Month: August 2011

The House with Cardboard Walls

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Once upon a time in the deep South there was an old four-room clapboard house that sat on the side of a paved two-lane country road.  This house had four rooms:  living room, kitchen, bedroom and storeroom.   The toilet was a small building about fifty feet out the back door.   

This was an old house that had never been painted on the outside nor finished off on the inside.  The floors were uneven and sagged in places due to the foundation only being stacks of rocks underneath.  In the three rooms used as living space the walls and ceiling were covered with flattened out cardboard boxes that had been tacked to the rough-hewn wall studs.  In most cases the printed side of the cardboard was on the reverse side of what could be seen.  Here and there a few exceptions existed where printing for the products the boxes once contained was obvious. 

Each of the four rooms had one window with two panels of four panes of glass.  In two of the rooms a bottom panel would still raise for air a fan pulled in during the summer.  Lack of use in the two other rooms had caused the wood of the window frames to swell into the window casings making them immoveable.  

The heat for the house was supplied by a long, squatty cast iron wood stove with stove-pipe for smoke at one end that went up and out through the living room wall.   Doors were always left open into the other rooms so heat could reach there.  

One modern convenience the home did have was electricity.  The “juice” powered a single light bulb in each room that hung naked on a wire from the ceiling.  The light was turned on and off by a string that hung down from a switch on the light socket.  There was one wall outlet per room but there was little to plug into them except a B&W TV in the living room and tree lights at Christmas.   Sometimes in the winter when it got really cold the electric stove oven in the kitchen would be turned on and the door left open to add extra heat to the little old house.

The other modern comfort that had been added was running water that came from a well a few hundred yards away that was shared with two other houses.  Water was available only at the sink in the kitchen and there was very little water pressure.  What came out of the faucet was actually more like a good-sized trickle than a stream.  There was no hot water heater.

One bathed in this house by heating water on the stove then pouring it into an aluminum wash basin with a flat bottom and rounded-up sides with a half-inch lip around the top.  With small dents all over from use over a long period of time, the basin was about eighteen inches across and five inches deep in the middle.  With a bar of soap and a bath clothe one washed up.  In the winter this was usually done by the wood store which also served to heat the water in cold months. 

There were no door locks on the front and back door.  What kept each door shut was a rough “old-timey” door  latch made of unfinished bare wood with carving marks still clear on them from their making decades before. From the inside you lifted the latch from its catch to open the door.  On the outside a string was threaded through a hole in the door that one pulled to lift the latch on the inside.  A wooden spool that sewing thread had come on was nailed to the outside as a handle to pull the door shut. 

This old house was roofed with tin which caused the eves of the roof to echo with any sound that hit it. Especially noticeable was when it rained and the drops pelted the tin making a relaxing and gentle rumble.  One accustomed to the sound was eased into sleep by its calming effect. 

The front of the house had a wood porch onto which the front door opened and the living room and bedroom window looked out upon.  I know a story about how two boys, seven and five years old, got into trouble from being out on that porch.  Their mother left very early weekdays for her job in a factory making baby clothes.  The boys were awakened just as she was about to leave for work and were left to get up, get ready for school, make breakfast for themselves and catch the school bus.  The outhouse was way out back and with their Mother gone; the boys got out of bed and avoided the journey out back.  Instead the two boys proceeded out to the front porch and relieved their bladders off the side of it. 

One day a car drove by as the boys were peeing off the porch standing there in their “tidy-whities” and undershirts they slept in.  What they were doing seemed so normal to them they kept doing what they were doing and waved to the passer-by they knew.  Their Mother was NOT happy about what the boys had been doing when she was told later by the neighbor driving by who thought what the boys were doing was cute. 

How do I know all this?  I lived in this house with my Brother and my Mother for close to two years.  Vivid in my memory is how much trouble we got into for using the front porch as our bathroom.  That old house has been my reference point for all places I have lived in since all were an improvement.  However, I do have vivid gratefulness to that ancient house that still stands today although no one has lived there in a long, long while.  For a time, the old house with cardboard walls kept us dry and warm.  As humble as it was, that place sheltered us from the world and kept us safe.  For what once was a great embarrassment I now find sweet memories and much gratitude.  

Home is home, be it ever so humble.
Proverb

Photo:  Taken in 2007 of the backdoor at the actual “house with cardboard walls”

Memories of a Dear Friend

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

This morning I woke up thinking of a dear friend of 30 years who passed away last year about this time.  Ultimately not taking care of himself combined with bad habits and the unmanaged stress of a challenging life did him in.   If he cared about someone he would do just about anything for them.  Like the photo above suggests, he was great fun to be around. 

 His nickname,  “Banger”, began in reference to his first car which was a “beater”  and did not fire on all cyliders consistently.  Hearing the car nearby back firing, his friends would say “here comes the banger” which over time became adapted to be his nick name.

I met Bill at a radio station where he came to work as an Account Executive.  He was good at selling, even selling himself.  A funny story about getting the job was the listing on his resume of spending a year and a half on the road as a wholesale ceramics sales person.  That is a true statement, but lacks the detail to show that job was for a ceramic company that made bongs he peddled wholesale to head shops in the Midwest.  What makes this even more ironic is Bill never used a bong or anything of the sort in his whole life!   

Within less than a year of meeting “Banger” I was at his bachelor party.  He and his future wife had been living together and now that she was expecting he deemed it time to get married.  That was the night he introduced me to something called “purple Jesus”.  I remember clearly him showing me a good-sized new plastic trashcan about a third filled with red liquid with sliced fruit floating in it.  I asked why the name “purple Jesus” and Bill said, “drink enough of this and you’ll go see Jesus”.  After a half a glass of the stuff put me into orbit, I stopped short of going forward to test his prediction.  What was it?  A concoction of red Hawaiian punch and grain alcohol with sliced oranges and limes floating in it.      

Bill would never say exactly, but I have always wondered in what measure was love his motivation to marry as compared to a sense of doing what he thought was right.  I do know he had a high sense of honor and he loved both his children.  By the time he had two sons a few years into elementary school he was divorced.  He never remarried. 

The heart wrenching part of Bill’s life was when his youngest son was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy.  The boy was six or seven years old when the doctors made the determination.  Clearly I recall over time watching the disease progress.  One scene vivid in memory was when Bill came to visit one afternoon and both his boys were playing with my son.  All three had gone up stairs which the son with MD negotiated with some difficulty going up, but to get down my friend had to carry him.  Soon the boy was in a wheel chair. 

 Within a year or so Bill was the parent the boys lived with full-time.  He took good care of them as best he knew how and was especially devoted to the younger one bound to a wheel chair whose disease progressed slowly but steadily.  The young man was smart and always quick to smile.  He had a bunch of friends, of which one or two were there just about always when I dropped by.  He shook hands with two presidents and was a “poster child” for MD twice.  What he told his Father consistently was when things got to where he could not breathe unless hooked to a machine; he wanted Bill to let him go.  That time came when the younger son was around 20 and in the hospital only able to breathe with mechanical aid.  He told his Dad it was time and within two days the young man was gone.  

Bill had always been a drinker and as his boy’s illness grew worse, Bill’s intake grew.  He was not someone who got sloshed in public and got into trouble.  Instead he did it quietly mostly in the evening, often after the boys were asleep.  “Banger” smoked and did not watch his weight and became heavier and heavier as the years passed.  By the time he accepted his health was in trouble it was too late except to buy a little time.  Quitting smoking and drinking did extend his life a while, but living with 10% liver function did not present a lot of hope.  Bill was on a transplant list, but was never healthy enough for the surgery. 

For over a decade my friend and I lived hundreds of miles apart, but stayed in close touch mostly with frequent phone calls and I visited him about once a year.  He drove out to see me twice.  The last year of his life hospital visits were frequent, but he always came through .  Some of us close to him swear it was on pure stubbornness!  

Bill passed away on a Tuesday and late the week before my mobile phone rang and answering I heard a soft and weary voice say “how you doing boy?”  I told him I was doing well and he replied “I just needed to hear your voice Brother”.  I asked how he was doing.  His said he was struggling and that even getting up to get to the bathroom was a major chore.  Bill did not give me a chance to say much more.  He said he was very tired and had to go.  Then again he told me he called to just hear my voice.  Some of his very last words to me were “I love you Brother” to which I replied “I love you too “Banger”.  Then with a couple of “talk to you later’s” the less than 60 second call was over.  I know now what Bill did, but probably didn’t consciously know himself; he called to tell me goodbye.  My gratitude that he did exceeds my ability to express it.  

He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If you wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
Richard Barnfield

Who Lingers in Your Heart?

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

I have a very insightful friend who wrote me an email yesterday and in it she said:   I often wonder in your heart, who it is that lingers there, who it is that still has your love but does not know it.  Whoever she is, she is lucky and hope one day if it is God’s will your hearts will connect again and it will be so great for you James.  I know you are not looking, but I feel inside you hope for her.  I do not know this, I just have a feeling you have someone you still love and cannot get out of your heart, probably because she still belongs there…   

When I read what my friend wrote, with hardly any thought I knew the answer to her question.  It was simply “Yes, there is one who lingers in my heart and the name is______.”  Initially my thinking went just to one person but quickly afterwards came the realization of varying sized pieces of love remain in my heart for many others as well.  My thoughts widened from at first thinking only of romantic love to a broader view of the many that have a place in my heart.  

I am first and foremost who I am genetically who has been molded and shaped by my life experience.  After that I am a collection of bits and pieces borrowed from a myriad of different people.  Some things borrowed are buried within me to where my awareness no longer touches them.  Others left a legacy labeled within me clearly with their name. 

From “Love is never a mistake” by Z. Smith
Love is never a mistake, never wasted, nor lost, even if it seems to go nowhere… Love has divine, everlasting qualities, and rewards beyond measure…  Love, and loving feelings are divine expansions of your own true nature, and always good and worthy and right…  

I have been blessed to have loved and borrowed and learned from many people I cherish.  The scope and meaning varies from large to small, but in no particular order here are some people I loved and learned from, each in a specific way. 

From a young teacher I idolized in 6th grade I borrowed his habit of wearing a wrist watch “upside down” with the watch face on the palm side of my arm.  He taught me how much fun learning is.   

From my beloved Grandfather I borrowed a saying: “Putting things in writin’ keeps friendly folks, friendly”.  That has always been especially interesting to me since he could not read or write and my grandmother had to read everything to him.   From him I learned about imperfection and honor. 

From the first girl to find her way into my heart and broke it when I was a teenager, I borrowed the knowledge that relationships end, but some of the love always remains.  She opened the door to learning what love is. 

From my business “father” and mentor in my 20’s I borrowed a saying that he had framed and hung on his office wall (and now hangs on mine): “There is nothing that can’t be accomplished as long as we don’t care who gets the credit”.  From him I learned how to be a leader of people. 

From two old friends, now passed on, I borrowed good feelings for the holiday season.  My friend Bill, who had a very difficult life, always signed his Christmas card with “Happy Hoot and Holler Days”.  Just typing that makes me smile inside and out with delight.  My friend Jan who, always wanted children but was never able to have any, loved Christmas so much that decorations were up year round in her home and during the season there was a tree of some kind in every room, including bathrooms!  From both I learned the power joy has over sadness.  

From my 1st wife I borrowed how to take care of and support someone from the way she did me.  I learned about helping another find some order and sense about life.  I learned from her about giving.  

From my 2nd wife I learned what it is like to love with all of one’s self.  Even through all the pain involved in the ending of the marriage I will be ever grateful for that lesson.  From her I learned loving without reservation. 

Through my son, I learned how to love without any uncertainty.  Since the day he came into the world there as never been a question of my feelings for him and there never will be.  From him I learned how to love fully and wholly.  

From my best friends  M. and C., I borrowed how to be a best friend to someone by the friend they have been to me.  Any time of the day or night I know either would be there for me no matter what.  From them I learned that friendship isn’t a big thing – it’s a million little things.

There are so many I could mention here, but space allows me to go no further.  Yet, I realize this is a good subject to revisit in the future and acknowledge others who left a thread of themself in the fabric of who I am.  For those mentioned here and those not yet written about who helped shape me into the person I am, I say “thank you”.   I am very grateful. 

I almost forgot…. Who is the “one” I thought of when reading what my friend wrote and included at the start of this blog?  I will only say I am very grateful to that person and will write one day here about them.  Just not yet, but I promise I will. 

Love is never a mistake it is either a very good relationship or an even better lesson. Sariah Lynne

Oklahoma Weather: Frozen and Fried Gratitude

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

When I moved to Oklahoma almost 14 years ago from Ohio, one of the things noticed and first enjoyed was the amount of days that were sunny.  Of course, there are tornadoes, but mostly in other parts of the state and not here in Tulsa.  My first summer included discovery of regular temperatures above 100 degrees Fahrenheit.  I learned there is usually less than a dozen days such days each year.  I was consoled though by being able to get rid of my almost new snow blower before moving.  In Tulsa they convinced me I would never need it.  Yea, right!   

A realization within a few years of relocating was letting go of the snow blower was a mistake.  Four to eight inches of snow multiple times a year became common by my third winter on the plains.   Then there was the ice storm in 2007 that paralyzed the city as most people lost electric service.  Schools were closed and many businesses could not open.  Where I lived electricity was out for five days.  For many others it was much longer. 

Early this year so many 2011 winter records were set it is difficult to keep track of them all.  Here’s a sample:
* -12F  in Tulsa (a first time below zero in 15 years)
* -26F  in Bartlesville (45 miles north)
* -31F in Nowata (50 miles northwest) 
* Record snowfall for one day (14 inches)
* Record snowfall for one month (23 inches)
* Record snowfall for winter season (26.6 inches)
* All Oklahoma counties declared a disaster 

OK.  We made it through the winter with a bit of complaining and wishing for summer weather.  For people who live where it snows a lot each winter like Boston or Denver or where it gets really cold such as North Dakota or Minnesota, we probably appear to be wimps.  The difference is such winter weather is expected and normal there.  Here that is not so.  We have very limited snow removal equipment, homes are no insulated for below zero temperatures and in general we don’t know how to deal with serious winter weather.  A foot of snow in Tulsa brings the city to a screaming halt for days! 

Winter passed and spring arrived and set new records for rainfall.  May contained hellish tornadoes for nearby cities a hundred miles away in Joplin and Oklahoma City. 

On June 28th, seven days after summer began,Tulsa set a record temperature of 106F and that was just the beginning:
Summer of 2011 Tulsa has been the 4th hottest city in America (behind Lubbock, Oklahoma City and Raleigh).
* 40 days over 100F degrees, so far (average is 11.4 days)
* Record high temperature of 115F degrees in Tulsa
* Average Tulsa high in July, 2011 = 107F (average is 94F)
* Severe drought
* 74 of 77 counties receive disaster declaration

One of the jokes here about the summer weather is God sent it because we complained so much about the bad winter.  I assure you there were days in the last few months when we wished for a record snow fall or a record low to revisit.  

One may wonder, what do these weather stats have to do with gratitude.  There is something about being shaken out of my comfort zone that causes me more awareness of being alive and what is going on around me.  During those times I become more highly cognizant of what I have to be thankful for.  The extreme weather has been a catalyst for much gratefulness this year. 

During the winter I am thankful my home was warm and cozy as was my work.   I am grateful to have plenty of clothes that kept me warm when I had to be out in the cold and snow.  Through all the bad weather I remained safe, as did those I care about.  In general the season passed without incident and was only an inconvenience for me.  Now it remains only as some remarkable weather I will talk about for years. 

As for the summer, a close friend lost an aunt in the Joplin tornado which is an abrupt reminder of how fragile life is.  I am grateful to be alive to write here today.  I am thankful where I live and work is well air conditioned, as is my car.  I have a more than ample supply of cool summer clothing. The grass and landscaping at my home will grow back given time.  And so on my gratefulness goes…. 

Over time as I have made self-inquiry of what I am grateful for a daily practice, what I find to be thankful for increases steadily.  As corny as it sounds, I am even learning to be grateful for the difficulty and challenge that comes my way.  If not so at the moment during it, certainly afterward in reflection, gratefulness always comes.  

To educate yourself for the feeling of gratitude means to take nothing for granted, but to always seek out and value the kind that will stand behind the action.  Nothing that is done for you is a matter of course.  Everything originates in a will for the good, which is directed at you.  Train yourself never to put off the word or action for the expression of gratitude.  Albert Schweitzer

Apology to Anna

/ James Browning / 4 Comments

What sort of ass would ask a woman to marry him while engaged to another woman and let an announcement in the paper be how she found out?  I am not exactly sure what kind of man he was, but I know him.  He was me.  

Only two women and their families know this story and until now I have not had the courage to admit it to others.  I began writing this blog in an effort to become more self-aware, especially of what I have to be grateful for.  Quite often I come to know thankfulness through revealing a misstep or mistake and finding a bit of resolution and peace.  In writing here today I am keeping my promise to dig down deep within and come face to face with my behavior in my past.  I don’t blame anyone who reads what I write here today and thinks less of me. However through telling this story I hope I can let go of some heavy regret and think a little better of myself. 

Talk about lost and confused, I was so baffled and bewildered in my early 20’s.  Today I find that to be a flimsy excuse however for hurting any one the way I did.  Wrong is wrong!  There is no changing that.  

Yes, I had a difficult childhood, but so did others who in spite of it grew up to behave better than I have at times.  In my younger years I meant no harm, but did a lot of it others anyway.  Thinking about disappointing someone or hurting another has always been near impossible for me to bear.  The thought of it is paralyzing, but was especially so years ago.  My inability to break up with a girl caused me to hurt her far more than I would have had I ended the relationship as I should have.  It is my hope that by writing here today I can finally get some reprieve for the burden of guilt and shame I have carried for over 30 years.  

I was 19 and living  in Colorado Springs when I met Anna at a concert a few days after I got out of the hospital for reasons that are another story for another time.  Anna was 17 and almost done with her junior year of high school when we met that spring.  After dating for a short while we moved into an exclusive relationship before she started her senior year.  By the time she graduated, we got engaged.  

Anna’s family welcomed me openly and treated me very well.  She was kind, caring and fun to be with.  For over a year I was her faithful and loyal fiancé, but as was so often the case in my past life, given time I strayed.  The person I met and started also seeing was the woman I ended up being married to for 20+ years.  I should have told Anna, but I just couldn’t.  I should have let her go, but was weak and did not.  To this day my actions, or rather lack of them, haunts me to the very core of my being.  

Also I was unfair to Bobbie, the “other” woman who married me.  When she and her family found out about what I had done it was very embarrassing for them.  She almost did not marry me.  She deserved better, but she got the “me I was then” instead.  We’ve been divorced for years now, but once in a while something with our son brings us together again.  One of those times when I can summon the courage, I will apologize to her.  

Recently I came an across a line of thinking that fits well why I am sharing what I am today. The passage goes something like “Good people end up living their life in hell because they can not forgive themselves”.  That type of hell on earth is well-known to me.  I am hopeful by my self admission here I can let go of a piece of self-induced torment I have lived with for so many years. 

Today I come here to publicly apologize to Anna and ask for her forgiveness although I doubt she will ever be aware I have written this (but I hope somehow she finds out).  I was completely and thoroughly wrong in how I conducted myself.   I very much regret the lack of respect and caring I showed her and her family.  Anna, I am deeply sorry I hurt you.    

From the song “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight. 

Three words, eight letters, so difficult to say,
They’re stuck inside of me, they try and stay away.
But this is too important to let them have their way.
I need to do it now, I must do it today.
I am sorry.
Author Unknown

A Mother’s Love

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

Her name was Dawn. Right out of college she began her first full-time job as a fledgling account rep where I worked.  Although she was “green” as grass, two of the senior account executives took her under their wing and brought her along.  She had talent, was well liked and was succeeding at her work when I took another job two thousand miles away.  While we were friendly, we were never really close so it was no surprise we did not keep in touch after I moved away. 

Fast forward ten years.  Working one’s way up in my profession required a lot of moving around to advance.  After three positions in three different states covering a decade I had advanced to a V.P./G.M. position I’d taken back in the same city where I had met Dawn originally.  During the ten years I was away from Ohio she had married and moved away.  Out of the blue one day I got a call from her telling me she was moving back to town, was looking for a job and wanted to know if we had anything open.  We did and were glad to have her join our staff.  My second association with Dawn lasted for around three years.     

Never will I forget how joyful Dawn was when she learned she was going to have a child.  She and her husband had encountered problems conceiving so Dawn, now in her mid 30’s, was elated to finally be expecting.  No happier Mom-to-be have I ever encountered.  About half way through the pregnancy she began having some health problems and testing began to find the source.  

Clear in my memory is the optimism she maintained that somehow everything would be OK as she explained to me privately she had cancer.  She told me her doctors said if she began chemotherapy very soon she had a good chance of recovery but would lose her baby.  If she chose to go full term with the baby, treatment after birth might save her, but it was very risky and the odds were against her.  I remember vividly her rubbing her several-month pregnant belly as she told me she was going to have her baby, no matter what.  

Dawn gave birth to a healthy baby and worked up until a few weeks before delivery.  She began chemotherapy treatment soon after.  Although she came by the office to show off her baby a few times, she never returned to work.  Each time we saw her she looked more ill than the time before.  Well before the baby’s first birthday Dawn was gone.  

Writing here now about something that happened 20 years ago still chokes me up.  Plain and simple, she knew what she was doing and knew her chances were slim.  She chose life for her child instead of life for herself.  No greater sacrifice do I know of a Mother making.  Clearly I recall hearing what a good father Dawn’s husband was to the child and then heard some years later he remarried.  That’s all I know of the story except Dawn’s baby would be around 20 years old now.  No child was ever more wanted or loved by a Mother.     

Some of the greatest stories of courage and sacrifice are lived out quietly by ordinary, every day people.  Books are not written about them nor movies made, but I am very thankful to know firsthand this account of Dawn Perry Gustin, one of the bravest people I have ever known. 

SACRIFICE 
©1996 Allison Chambers Coxsey

The sacrifice of love we give,
Takes less and yet gives more;
An everlasting hand of love,
The heart an open door.

The willingness to give of self,
To lay down your own life;
To touch another person’s heart,
In loving sacrifice.

A chance that God has given you,
To reach another soul;
Forever changed by kindness,
A life your love made whole.

For life is but a circle,
Each life part of the chain;
Each link is joined by sacrifice,
That causes man to change.

To turn and reach a hand of love,
To touch another’s life;
Will cause the circle to be whole,
In loving sacrifice.

 It is not now much we do, but how much love we put into the doing.  It is not how much we give, but how much love we put into the giving.  Mother Teresa

Most Friendships Don’t End, They Drift Apart

/ James Browning / 4 Comments

In my life there have been a few people I became close enough to that they felt like a devoted relative.  As I told one dear friend years ago, “If I got to choose who was in my family, you’d be in mine”.  At the time I thought of G—- truly as my “brother” and told him so.  Even today I still feel that way although the friendship has long not been practiced.  We met over twenty years ago and for the first fifteen the relationship grew closer with many wonderful memories. 

It was a natural occurrence that two men who were close would have wives who likewise become good friends.  I encouraged it knowing my 2nd wife had many acquaintances, but few close friends. It was pleasing to me when the two women became “buds”. 

When my wife filed for divorce, my friend and his wife sided with her.  The fact he had been my friend more than a decade longer than the couple had known my soon-to-be-ex did not seem to matter.  In talking to others I have come to know that friends getting divided up like marital assets in a marriage breakup is not uncommon.  “Sides” get picked.  Most friends of a couple choose one or the other partner and rarely does anyone stay close to both.  Sadly that is what happened for me and my friend put great distance between us and became highly judgmental of me.

After a couple of years passed G. was in town and called, wanting to see me.  Although knowing it would hurt to see him, I still cared and was glad he had called.  I harbored this little hope that getting together would be like old times.  It was for a moment.  By the time I arrived, my friend had already enjoyed a few beers and was talking to some mutual acquaintances.  After visiting for a while with the group, G. and I broke off to one side to talk.  With tears in his eyes I heard him say how sorry he was for turning his back and not being there when I needed him.  He apologized for being taken in so fully with my ex’s side of things and not giving me the benefit of the doubt.  On and on he went to the point of it being embarrassing for me.  

Smiling at one point I told my friend to please let it go because I had forgiven him a long while ago.  He asked how I could do that after what he did.  I said simply “because I love you, man”.  We shared a silent moment with neither having a dry eye after those words came from my mouth.  He followed up telling me he wanted us to get together whenever he was in town.  My reply was “I’d like that”.  I have not seen him since.   

I continue to send G. a small Christmas present each year so he knows I still think of him.  He does not reciprocate which does not bother me (much).  My reason for giving is not hoping to get something in return.  At one point I had a little talk with myself asking was I sending a gift each year to “rub his nose” into the rift between us or because I cared about him.  I am glad to say I concluded the reason was the latter and will continue to send a small present to him each year.  Once in a while I feel sad that our friendship is no longer practiced.  Occasionally the feeling of betrayal returns.  I always end up recalling a good moment we shared laughing and enjoying each other.  Then all is well again.  When I can remember the goodness of what once was my gratitude is always strong within me.  

A few things I have learned about friendship: 

1 – Friends will come and friends will go.  Most friendships last only for a time.  Rare is one that lasts a lifetime

2 – No friendship is ever a waste or a mistake.

3 – Sometimes “I’m sorry” will repair things, but other times it won’t.

4 – People are all created “perfectly imperfect”.   They will get on my nerves, they will disappoint me, they won’t always meet my expectations, they will break my heart.

5 – Sometimes I will be the friend to another who does the things in #4.

7 – I’ve learned who my truest friends are when I made a wrong decision and they don’t judge me for it or try to force me to do something different. 

8 – Most friendships don’t end; they just drift apart over time. 

9 – Friendships don’t just happen.  They take tending and care.  I have to stay present in another’s life for friendship to remain strong and healthy.  If I don’t make the effort then time will leave the friendship behind.

10 – All people who are your friend even for just a time are gifts to your life.  Cherish the memories and never forget the good. 

11 – Friendships will often fall apart and not be fix-able.  Life goes on.

12 – Learn from each friendship how to be a better friend to others. 

Each person has a story. Each story is different and has a tale to tell to those who are willing to listen. Each story has so many things to accomplish, and each story never ends. They are all special in their own little ways. Every story wants to be told. They hold secrets, gossip, tragedies, miracles, love, and heartache inside. So open up your heart and listen to the music of people’s souls. Unknown

Discovering My “Undiscovered Self”

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

In the “Undiscovered Self” Carl Jung wrote that man often remains…”an enigma to himself.  Most people confuse “self-knowledge” with knowledge of their self-conscious ego personalities.  But the ego knows only its own contents… What is commonly called “self knowledge” is therefore a very limited knowledge…”   Jung went on to say self-knowledge is possible “only when the individual is willing to fulfill the demands of rigorous self-examination”. 

I have several years now of serious introspection and rigorous self-examination. The resolute searching within began earnestly with the epiphany I could be the “me” I wished to be only by knowing better the “I” which already existed.  Having dedicated myself to shining a little light into my own darkness to discover self truth, I have learned first hand how difficult and daunting a task of self-discovery is.  My ego has fought me every step of the way and has done its best to blind me whenever it could.  This journey has been irregularily enlightening, difficult most of the time, unnerving during every step and worth every effort! 

In embracing the past my emotions and feelings released have shaken me to my core.  What I have done and what was done to me, what I have said and what was spoken to me and the pain I dealt to others and the pain received all colluded at times to “knock the breath out of me mentally and emotionally”.  But this process of allowing myself to be “broken open” has benefited me greatly.  I am grateful for the outcome, enough so, to continue to face the “demons” and “desert walks” the process requires.  Yet, the fear that is a prelude to each step to understanding is still daunting.  It is the knowledge of the reward only that is the impetus that keeps me on this path. 

I am thankful for those whose teachings I have benefited from in my growth and development.  One specific example is Elisabeth Kubler-Ross M.D., a psychiatrist who wrote the landmark book “On Death and Dying” in 1969.  While her book was originally written about terminal illness, it has accurately been applied to many forms of catastrophic personal loss such as job, freedom, divorce, death of a loved one, addiction, disease, tragedy and disaster.  My 2nd divorce was a deep personal catastrophe.  The fact I did not want it was made worse by knowing I was the majority cause of the demise of the marriage.  For me the ending was a “death” I mourned more so than any physical death I recall.

Kübler-Ross‘s work says recovering from catastrophic personal loss requires at least two of these five steps below and most will go through all five but not necessarily in order.  This process is popularly known by the acronym DABDA.

1.  Denial — “I feel fine.”; “This can’t be happening, not to me.”  Denial is usually only a temporary defense.  

2.  Anger — “Why me? It’s not fair!”; “How can this happen to me?”; ‘”Who is to blame?”  Once in the second stage, a person recognizes that denial cannot continue.  Because of anger, the person is usually very difficult to care for. 

3.  Bargaining — “I’ll do anything for a few more years.”  The third stage involves the hope that the person can somehow postpone or delay what has happened. Usually, the negotiation is made with a higher power in exchange for a reformed lifestyle.

4.  Depression — “I’m so sad, why bother with anything?”; “What’s the point?”  During the fourth stage, a person begins to understand the certainty of what has happened. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed.

5.  Acceptance — “It’s going to be okay.”; “I can’t fight it, I may as well accept it.”  In this last stage, the individual begins to come to terms with what has happened.

Personally in working past my 2nd divorce I experienced all five steps in order.  Once in a while the first four steps are still a big help in bringing me to step five (Acceptance) when I momentarily regress into denial, anger, bargaining or depression about the end of the marriage.

There has been nothing more sobering than all my self-discovery to date.  Exploring my “self” on deeper and deeper levels has been very healing and enriching for me.  Though my development can be described as a repetitive process of three steps forward and two steps backward, over time my slow growth has been steady.  Today I am more true to my self than before.  My morals, standards, needs and desires parallel themselves the closest ever in belief and deed. I am more free of what others think than I ever was previously.   While there is not always peace within, there is no longer a war going on inside.  My cup of gratitude runs over every time that realization comes to me. 

Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart.  Who looks outside, dreams.  Who looks inside, awakens.  Carl Gustav Jung

Coincidence and My Newest Temporary Friend

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

Something came across the path of my life last week that caused me to spend some time pondering the subject of “coincidences”.   Years back I recall reading “The Celestine Prophecy” by James Redfield that dances all around the proposition there are no coincidences.  In the fictional book the premise is everything happens in a sort of cosmic order as it is supposed to.  

My thoughts on coincidence do not go that far, yet I do not under value the impact of chance happenings upon my life.  I have been married twice to women I met purely by good fortune.  There has been more than one instance where my exact arrival time kept me safe when having been ten seconds earlier or later would likely have cost my life.  One of the big steps in my career was coming into contact purely by chance with someone vacationing where I lived.  It has not been uncommon in my life when being in an exact place, on a specific date and at a precise time brought me to an experience which could not have happened as it did any other place and time.   

A couple of months back I wrote a blog here titled ““Temporary Friends” that contained the following:  …There are those unique and rare times when real connections happen.  Once in a while on an airplane two compatible complete strangers find connection and the minutes float away without awareness as a “temporary friendship” is enjoyed…   https://goodmorninggratitude.com/2011/05/27/temporary-friends/ 

To tie the three above paragraphs together I need to tell you about a coincidental meeting last week while traveling.  As I sat down at the gate for my flight I noticed exactly across from me was a 30-something woman who was early to the gate as I was.  We each sat at an angle as to give each other room to stretch our legs out into the aisle between the close rows of seats.  I busied myself reading and with my phone as she did (I even recall something she read on her phone  caused her to laugh out loud a little).      

Boarding the plane I found myself seated just in front of the wing in an aisle seat.  Soon after the woman who had been sitting across from me at the gate came along to take the window seat beside me.   A conversation began fairly quickly that lasted the entire flight making for one of the shortest two hours I have experienced in recent memory.  

Her name was Milka which she explained means “queen” in several languages.  If all recognized royalty was an open, unassuming and kind-spirited as Milka was, all royals would be better deserving of their titles!  I found her to be intelligent, quick-witted, well-read and a caring soul I enjoyed talking to.  She became my newest and most favorite recent “temporary friend”.  

Learning about Milka was an interesting experience.  She was well-educated, has worked in several varying professions and is currently employed behind the scenes in marketing for the cosmetics industry.  She lit up when she talked about her husband she described as handsome and loving.  Her feelings for him were clear in her glow as she talked about him.  The children in her life had great meaning, both the nine-year old son she gave birth to and the 14 year-old from her husband’s previous marriage that lives with them.  What struck me most is that she seemed to be a genuinely happy human being.  Finding one who expresses their love of life openly today is not a common thing! 

The flight was over in no time it seemed and we had arrived at our destination.  Milka was visiting my home city for a convention related to her work.  On the plane I discovered her hotel was literally a couple of miles from my home and offered her a ride which she accepted.  

It never occurred to me that she was anything different from she presented herself.  She apparently felt the same way.  How else could two almost complete strangers have felt comfortable doing what we did!  After all I had offered a lift to someone I really did not know at all and she had accepted a ride from someone she barely knew as well.  Yes, both of us could have been wrong about each other.  But we weren’t and we knew it.  How?  I have no idea.  We just did. 

Today as I reflect on meeting Milka 48 hours ago, I know I will never forget her smile or a few of the details about the life of my most recent “temporary friend”.  Her positive attitude and apparent love of life is something I will remember in spirit long after I forget most specific details.  I am grateful for the chance meeting of a kindred soul and give thanks for the time we shared.  My life is a little richer for it.  I wish Milka and her family what Mr. Spock in Star Trek often wished others:  “Live long and prosper”.   

Chance is perhaps the pseudonym of God when he does not wish to sign his work.  Anatole France

Love Letter To Someone I Don’t Know & Never Met

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

“The Love Letter” painted by August Toulmouche

Recently I have read several articles about old love letters being discovered by people unrelated to the writer or addressee.  In one instance a letter discovered was written 50+ years ago and finally made it to the intended recipient.  Another was a note scribbled 200 years ago and discovered folded up tightly in the arm of an antique chair being restored.  In another example a bundle of love letters from World War I was discovered in an antique shop and the finder was trying to locate the family of either the writer or the one being written to.  Reading these stories brought what may be viewed as a silly thought, but one I followed through on.  I imagined a letter I had written being discovered decades after my death.  I decided to attempt writing one I would be pleased for a future third-party to read. What follows flowed without effort from within me.

An old love letter never written from a time long ago to someone I don’t know and never met…..

Dear ________ ,

When we met for the first time is as fresh in my memory as one moment ago.  As of today it was exactly one month ago.  So much has happened in a very short time.  My world is permanently changed and I am altered beyond what I can express with language.  If I never saw you again I would mourn that happening deeply.  Yet what has been awakened within me would remain as a permanent reminder that my heart is not yet dead as I had long thought it was.

How do I express the feelings growing inside me without seeming to be lost in some obvious state of delirium?  My answer is “I can not”.  Science says the initial attraction between a man and woman creates a sort of partial insanity.  Then that explains it.  I am insane over you my darling and I revel in my madness.

How well I know that life never brings a path filled only with joy and delight.  To think so so is an illusion.  I know what fills me now will certainly in time be intertwined with challenge, trial and difficulty.  Am I a lunatic to think now that such things can be borne with grace upon the back of the love I have discovered?  No.  I do not think I am crazy to think that. What is built in the future upon the rock of what we are sharing, can withstand most any force a human can bear.  Of that I am certain.

Yes, I dare speak of love knowing it has not been spoken between us so far.  Am I a coward for writing here instead of looking into your eyes as the words are formed by my heart and released through my voice?  Maybe so, but my feelings are true.  I write because my poetic soul is determined to use beautiful words to express itself to you.  The depths of my feelings demand I can do no less.

Yes, my sweet… I am in love…. with you.  As I write this letter I know as certainly as the moon will rise later tonight and the sun will follow in the morning, what is expressed here in pen and ink is dependable and true.   My restless soul is no longer be searching for something unknown. The purpose of its quest has been found:  YOU!  Without confusion and with complete clarity I say again, I love you ______.   I speak first of what I am nearly certain is within you in like form.  With all my being I hope my perception is accurate!

What we are sharing is admirable and sincere.  Our enchantment is real.  Our bliss is genuine.  I know someday when we share the delight of our selves in physical form our delight will be heightened and multiplied beyond what I ever could have hoped for.  For now I am glad we have resisted what could have happened so easily.  It is a testament that we guard what has been discovered and so want only the best for the gift of love between us.  May we continue to take the time to build a love strong and lasting while resisting haste.

So please know my sweet darling you have touched me as I have never been touched before.  You have reached me on a deeper level than I thought possible.  It has been said by some that loving another makes them feel more complete, yet I question the accuracy of that.  I do not feel more complete by loving you, but I do feel richer. It’s as if I have discovered more of myself through knowing you.  You were the light I needed in order to glimpse who I really am and can be.

After you read this letter, I wonder how you will greet me when next we meet.  My heart vibrates with hope that you will meet me with your heart matched to what I hold inside mine for you.

I love you my darling,

__________

With much gratitude that I am able to do so, I wrote the above openly and without reservation.  It was written with no one specific in mind and formed only from hope. The words traveled from mind to fingers to screen at the moments I thought them just as I thought them without editing.  No longer do I feel the need to hide away any element of my hapless romantic soul.  I no longer fear the real me within and instead here and now express my thankfulness for it.

A day, a week, a month are past,
Another year is by;
Beside her on the open’d desk,
His old love letters lie.
She reads them till the day-light fades,
And ‘neath the moon-lit sky,
She sleeps at rest, for on her breast
Those old love letters lie.
Auguste Toulmouche