Friends

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

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

Birthdays, Peace, Love and Happiness

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Yesterday was a wonderfully heartwarming day.  Many friends and those dear remembered the anniversary of my birth.  Today I am still aglow with the love expressed to me.  I started making a list of everyone who emailed, texted, called, sent a card through the mail or on line or otherwise wished me a happy birthday.  My intention was to thank each and every one by name here this morning.  However, the list got so long that somewhere in the afternoon I lost track and gave up.  The length of the partial list I did make was humbling and a cue to remember always how loved I am especially in whatever dark moments that may come. 

Accepting that others care about me has always been challenging.  Make no mistake I yearn for the love and affection of those dear to me.  Intellectually I know feeling “less than”, “not good enough” and at best only partially loveable are false emotions and echoes of events and happenings long ago.  Thankfully the resonance of “then” becomes less and less with the passage of time.   I was closed off for many years and that lack I carried serves now to open my heart wider than it could have otherwise.  My immense ability today to feel with greater depth and magnitude is a silver lining discovered within where once was only a big dark cloud.  Thankfulness for that awakening is greater than I can possibly express. 

This morning I want to avoid hiding what I intend to say in a quantity of words that could easily mask my intent.  With that thought in mind, I modestly endeavor here this morning to express my deepest gratitude for the goodness I received from my friends and loved ones yesterday on my birthday.  From those at work who got the birthday cake for me to the old friend who texted from her trip in Israel, from the two dear friends who took me to dinner last night to the other two who invited me, from the simple “happy birthday” words to the cards and gifts I received, “thank you, thank you very much”.  

The time for me to express my feelings to those I care about only exists in the present.  Someday what I mean to say will be no longer possible.  So here below are my thoughts expressed through another’s words.  I place these lines here with thankfulness for the words being lent to me and with deep gratitude for every thread of love shown me.    

If I be the first of us to die,
Let grief not blacken long your sky.
Be bold yet modest in your grieving.
There is a change but not a leaving.
For just as death is part of life,
The dead live on forever in the living.
And all the gathered riches of our journey,
The moments shared, the mysteries explored,
The steady layering of intimacy stored,
The things that made us laugh or weep or sing,
The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the spring,
The wordless language of look and touch,
The knowing,
Each giving and each taking,
These are not flowers that fade,
Nor trees that fall and crumble,
Nor are they stone,
For even stone cannot the wind and rain withstand
And mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand.
What we were, we are.
What we had, we have.
A conjoined past imperishably present.
So when you walk the wood where once we walked together
And scan in vain the dappled bank beside you for my shadow,
Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,
And spotting something, reach by habit for my hand,
And finding none, feel sorrow start to steal upon you,
Be still.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
Listen for my footfall in your heart.
I am not gone but merely walk within you.

Taken from The Smoke Jumper by Nicholas Evans 2001 

If you’re alone, I’ll be your shadow. If you want to cry, I’ll be your shoulder. If you want a hug, I’ll be your pillow. If you need to be happy, I’ll be your smile… But anytime you need a friend, I’ll just be me.  Unknown

Memphis: Elvis, the Blues and BBQ

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

As I sit here this morning in a hotel suite in Memphis, I can hear my friend Sam showering in a bathroom down the hall.  Our accommodations are very comfortable with two bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, living room, full kitchen, three TV’s contained in about 900 square feet.  My first reaction to the self quandary this morning of “what am I am thankful for today” is my gratefulness for the resources to be able to travel and do so comfortably.  My life is rich with advantages and blessings, so much so it is impossible to be grateful for everything all at once because there is so much.     

Soon I need to go take a shower so we can get out of the hotel and go make photographs which is our main objective for today. Memphis is abundant with subject matter to capture an image of.  I look forward to being out today in spite of the sweaty mess I know I will become in the heat and humidity.  Interesting how discomforts don’t bother one much while having a good time.  

Yesterday Sam arranged for us to have a private guided tour of Graceland which I enjoyed far beyond what I could have anticipated.  What a great experience it was to have Alicia from the Public Relations office take two hours to show us around.  Thanks Sam for your great connections!  Thanks Alicia for your warmth, kindness and knowledge. 

The home Elvis Presley lived in was certainly not inexpensive, but at the same time was not as showy and large as many might think.  I was able to get a much different sense of the man behind the legend which actually made Elvis more appealing to me.  He had eclectic taste and a unique sense of artfulness.  

What I remember most this morning about Elvis’s home:  the custom made 15 foot couch and 10 foot coffee table in the living room where he received and entertained people, the media/entertainment room whose 70’s décor looks interestingly contemporary in a retro sense and the kitchen which seemed to have an easily sensed positive vibe about it.  I came away with a tinge of sadness in knowing Elvis never really got to live his own life.  Instead he lived mostly the one his handlers and admirers created for him. Graceland was where he hid away from the prison of fame, a least a little bit.  I believe Elvis did most of his laughing at Graceland and the majority of his happiest moments were there.    

Yesterday morning before spending time at Graceland, Sam and I spent time at the Stax Experience which celebrates the 1960’s days of Stax Studios and artists like Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Issac Hayes, Rufus Thomas, Booker T. and the MG’s, Sam and Dave and many more.  Those artists were at their peak during my formative years and seeing all the memorabilia was indeed a journey down memory lane.  

In the afternoon we took in the Sun Studio tour.  What is amazing to me is the studio is still intact today pretty much as it was in the 1950’s when Elvis, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lewis, Carl Perkins and Roy Orbison recorded there.  I expected it to give me a sort of eerie feeling and instead got a very positive sense that a lot of fun had been had there by a lot of people.  Even today for $100 per hour with a two hour minimum anyone can hire Sun Studio and record in the same room so many greats played and sang in.  Makes me want to go home and practice!

Last night Sam and I took a journey to Beale Street which was “a trip” as we called wild and interesting times “in the day”.  Lots of police to keep everyone safe in an atmosphere you’d expect to find around Mardi Gras in New Orleans.  The main different being inMemphisthe music that wafts out the doors of the bars and into the streets is blues, not jazz.  Those visiting are from all over the world and I heard many different languages there on the avenue of neon signs called Beale Street.  Lots of fun, a great meal and some killer blues licks capped off a good day of wallowing in the heritage of music originating in this old, historical city. 

Memphis has its share of grime and grit.  There are lots of vacant store fronts and driving around it is obvious that some of the city is rundown and saw much better days in the past.  I sense a sort of sadness shaded contentment aboutMemphis.  Yet, there appears to be little bitterness about better economic times being behind the city.  Rather the poignant dash of bittersweet is what one would expect in a city that is the southern home of the blues.  Without a least a bit of despair, dejection and sadness there can be no blues. 

Memphis is a fascinating mix of the old and the new, smiling tourist faces and melancholy servers, modern architecture and near decrepit structures, and easily seen and apparent success and nearby states of varying destitution.  Without such points on the spectrum this big city could not produce its blues legacy.  

Today I am accurately aware of the sonorous blessing of being in Memphis this weekend.  To an even greater degree I am grateful to be sharing it with an old friend I have known for more than two decades.  It is hanging out with Sam that adds such broad strokes of color and remembrance to the experiences we are having. 

Whatever we have reverence for boldly tells of our truest nature.  Rick Yates

Some Best Friends Are Dogs

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

Cody was the smartest dog I have ever lived in the same home with.  He was a golden retriever obtained for my son when he was five, but in truth it was me the dog responded to most.  While picking a puppy out of the litter when they were just 3 weeks old as I knelt down he was the one who came bounding over to me as if to say “what’s up?”  He was being named after Buffalo Bill Cody who is buried along side Interstate 70 as you head up into the Colorado  Mountains from Denver.

Cody was very smart and could do so many tricks I can not remember them all.  With good accuracy he could dig out of his toys which ever one you told him to go get.  While he was sitting a Milkbone could be placed on his nose and he would not eat it until you told him he could (or when you looked away).  He knew as long as there was eye contact he was to wait to have the treat.  On a dare from a friend I taught Cody to fall over playing dead like the orangutan did in an old Clint Eastwood movie called “Any Which Way But Loose”.  All I had to do was tell him to sit, point my fist and index finder at him like a gun, say “bang” and over he’d fall.  That was his most impressive trick.  Like people Cody also had his unique imperfections.  For example he was a rare golden retriever who was a terrible swimmer did not like the water. 

Cody was my son’s second dog.  His first dog was also a golden retriever, a female who had health problems that took her life before she was fully grown (damn puppy mills!). 

The dog I lived the longest with was an Australian Silky Terrier named “Reddy”.  She came to live with me in 1975 when she weighted two pounds and could stand on the palm of my hand.  She lived almost 15 years!  Reddy’s name came from the breeder’s three year old son whose deductive reasoning told him if the puppy with a pink collar was named “Pinky” then the one with the red collar was “Reddy”.  That was so unique I did not want to change it.  Reddy was very smart, but also a picky, prissy and moody bitch!  To her the outdoors was just the bathroom and she had no interest in being there for any other reason.   Reddy was well traveled and flew on airplanes under the seat well over a dozen times.  Reddy disliked children (one hurt her accidentally when she was a couple of years old) and she hid under the couch or bed when kids were around.  She tolerated my son and would play with him at times and at others would ignore him which is why he was given the golden’s.  

I think further back and there was Duchess, the mixed German Sheppard and Norwegian Elkhound who was always with me.  She even got to go to work with me every day which worked fine until I moved to a city where she could not.  That drove her crazy and she tore up my apartment to offset her loneliness and sense of abandonment (or was it to show how upset at me she was1).  Duchess was a little over a year old when I donated her to a 16 year old blind girl who went to leader dog school with the dog.  I got photos of the two of them when they graduated and for a couple of Christmas’s afterwards before we lost touch.  I cried when the girl and her family drove away with my dog, but was very proud of what Duchess went on to achieve.  I know she had a good life and was deeply loved by her blind master.  All Duchess ever wanted was to be close to one she cared about.  I am glad she got that. 

The first dog I remember living with us was when I was around 4 or 5 years old.  Her name was Suzie and she was a stray puppy that had taken up at a house my family moved into.  She was an outside dog and we fed her back to health.  About the time she was getting really comfortable with us she came down with rabies and had to be shot by a policeman (I remember hearing the gunshot…talk about a traumatic time for a kid!). 

There were always dogs around.  Lulu was a mixed German Sheppard who guarded my stepfather’s store.  I realize now she spent most of her entire life inside a fence and I feel a bad about that.  There was the first “Duchess”, a Belgian Sheppard that as an adult came to live with us.  She got hit by a car and killed.  “Easy” was my stepbrother’s Doberman Pincher who was our roommate for a few years.  He was a cool dog who was very affectionate and protective, but did not like strangers.  Easy made me uncomfortable how he was toward others more than once.  I know he meant well though.

There were even the two dogs that came into my life as puppies when I was around 10.  One was my brothers and the other was mine.  Sadly before they were fully grown they took up the fatal habit of killing repeatedly digging out of their pen and killing chickens just for fun.  Once a dog has a taste for that activity, they can not be broken of the habit.  My stepfather took them into the woods and killed both dogs which is what was done back then in farm country with “chicken killers”.  Today that seems grotesque. 

Most recently there was a beautifulLabradorretriever than lived came to live with my ex-wife and me.  Indigo was so black she appeared to have a deep navy blue tinge to her coat which is why her name fit so well.  Most of all “Indy” is a happy dog who got spoiled rotten by her adopting mama and papa.  In the divorce my ‘ex’ got “full custody” of the dog and I have not seen Indigo now in a long while.  She’s turned five a few months ago.  I miss her specifically and in general miss having a dog.  I hope to have another dog before too long in the time ahead. 

This morning I am thankful for all the four legged friends I have shared my life with.  They were all good friends who where there willingly in good and bad times.  I am very grateful for the caring friendship I shared with each of them.  

When I grow up I want to be the person my dog thinks I am.  Anonymous

A Friend On His Way Home

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

At the end of March I moved to a newly purchased home and have taken my time since unpacking.  The necessary things were out of boxes and organized soon after arriving.  The kitchen, bedroom, den and my office are organized and fully functional.  For the rest I have been slow to unpack as I am intentionally taking my time sorting and lightening my load. 

Often after work on weekday evenings I unpack a single box.  Last night the box I cut the tape on was one filled with assorted and unrelated stuff that collected in a cabinet over time.  There were record covers I need to find the mates for.  Several small containers of photography accessories were the only organized items in the big box.  There were photos from a trip to England and Poland, of my father and some old publicity photos of me.  In a manila folder were several unrelated things:  certificates from training I completed, a few random photos, a small newspaper article about an old achievement of mine and three folded white pieces of paper.  When I unfolded them I saw at the bottom of each “Dayton, WS, August ‘90” that had been typed on a typewriter. 

I smiled as I thought of a man who had not entered my mind in a long while.  He was an odd duck, but a kind and interesting man about 20+ years older than me.  We were friends once upon a time.  WS was for Wayne Shockley or Wayne Shayne.  Both names were for the same person with the former being his legal name and the latter his stage name. Wayne had been a successful radio announcer “in his day” but was nearing the bottom of the curve of a downhill slide when I knew him.   He had “lived the life” when younger that many in the entertainment industry do and enjoyed himself fully to the extent of his ability.  Having never saved, nor realized that down the road age would catch up with him he lived a hundred yards from destitution by the time I met him.  He had a family once and talked about two children  in California he felt guilty about not having been a better father for.  I know they had reconciled and he was very happy about that. 

Wayne and I worked together in Dayton, Ohio.  Saying I was his boss feels odd because he never needed a supervisor.  He was a competent and dependable employee, but due to age was looked upon by most as “over the hill”.  Yes, his style was old-fashioned, but for what he lacked in current “hipness” he made up for with dedication and the quality of his humanness.  Everyone liked him, but due to his uniqueness most did not take the time to get to know him labeling him “weird” instead of becoming more acquainted with him.  

My friend suffered from very bad juvenile diabetes and more than once I got a call from a police officer saying they had picked him up disoriented and lost.  Thinking he was driving and acting goofy due to alcohol, they’d test him and find no booze on his breath.  Then they’d start to believe his story about his out of whack blood sugar being the cause and would call me for confirmation as he suggested (my number was on a note he carried in his wallet that explained his condition to anyone who took the time to look).

After a few years of us working together, an old buddy of Wayne’s became the manager of an oldies station several hundred miles.  The friend invited him to come join as a drive time DJ.    Wayne saw it as a last chance to be on top again and play those oldies he loved so much.  I know he disliked leaving the security of the job he had working overnights, but felt he had to try to make it just one more time. 

After he moved on, he called here and there.  Over time the calls came less and less.  Then after a year they did not come at all except the last time I talked to him.  We made small talk for a while and then in a quite tone he began to explain.  The radio station had failed and the job was long gone.  He’d been staying with a friend in Atlanta.  Wayne said he was very sick and just wanted to make it home to California to see his kids, but had no money.  He apologized for asking, but said he was asking a few friends to help him with gas money so he could head home to the west coast.  I feel sad even today just recalling that conversation of over 20 years ago.  I sent him $200 and the next I heard about Wayne was from St. Louisa few weeks later. 

The call came in from a mutual friend who Wayne had stopped to stay with for a couple of nights on his way to California.  What I heard from the other end of the phone was St. Louis was as far as Wayne had made it.  He had died the evening before.  The diabetes finally got him. 

In my heart and mind Wayne was more unique and memorable than any character you might see in a movie.  He was real, distinctively and completely himself.  As a tear rolls down my face there is certainty my life is richer for having had Wayne play this stage I call my life.  I am grateful to be one of the few he trusted to let read his poetry and thankful the copies of three of them he gave me.  Thank you, Wayne,  for being my friend and for the spot of color you painted into my life. 

Conversation in the Afternoon by Wayne Shockley aka Wayne Shayne
On a snowy windy afternoon
I fell into conversation
A pretty librarian at the check out desk
Who regaled me with the inner workings of minds
Such as Dickens and Steinbeck

We spent our late afternoon before dusk
Two travelers locked away from our homes
Held in the wheels of the storm
Lying on smooth white sheets
Eating melted ice cream from the pint carton
Drinking warm beer
Warm and cuddly down at the old downtown Windsor

When our play concluded
She sat up with her back against the oaken headboard
Fished into her plastic purse for a bent Camel light
Lit up and smiled
She began to talk about the new set of clothes
She had put away on layaway
Just yesterday. 

Life without a friend is death without a witness.  Eugene Benge

Old Friends Are the Best Friends

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

There is a good friend of mine who lives about 700 miles away that I trade an email with just about every single day of the year.  The exchange is usually just a few lines.  Yet, it amazing how well we are able to keep up with each other with those short little but consistent emails.  

Lately we have been comparing notes on the weather in each of our locales and this morning I wrote him about the record 107 degree temp here yesterday.   While here in Oklahoma we are having record highs yesterday in Colorado just 700 miles away it was raining.  I only know that because he wrote and told me.    

My friend is semi-retired and has more small hand power tools than anyone else I have ever known.  A hobby of wood working takes a good deal of his time.  He seems to always be coming up with a new self assigned project and making something out of wood for a friend or family member.  From chests to clocks to display boxes he makes them all and more.  I frequently get photos of his latest effort whether it is a toy chest for his granddaughter or a pen storage box for his wife’s office. 

Through emails I am able to keep up with happenings in my friend’s family.  I knew about his oldest son buying a house recently and got to see photos of the house.  There are regular updates on the interesting things his very intelligent and observant 1st grade  granddaughter comes up with. 

When my buddy takes a trip, I know almost always where to, for how long and the general purpose of the travel.  He just wrote this morning about heading to a school reunion this upcoming weekend. 

One of my friend’s two sons is quite an artist.  While it is not something the son does for a living, he does sell a piece here and there.  I look forward to the holidays each year to see what this son has added to his outdoor Christmas display.  Each Christmas season my friend’s son makes additional characters for his home lawn exhibition that includes some of the most original depictions of elves I have ever seen.  I know because I get new images via email each year. 

He and I also have fun with each other with some good old fashioned kidding and goofing around from time to time.  Usually some sort of play on words or just having fun with something one of us has written is good fun and entertainment.  

I always know when it is a patriotic holiday my friend will out ridding his red, white and blue motorcycle wearing his flag jacket.  I look forward to hearing specifics about who waved, honked, saluted and appreciated his efforts.   Whether it’s Memorial Day, July 4th, Veteran’s Day, President’s Day, Flag Day or some lesser patriotic remembrance, somewhere on the streets of Colorado my friend can be found. 

He and I have known each other close to 30 years and we began as two people who worked for the same company.  Over the years we each went our separate professional ways, but have steadily become closer friends as time has passed.  Neither of us are people who make friendships easily or fast.  Old and un-fractured friendships are rare, yet that is what we share.  We have never had a cross word exchanged. 

I have written all that to say, today at the top of my gratitude list is my friend and the daily emails we share.  He is a unique, quirky and intelligent man with a twisted sort of humor that I appreciate a lot.  His novel view of things is a good match for mine.  We are completely different is so many ways, but yet at our core we are basically the same.  Today it is for my good friend that I feel much gratitude for.  I am honored to call him my friend.  

Friendship doubles our joy and divides our grief.  Swedish Proverb

True Friendship: Feels Good, Feels True

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

This two line email yesterday from a friend of many years:  My heart is wanting kind words and encouragement.  I bet you have some for me. thanks

My response was this note and the items that follow:  I just started writing… and in about 15 minutes I ended up with a baker’s dozen of 13 random things that came to mind along with one final thought.  This helped me just by seeing my words reminds me of what I believe in.  I hope in some way these words are able to reach you and touch that part inside that needs to be held, caressed and loved.  Peace and much love. 

1. You are enough.  Always have been.  Always will be. 

2. Everything you need to be happy is within and you need only see it. 

3. You are deeply loved and you love deeply.  Ultimately what matters most is the love you feel for others and the love others feel for you. 

4. You are admired and looked up to. 

5. Good or bad, positive or negative, each thing you do impacts someone else. 

6. Thoughts need attention to grow.  If you don’t like the thought you are having, remember you are the one choosing it and making the thought flourish. 

7. Gratitude is one of the key ingredients for a good life.  When you can’t find gratitude for what “is”, flip the coin and find gratitude in things you’re glad “aren’t”. 

8. The best life anyone ever had was a lot of happiness, with a great deal of heartache and tragedy mixed in. 

9. When you can’t believe in yourself, find something to believe in beyond yourself.  For example, believing the sun will rise just as it is coming up can be a profoundly renewing experience. 

10. A walk in nature won’t cure anything, but communing with nature always makes all things easier to deal with. 

11. As Plato said, remember all people are by nature equal, made all of the same earth by one Workman; and however we deceive ourselves, as dear unto God is the poor peasant as the mighty prince or princess.

12.  Courage is not the absence of fear.  It is being afraid and not wanting to go on, but doing it any way.  When courage is lacking, all you need to do is take one more little step.  And another.  And then another. 

13.  The quality of life depends not on what view of the past we may have, nor on our perceptions of how the future go.  How fully we are living each moment as it unfolds determines our quality of life, one moment at a time.     

     With even just a little effort it is possible to leave the world better for having been here, if only in small ways.  It does not matter whether you plant ideas or plant flowers, plant compassion or plant a smile on a child’s face, plant change or plant a thought in perpetuity.  In an immortal fashion we change the world without even meaning to simply by the example others see us to be.  What are you showing the world today?  (end of my email)

A few hours later I was touched when my friend sent a short but meaningful reply.  She wrote “Thanks my friend.  Feels good, feels true”.  I am very glad she trusted me enough to ask for support when she needed it.  I am thankful I was able to help her in some small way.  There is comfort within to know she will likewise assist me anytime I need her to.   We are true friends.

For the well from which the words to send my friend were drawn and the higher power that helped me shape them, I am deeply grateful. 

What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.  Aristotle

Pretty Ugly and Awfully Good

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Marek looked at me with a very confused look when I answered his question “How did you sleep last night?” My reply was “awfully good”.  Thinking he did not understand me I said it again to which he replied “was sleep awful or good?” 

In another conversation during the same trip I was asked by someone what I liked most and least about Warsaw, the city I was visiting.  Thinking for a moment before speaking I answered “we spent over half a day in Old Town.  That is a very cool place.  I just love the look and feel of it.”  Pausing for a moment to come up with something that would not offend my hosts I continued “As for something I like least I think it would the big dark, plain and grimy apartment buildings on the edge of town.  Those are pretty ugly.”   A puzzled look came of both faces of the two people I was standing and talking to.  A man listening asked me in his heavy accent “which, pretty or ugly?” 

It is the nature of many people in Eastern Europe to enjoy alcohol more than many and each business day is often capped with a time of evening drinking.  The favored drink is beer and I can always remember the brand I preferred.  It is called “Okocim Porter”.  For me the brand is easy to remember because the first two letters are the same as the abbreviation for my home state.  Plus the English sounding second part of the name, “Porter”, always struck me as odd to be part of the name of a Polish beer.   

During this particular business trip I think I created my biggest amusement for my Polish friends at a cocktail party one evening.  The previous night I had experienced a really good time at a similar gathering for drinking; a little too good actually.  Unaccustomed to beer with 8-9% alcohol content I ended up getting looped.  Not completely drunk, but not completely sober either.

Knowing I had left early the previous night due to my “happy” condition a guest at the cocktail party asked how I got back to the hotel.   My reply was “Janusz carried me”.  I was standing with a group of four or five people and a puzzled look came over all their faces.  One finally said something like “your hotel is a long way.  Janusz really picked you up and carried you there last night?”  As he spoke he made a motion like one might make if picking up something heavy and I instantly realized I had misspoke.  I said “took me in his car” to correct the impression that a man had literally carried me back to my hotel.  Everyone burst out in laughter.  One said “you speak funny English”. 

Starting within a few years after the fall of communism I was professionally involved as a consultant with a media company in Poland for about a decade.  It was one of the high points of my life so far.  I hosted Polish visitors here in the US at least eight or ten times and I visited Poland several times as well.  I got to know quite well the two men who were the senior managers for the company I was consulting.  One of them became a good friend and I am still in contact with Janusz today.  

When I first met the first two Poles, they were visiting here in the states.  The men were new to my type business they were undertaking at home and our management team had taken on the job of teaching them as much as we could.  This initial visit was for two weeks.  We took turns teaching our guests in the daytime and entertaining them during evenings and weekends. 

On a Monday morning, imagine my surprise when I asked the Poles where one of our management group had taken them on Sunday and the reply was “Gerry took us to hookers”.  It was a very uncomfortable few seconds as I thought surely they had not visited prostitutes, but for a blink or two I honestly thought that might be a possibility.  Being new to Polish customs and habits I just did not know.  My reply was a very puzzled “really?” with about ten question marks accenting my one word statement.  Then the other visitor who spoke better English apparently saw my distress and chimed in with “Hooters, Gerry took us to Hooters”.  What a relief!  We all had a great laugh and it is a favorite funny story to tell even today.  

Deep within there is much gratitude for the people in Poland I got to know.  I gained many insights and learned at least as much as I was able to teach.  I remember clearly being at dinner in Warsaw one evening eating a lot and drinking a bit more when my friend Janusz remarked that he could not imagine us being enemies, but our fathers had been.  Then we toasted our friendship. 

One of the most lasting remnants of my Polish education was to pay attention to what I say and how I put words together.  I believe today I have eliminated things like “pretty ugly” and “awfully good” from my vocabulary.  I do have some fun here and there with my awareness.  When asking someone how they are, the frequent reply is “pretty good”.  My response is usually something like “So you’re pretty and you’re good.  That’s awesome that you have such a good self imagine and you are doing well.”   Most don’t get it, but each time I am presented that opportunity I am grateful to be reminded of my friends in Poland and the gratitude I have for my times with them. 

English is a funny language; that explains why we park our car on the driveway and drive our car on the parkway.  Author Unknown