Archives for September 2015

Just some thoughts:

 “A children’s’ book that is enjoyed only by children is a bad children’s’ book.” 
 (C.S.Lewis)

I agree and submit for your consideration:

“What is real,” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick out handle?” “Real isn’t how you are made,” said Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long time, not just to play with but really loves you, then you become real.” 

           “Does it hurt,” asked the Rabbit? “Sometimes, when you are real you don’t mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once,” said Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept. Generally by the time you are Real,
           most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.

(The Velveteen Rabbit)
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Novermber 11, 2010
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson ​

Just some thoughts:

GERRY GOFFIN

“Gerry Goffin died today, June 19, 2014, in Los Angeles, California.

He was seventy-five years old.”

I read this bit of news over my morning coffee at my coffee place. I read it in one of those little by-lines of information you sometimes see tucked away on the bottom of the last page of the paper.

“So what’s the big deal?” you ask. Goffin along with his wife at the time, Carole King, wrote a song that asks what is or has been one of the most asked question in all of time. The song was voted one of the five hundred most popular songs in all of American music. No telling how many people have recorded this song, how many copies it has sold, and how many times it has played on the air waves. Oddly enough, the song was made popular in late 1960 my senior year in high school, by an all-girl group of teenagers, The Shirelles.

“Will You Love Me Tomorrow?”

Tonight you’re mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow?
Is this a lasting treasure
Or just a moment’s pleasure
Can I believe the magic of your sighs
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Tonight with words unspoken
You say that I’m the only one
But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning sun?

I’d like to know that your love
Is a love I can be sure of
So tell me now and I won’t ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Have you ever been asked that question? Or have you ever been the one asking that question?

I know about tonight…. but what about tomorrow?
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June 19, 2014
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson

Just some thoughts:

This past Tuesday I was a rules official at a qualifying site for the Tennessee State Open golf tournament here in Tennessee. Just associating those two words with me probably makes my good friends at the United States Golf Association, Mr. Meeks, Mr. Hall and Mr. Butz, very uneasy. Easy boys.

There were twenty-six players, most of them professional from around the state trying to qualify for four places into the Championship which will be held at the Spring House Golf Club (Opryland Hotel) in Nashville. Often I assist at such events, but not because I am a good rules person, pray tell. About the only rule I really feel confident in telling someone is “Hey, buddy, count your clubs. More than fourteen, then you’ve got a problem.” I think I am often asked to help more because “I’m available,” not that I am that capable. Sometimes one will reach a point in life where being available will offset their capabilities. You’ll see.

On this day I was assigned to be with two groups of three players. I made my way down the first fairway as my first group went to the tee. The third player in the group was having a problem. His day did not begin well. He began with his tee shot landing into deep trouble. Even the bears don’t go that far into the woods. His second shot went into the creek. The bad news is he ended up taking a thirteen on the first hole. Yes, I said a thirteen.

About four and half hours later, his group finished their round. I watched and waited for him to come out of the scoring tent. When he did, I approached him, “Excuse me, young man,” he was twenty-three- years old, a year younger than my oldest grandchild, “May I speak with you?” He looked at me a bit puzzled but answered, “Yes.” We made our way to my golf cart, and both of us sat down. I asked him a question about his score on the first hole. “May I ask what you had on the first hole?” He smiled rather sheepishly and answered, “A thirteen.” “I thought so,” I said. “If I am correct, after that first hole I believe you played the remaining seventeen holes at one over par, is that correct?” He confirmed it was correct. “That’s pretty strong,” I said.

“Young man I am impressed with you and the way you handled your adversity today. Your day began in the worst way for someone trying to qualify for an event. You did not complain or act out in any manner. In fact, if I had not been observing, no one would not have known your troubles by your attitude and actions.” I went on to tell him that the way he handled that type of adversity on a golf course is a mark of maturity. He thanked me for taking the time to talk with him and the encouragement. He further thanked me for taking my time to help with the event.

This young man was certainly better than a “thirteen on the first hole.” But that is what he played, and he dealt with it in a mature manner. He handled his adversity with class. If he were my son or grandson, I would be very proud of him.

P.S. Oh, the pay for the day as a rules official is a ham and cheese sandwich and some sweet tea.

        I was over paid.
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April 26, 2012
Keep on,
​Larry Adamson

Just some thoughts:

“Only” is a word we often don’t like. Webster’s dictionary will give us one definition of “only,” as “no more.” Meaning that’s it; no, no, can’t do!

 Early in our marriage my wife and I were living in a small town in north central Indiana, Tipton. I was in my third or fourth year of teaching and coaching when we met and became friends with a couple that these forty plus years later we are still very close friends with today.At that time our friend was the minister of a small church there in town. They had no children, and we had a very small baby at that time. As was said in an old statement we used to hear back then, “Both of us lived hand to mouth,” meaning funds were not plentiful. I think my teaching and coaching salary at the time was less than $7,000; remember this was back in 1967.

 Often after attending a night service at church, my friend’s wife loved to go to the small restaurant there in town for “coffee and pie.” Looking back on those times now, it is obvious that it was for more than food and drink. It was a time in the lives of young married couples seeking friendship, identity, and support and just feeling the need of caring and sharing.

 Often my friend and I would stand at the back of the church after everyone had left to check our funds. Living “paycheck to paycheck” was not just a statement; it was our way of life then. Often it would be near the end of the month before payday, and he and I would count our monies together. There were times when, between the two of us, we had enough money for all of us to have pie along with the coffee. One of the wives generally would want sugar cream pie to be exact. There were a few Sunday nights when the meter would read, “Oops ladies, we only have enough money tonight for coffee for all, no pie.”  Or maybe a few times the wives would share a piece of pie.  Looking back now I would have to say those were special times in the lives of all four of us, good times.

 You know, sometimes life can be good when there is enough monies for one to have coffee and pie, and it also can be good when there is only enough money for coffee.

 One does not have to have pie every time for life to be good.
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November 5, 2012
Keep on,
Larry Adamson

Just some thoughts:

WHERE DO YOU CHOOSE TO LIVE?

A lady, a very special lady that we knew and went to church with during our twenty plus years living in New Jersey once came to me and said, “I love poetry, and in this book is my favorite poem.  I want you to have it.” I valued her friendship, her gift, and her appreciation of her favorite poem. This poem so aptly fit her life. This poem has become a favorite of mine.

Often we can find ourselves being too critical, too cynical. Wanting to make comparisons of something we once knew to what we know today. Maybe the best thing one can be is a friend to man. 

“The House by the Side of the Road”

 

There are Hermit Souls that live withdrawn in the peace of their self-content:

There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart, in a fellow-less firmament; where

 Highways never ran; but let me live by the side of the road and be a friend to man.

 

Let me live in a house by the side of the road, where the race of men go by

The men who are good and the men who are bad, as good and as bad as I

I would not sit in the scorner’s seat, or hurl the cynic’s ban;

Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man

 

I see from my house by the side of the road, by the side of the highway of life,

The men who press with ardor of hope, the men who are faint with strife

But I turn neither away from their smiles nor their tears, both part of an infinite plan;

Let me live in my house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.

 

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead, and mountains of wearisome height

That the road passes on through the long afternoon and stretches away to the night

But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, and weep with the strangers that moan,

Nor live in my house by the side of the road like a man who dwells alone.

 

Let me live in my house by the side of the road where the race of men go by

They are good they bad, they are weak; they are strong, wise, foolish, so am I.

Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat or hurl the cynic’s ban,

Let me live in my house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.

 

         Why should I sit in the scorner’s seat or hurl the cynic’s ban? Let me be a friend to man.

 

                                                      Sam Walter Foss   1858-1911

October 29, 2011 /Keep on/ Larry Adamson                                                                              

Just some thoughts:

Do you speak many languages?

Probably most of us would say one, but, you know, I think we all know at least two languages. We all speak a second language that we may not realize and probably don’t use as much as we should.

The other language is a powerful language, a beautiful one; it is the language of a hug.

My wife recently returned from a trip to Russia. She went there with a very good friend (Linda) to work and serve in a mission, an outreach for street children. When she returned, I asked her about the language barrier.  “We did not speak the same language, but there was one language the children spoke every time we were with them.” She said that upon arriving at the mission they wanted a hug, and upon their leaving, they wanted a hug. That was universal, regardless of size, shape and sex of the child; they know the language of hugs.

Today at church, I saw a young couple who went through some great difficulties in giving birth to their first child and now learning to care for their child with some special needs. I shared my second language with them; in fact, in doing so with the mother, both she and I tried to speak our native tongue, but it seemed “a lump and tears” got in our way. I could not speak my native language, but my second language said what my first language could not. Sometimes, our second language is more powerful than our first learned tongue.

I bet someone out there this week needs you to speak to them in a second language.
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August 1, 2010
Keep on,
Larry Adamson

Can anyone tell me who this lady was? I think I have about every record album she once made.
Second question might be: who was she once married to that was a well known TV star at one time?

I once wrote her and she returned a signed picture to me.

Just some thoughts

As I drove to my coffee place this morning a jeep in front of me had a sign on its back spare tire cover that read: “Life is good.”

I smiled and thought to myself, “Yes, that is true.” But it’s only true for some on this day; I was on my way to have lunch with a person whose life I would not describe as good for him at this particular time. I’d probably choose another word rather than good for someone who is living their life waiting for a kidney transplant and on dialysis three days a week.

Yet for others, today is good. One should remember that every day is different for each of us and sooner or later what is “good” today will also have days that are “not so good.”

“You begin to realize that everyone has a tragedy and that if he doesn’t he will.
You recognize how much is hidden behind the small courtesies
and civilities of everyday existences.”

“Deep sorrow and traces of great loss run through everyone’s lives and
yet they let others step into the elevator first, wave them ahead in a line of
traffic, smile and greet their children and inquire about their lives and never
let on for a second that they, too, have cried tears.They too, keep a picture
of someone locked in their hearts and bring it out in quiet, solitary moments
to caress and remember.”

“Loss is the great unifier, the terrible club to which we all eventually belong.”
 
(Rosanne Cash – A Memoir)

On the surface we really don’t know for sure what kind of day the person we come in contact with is having. We have to read past the “Life is good” signs.

October 17, 2011
Keep on,
Larry Adamson

Just some thoughts:

This is a picture of a race drive named Johnny Whtie. Johnny White was a driver of some fame. This is a picture of him in the car he drove to 4th place in the 1964 Indianapolis 500. Sadly less than a month after that race he was severely injured in a sprint car race in my home town Terre Haute, Indiana at a track they called the Action Track. He never walked again suffering from the injuries incurred  on that day. He remained in the hospital in Terre Haute for sometime after the accident. My mother worked the night shift at the hospital and often cared for him. Often I would visit him and do some favors for him. I often have thought about him and others when I think of how sometimes we can love something “to a fault.”
Below is something I wrote April 17, 2012
 Larry Adamson

Just some thoughts:

There are three professions in which I have been privileged to know a number of people. Often they and what they do and how they live their lives truly fascinate me. They are race drivers, musicians, and golfers; especially those of a professional nature who choose to try to make a living doing such. Over the years I have seen too many people in those professions live and love their chosen field to a fault. In some cases they lose their marriages, families, and even their own identify; and some end in financial ruin. The country legend George Strait once sang a song about  a rodeo cowboy which I thought so well illustrated this.

 “I Can Still Make Cheyenne”

Her telephone rang ‘bout a quarter to nine, / she heard his voice on the other end of the line
She wondered what was wrong this time; / she never knew what his calls might bring
With a cowboy like him it could be anything and
She always expected the worst in the back of her mind.

 He said, “It’s cold out here and I’m all alone,
I didn’t make the short go again and I’m coming home.
I know I’ve been away too long. / I never got a chance to write or call
And I know this rodeo has been hard on us all
But I’ll be home soon and honey is there something wrong?

She said, “Don’t bother comin’ home. / By the time you get here I’ll be gone.
There’s somebody new and he sure ain’t no rodeo man.”
He said, “I’m sorry it’s come down to this. /There’s so much about you that I’m gonna miss
But it’s alright baby, if I hurry I can still make Cheyenne.
Gotta go now baby, if I hurry I still make Cheyenne

He left that phone danglin’off the hook, /then slowly turned around and gave one last look
Then he just walked away
He aimed his truck toward that Wyoming line

Gotta go baby, if I hurry I can still make Cheyenne

But you know, if we aren’t careful all of us can allow our jobs to dictate our lives rather than be who we really are. If not careful we can also think “If I hurry I can still make Cheyenne.”


April 17, 2012
Keep on,
Larry Adamson