Independence Day means to me.

In our youth we spend the Fourth of July setting off fireworks and watching professionals display their pyrotechnics. We stand in awe as the rockets propel themselves upward, then burst into heart stopping displays of colorful stars and booming explosions and multi colored lights streaking through the night sky. When I was young dad would pack us up and we would trundle off to our little town and gather at the town square where it seems the whole town had come out to see an awesome display of good old patriotic fireworks. We would find a place on an untaken small patch of grass in the town park and impatiently wait till it was dark enough for the technicians to begin their magic. And magic it was. We would watch, awestruck, until too soon it was over. The same scenario played out in the small town in California, where we later moved. The same scene played out in many small towns across America. 

When I was young I didn't think much about the purpose of it all, except it meant getting together with friends and family, eating watermelon, grilling burgers, popping firecrackers and shooting off all types of fireworks. Oh and the homemade ice cream. I can taste that hand cranked delight to this day. 

Those were fun times. It was hot but when you are young you don't seem to notice. 

Later in my advanced teen years we still had fun with fireworks and grilling, but my mind was maturing and I started thinking about the real meaning of Independence Day. 

Before my oldest brother passed away, I had the privilege to accompany him on a trip to Philadelphia. We toured the museum, saw the liberty bell, but the place that was most impressive to me was the room where George Washington, Ben Franklin, James Madison, Thomas Jefferson and the others, hammered out the Declaration of Independence. 

In the heat of the summer they worked tirelessly until they came to a consensus and the constitution was born. They risked everything they had, including their lives, for that precious document.

As another Fourth of July comes around, in the midst of all the unthankfulness, turmoil and todays prevalent attitude of "me first", can we still, in our hearts, feel moved and exemplify a gracious spirit for what our Founding Fathers did for us. 

Can we set aside a part of the day and excuse ourselves from the celebratory activities and in quiet solitude take a moment and silently thank those who went on before, risking everything for the freedoms we have today?

That is what Independence Day means to me. Freedom. 

Father's Day

Today is Fathers Day and as the sun drops in the west, nearing the mountains, the thermometer hovers at 108 degrees, after a high of 112. 

I mention this because my father, whom I lost last July, was a lover of the desert, where I now live. He loved cool desert mornings, especially on trips from California to Kansas. 

We would start out from Livingston early in the morning, drive all day and stop for night in various desert towns along old U.S 66. He liked to leave the motel early so daybreak would find us in a small roadhouse eating pancakes as the sun rose on the beautiful desert he loved. Ah the memories. 

It's been lonely today, the first Fathers Day without him. 

Thoughts of him have been rolling along the picturesque highways of my mind all afternoon. 

My dad did not leave me material goods because he didn't have much to leave, but he left me with so many good memories. 

I believe one of his greatest pleasures in life was traveling, and travel we did. Mom, dad, Carlyle and I, riding the ribbon of highway in our '63 Falcon, exploring our own little world along U.S 66. Those are the memories I'm dealing with today. 

Why thoughts of traveling with my dad  are the ones I'm flooded with this Father's Day is beyond me, but so be it. I loved my dad and those are some of the beautiful recollections I'm having on this special day.  

Memorial Day 2016

May 30, 2016

It's 5 am on this beautiful Memorial Day morning. The first light of the day is beginning to glow over the eastern mountains. I'm reminded of when King David mused about the dayspring in his Psalms. 

What am I to remember today? Our fallen heroes? Yes I will remember them, although I knew very few of them personally. But yet I will remember their ultimate sacrifice and be thankful to move about and work and live my life conversing in my mother tongue. 

I will also remember, on this Memorial Day, my parents who are not with us anymore and whom I miss terribly. Even though they lived a full life, I so wish they could have stayed longer. 

I will remember my brother who was taken at a young age. Twenty four years passes so quickly. 

I will remember my older brother who has been gone seven years. It seems like yesterday we were planning a trip together each October. God allowed us two trips together, then He thought best to take him. I remember his quirks and his story telling and how we laughed until there was no laughter left. 

I remember my brother in law Harold who was taken eight years ago. He, Carlyle and I built so many good memories and laughed at each other and argued. I wouldn't trade those times for anything.

 Not many men left in our family. 

Most of my aunts and uncles are gone and I remember them. 

I remember both my grandpas and both my grandmas and the legacy they left remains close to my heart. I am so very blest because of the Faith to which they clung. The Faith once delivered to the Saints. 

And since no memory parameters have been set on memories today, I will remember Missouri and our family living on the little farm south of town. In my mind I see dad working around the yard, faithfully carrying out his duties and the frustration and discouragement that beset him many times. I also remember his sense of humor and his funny stories and the harlarious dreams he would relate to us in the morning. 

I remember my dear mother who worked so hard in the kitchen and the garden and sat for hours at the sewing machine to keep us fed and clothed. 

I remember the little church and the individual congregants and how happy we were there with our friends. 

I remember packing up the U-Haul and slowly pulling out the drive, heading west toward California. I remember that before we left, Carol Dirks, the future occupant of the house, tending the garden that mom had started. Mom, not knowing when she planted it she wouldn't be there to reap the harvest. 

I remember stopping east of Tucumcari at the old Benson farm, visiting Loretta and Harold and tasting tacos for the first time. 

I remember driving through the wide open spaces of the west, awestruck by the beauty of this foreign land. 

I remember the few short years living with my parents in California and how they are the foundational years to which I go back and thank them when I see other acquaintances of mine struggle with no footing on which to fall back. 

On this Memorial Day of 2016 I remember the dead who had a tremendous influence on my life. I also remember the living of those, my loved ones, who still have influence over me and think of me and pray for me. 

And as I remember, I pray for them too and the losses they have sustained and how they too are remembering today. 

Having Coffee in Chino Valley, Arizona

                                           Oct. 24, 2015, 5:30 a.m. Chino Valley

Sitting in a hole in the wall coffee shop in a little strip mall just off highway 89. 

I asked the barista about the function of the place, as I had read on Yelp they were a nonprofit to help occupy the church youth in the area. She confirmed what I had read on Yelp. 

I encouraged her in their efforts. 

Sat here a couple hours and read the news, relaxing and thinking about the wonderful world in which we live, nature wise anyway. 

Customers are waking up this beautiful Saturday morning and coming in for their coffee fix, so I guess I'll gather up my thoughts and head back to Mikes. 

Spring

Waves of green grass

caught by the breeze. 

The tall trees awesome

with fresh new leaves. 

As you walk on a pathway

you hear the new sounds

of creatures big an small

as they scurry on damp grounds. 

What it all equals up to

is the song that we sing

of the thing called enchantment

and a time called spring. 

Written by Marty