My posting today is coming from the little place of heaven on earth called Isle of Palms, South Carolina. I had an opportunity to come down and hang out with some new friends that I met recently. I took the train down from Alexandria after work on Wednesday night for some much needed rest and relaxation. So far, I have visited downtown Charleston, seen Ft. Sumter from a distance at the Battery, had a New Orleans style shrimp po-boy at a place called Joseph's and visited United Church of Christ cemetery with graves older it seems than time itself. I sat in with a writer's group and shared some of my writing and received some nice critique of my work. I went to a SC oyster roast at a place on the marsh and watched the gorgeous full moon rise over the Atlantic Ocean.
Of course, yesterday was the requisite day of college football, and I was 1 and 1 in that LSU won and MSU lost to Arkansas. Some long delayed tasks are moving off of the table and I am focusing on my health more than ever. I hooked up with a naturopathic physician and got some supplements and a detox diet to get my insulin in control. For the first time in a while, I feel that I am going to get a handle on this issue in my life.
Sometimes we need to get away from the madness of life to really see the way things really are; to clear away the cobwebs so that we can see clearly our direction or path. I am sure that I have crossed over a bridge on that path this weekend.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Veteran's Day 2010
Yesterday I spent my day off walking around DC and visiting the various memorials to our fallen soldiers. I have posted some photos of the day on my Facebook page but I wanted to share a story here of an event that spoke volumes to me of how time changes things.
My last stop of the day was to be the Viet Nam Wall to take some snapshots of names of men from Coahoma County/Clarksdale, MS natives who gave their all in Viet Nam. As I approached the wall, I began to see me approaching the twilight of their lives; some walking with canes, some in wheelchairs and on oxygen, some standing ramrod straight and tall, but all looking worn and tired. The closer I got to the Wall, the more my emotions began to get the better of me as I was overhearing remembrances of men, now old, recalling a time when they were soldiers once, and young. I made my way to the book of names of the 58,000 plus who gave their all and began to look for three men in partucular; Henry Cauthen, Grady Muse and Pat Ross. The tears were already rolling down my cheeks as I found the panels and lines where their names would soon stare out at me from the black granite upon which they had been carved.
I took the photos and began to make my way back to the shade when I saw something that would forever be seared into my heart and mind. As background, a friend of mine from Baton Rouge served in the Marines in the late 60's and early 70's and I had posted a note on his Facebook page thanking him for his service. He responded to me that the reception that the troops received back in the 70's was somewhat less than gracious. That thought was in my mind as I observed the following event. A young man and his two boys were making their way quietly among the throng of veterans there at the Wall. The man looked to be in his late 30's and maybe was in his early 40's and his boys looked to be about 10 and 12 years old. Each of those boys went up to veterans and said the following words; "thank you for your service to our country". They looked the vets in the eyes and reached out and shook hands with these men. The reaction was varied; some patted the boys on the back and said "thank you", some quietly nodded their heads probably overcome with the same emotion as I, and some shed tears. I was a wreck and had to go off by myself for a time of composure.
This morning as I write this, I am thinking of the father of those two boys and I wonder was his dad a Viet Nam soldier who didn't come home, or was he one of those who did come home and forever carried the remembrance of the days when he came home to the derisive words hurled the way of may of our men and women who served in Southeast Asia. Whatever his motivation, the action of this father and his sons gesture made Veterans' Day 2010 a date which I will not soon forget.
My last stop of the day was to be the Viet Nam Wall to take some snapshots of names of men from Coahoma County/Clarksdale, MS natives who gave their all in Viet Nam. As I approached the wall, I began to see me approaching the twilight of their lives; some walking with canes, some in wheelchairs and on oxygen, some standing ramrod straight and tall, but all looking worn and tired. The closer I got to the Wall, the more my emotions began to get the better of me as I was overhearing remembrances of men, now old, recalling a time when they were soldiers once, and young. I made my way to the book of names of the 58,000 plus who gave their all and began to look for three men in partucular; Henry Cauthen, Grady Muse and Pat Ross. The tears were already rolling down my cheeks as I found the panels and lines where their names would soon stare out at me from the black granite upon which they had been carved.
I took the photos and began to make my way back to the shade when I saw something that would forever be seared into my heart and mind. As background, a friend of mine from Baton Rouge served in the Marines in the late 60's and early 70's and I had posted a note on his Facebook page thanking him for his service. He responded to me that the reception that the troops received back in the 70's was somewhat less than gracious. That thought was in my mind as I observed the following event. A young man and his two boys were making their way quietly among the throng of veterans there at the Wall. The man looked to be in his late 30's and maybe was in his early 40's and his boys looked to be about 10 and 12 years old. Each of those boys went up to veterans and said the following words; "thank you for your service to our country". They looked the vets in the eyes and reached out and shook hands with these men. The reaction was varied; some patted the boys on the back and said "thank you", some quietly nodded their heads probably overcome with the same emotion as I, and some shed tears. I was a wreck and had to go off by myself for a time of composure.
This morning as I write this, I am thinking of the father of those two boys and I wonder was his dad a Viet Nam soldier who didn't come home, or was he one of those who did come home and forever carried the remembrance of the days when he came home to the derisive words hurled the way of may of our men and women who served in Southeast Asia. Whatever his motivation, the action of this father and his sons gesture made Veterans' Day 2010 a date which I will not soon forget.
Happy Birthday, PaPaw
Today, my grandfather, Benjamin Allen Crawford, Sr. would have been 116 years old. He was born in the little burb of Burgess, MS just outside of Oxford, Ms on November 12, 1894. He was the middle of three sons born to Frank Buford Crawford and Ida Sanders. He had a half sister named Zelph or Zilph, but every one called her Annie. In the census of 1900, there were 16 folks living in the Crawford household. My great-grandfather and great grandmother, great aunt, two great uncles, my grandfather, his aunt and four cousins whose surname was Briscoe and five boarders. Back then, high school went only to the 11th grade and my grandfather was finished with high school by the age of 17 around 1911. He and his older brother, Ivy were in the same class, if I remember the story correctly. Ivy went on to Ole Miss, and my grandfather went to work to help support the family as a brick mason. The war broke out in Europe in 1914, the year Papaw turned 20 and he was drafted, trained and shipped to France sometime in the fall of 1917 where he served in the Meuse Argon campaign. He was discharged sometime in 1919 and returned to the states to practice his trade as a brick mason.
By the time he got back to the states, his father was in failing health and had moved to Marianna, Arkansas where Annie, his half sister had moved and married a man by the name of Ike McCain. Ike and my Uncle Doc would become involved in the farming business in Marianna after Uncle Doc finished med school at Tulane University and moved to Marianna to set up his practice. Papaw met Ludie Mae Miller who was my great grandfather's nurse and they eventually married in about 1923. In April of 1925 my Aunt Nora was born and in November 1926, my dad came along.
Papaw was, by my remembrance, a hard working man. He loved good barbeque, beer and unfiltered Camel smokes and while he wasn't vocal about his faith, he was serious about the Bible. He was his own version of the Gideons; buying Bibles and distributing them to folks whenever and wherever he saw the need. I think about him almost daily and especially when I run across something that reminds me of his time here on earth.
By the time he got back to the states, his father was in failing health and had moved to Marianna, Arkansas where Annie, his half sister had moved and married a man by the name of Ike McCain. Ike and my Uncle Doc would become involved in the farming business in Marianna after Uncle Doc finished med school at Tulane University and moved to Marianna to set up his practice. Papaw met Ludie Mae Miller who was my great grandfather's nurse and they eventually married in about 1923. In April of 1925 my Aunt Nora was born and in November 1926, my dad came along.
Papaw was, by my remembrance, a hard working man. He loved good barbeque, beer and unfiltered Camel smokes and while he wasn't vocal about his faith, he was serious about the Bible. He was his own version of the Gideons; buying Bibles and distributing them to folks whenever and wherever he saw the need. I think about him almost daily and especially when I run across something that reminds me of his time here on earth.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
In a Small Town
John Cougar Mellencamp wrote and performed a song called "Small Town" in which he sings the praises of being "small town".
I moved to the big city years ago. Jackson, Ms was the first, then New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Nashville, Baton Rouge again, and New Orleans and finally Metro DC. I can say with all honesty and clarity, I prefer the small town. Small town people seem to be more genuine and heartfelt. They can be cliquish and petty, sometimes gossipy and narrow-minded, but deep inside they believe in the things that work...hard work, spending less than they make, working for the betterment of community.
So, today as we go to the polls and elect governors and representatives on the state level and Congress on the Federal level, let us elect the person who best represents what is best for our community and ultimately for our larger community, the United States of America.
I moved to the big city years ago. Jackson, Ms was the first, then New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Nashville, Baton Rouge again, and New Orleans and finally Metro DC. I can say with all honesty and clarity, I prefer the small town. Small town people seem to be more genuine and heartfelt. They can be cliquish and petty, sometimes gossipy and narrow-minded, but deep inside they believe in the things that work...hard work, spending less than they make, working for the betterment of community.
So, today as we go to the polls and elect governors and representatives on the state level and Congress on the Federal level, let us elect the person who best represents what is best for our community and ultimately for our larger community, the United States of America.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
October 21, 2010
Today is the one year anniversary of my dad's passing. I miss him and the sound of his voice when he would call me just to shoot the breeze. I slept in the room where he slept the last few months of his life and spent some time going through his yearbooks from college and from Northwest Mississippi Community College (where he finished high school after the war). According to the time frame for finishing school in 12 years, Dad should have finished in the spring of 1944. I don't know the reason but he was held back, but I believe it had to do with sickness as a young child.
Due to this fact, he found himself in the first semester of his junior year when he turned 18 and so he finished that semester and reported to Great Lake Naval Training Center for boot camp at the end of 1944. When the war was over and he returned home he sought to re-enroll at CHS. The principal at the time informed him that he would have to repeat the first semester of his junior year which he completed before going overseas. Dad was now 20 years old and not wanting to go back to school with 16 year olds, he opted for a program at Northwest that would allow him to finish his high school requirements in a year so that he could go on to college. He always spoke highly of Northwest and for this opportunity that they afforded him. In looking over his belongings, I found pictures from the 50 year reunion that he attended in 1997.
I think of him at least once a day and miss him, his jokes and his unique perspective on life.
I miss you, Pop! Things aren't the same without you.
Due to this fact, he found himself in the first semester of his junior year when he turned 18 and so he finished that semester and reported to Great Lake Naval Training Center for boot camp at the end of 1944. When the war was over and he returned home he sought to re-enroll at CHS. The principal at the time informed him that he would have to repeat the first semester of his junior year which he completed before going overseas. Dad was now 20 years old and not wanting to go back to school with 16 year olds, he opted for a program at Northwest that would allow him to finish his high school requirements in a year so that he could go on to college. He always spoke highly of Northwest and for this opportunity that they afforded him. In looking over his belongings, I found pictures from the 50 year reunion that he attended in 1997.
I think of him at least once a day and miss him, his jokes and his unique perspective on life.
I miss you, Pop! Things aren't the same without you.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Dear Pop
Dear Pop,
As I write this you have been absent from the body for a about nine months and a few weeks. I can't begin to tell you how much I miss you. For the last several years, we would talk a couple of times a week and soon after our visit last 4th of July, I tried to call you every two or three days, for nothing more than to chat with you, especially after those chemo treatments.
You know, I never knew you to complain about much, even when you had the flu or something like that. You always got up and went to work. I have been like you in that respect. I guess in my 35 plus years in the adult work force, I have never really missed much work. A couple of minor surgeries, hospitalization for kidney stones a couple of times and beyond that I haven't missed too many days.
I remember calling one time to talk to you and mom answered the phone. I asked where you were and she said you were up on the roof trying to fix a shingle or something. You were in your late 70's and still climbing ladders and trying to fix stuff. I know you made her crazy with worry.
I could tell you all that is going on here, but from your vantage point you can now see clearly the state of things on our side of the veil. Knowing all of that I will pretend that you don't know the little things...so here goes.
Your great grandson Caleb is growing like a weed. He's so funny and smart and full of himself. I don't see him much, but when I do it is such a joyful time. I get to see him in October for a few days when I go down to MC's homecoming. Christian and Aimee are officially a couple now. Aimee rented a house near Beth so they are all near each other. Chris got some training to process claims from the oil spill in the Gulf. He is still working with the band and writing music, playing and recording.
Katie transferred from Nicholls and will be at LSU this fall. Hannah is still working hard on her Masters. She gets down to Baton Rouge every so often...kind of like me, I guess. Jeremy is still working for Clicks and I think is going to school this fall. I know he applied to work at the nuclear plant in St. Francisville but I haven't heard if his application was accepted.
I have been working on a geneology of the Crawford family and have gotten stuck at your great grandfather. I think he was killed at the end of the Civil War around spring of 1865. That's just some of the stuff I wish that had asked you when you were around.
Well, Pop, that's all for now. I will write again soon.
Bennie
As I write this you have been absent from the body for a about nine months and a few weeks. I can't begin to tell you how much I miss you. For the last several years, we would talk a couple of times a week and soon after our visit last 4th of July, I tried to call you every two or three days, for nothing more than to chat with you, especially after those chemo treatments.
You know, I never knew you to complain about much, even when you had the flu or something like that. You always got up and went to work. I have been like you in that respect. I guess in my 35 plus years in the adult work force, I have never really missed much work. A couple of minor surgeries, hospitalization for kidney stones a couple of times and beyond that I haven't missed too many days.
I remember calling one time to talk to you and mom answered the phone. I asked where you were and she said you were up on the roof trying to fix a shingle or something. You were in your late 70's and still climbing ladders and trying to fix stuff. I know you made her crazy with worry.
I could tell you all that is going on here, but from your vantage point you can now see clearly the state of things on our side of the veil. Knowing all of that I will pretend that you don't know the little things...so here goes.
Your great grandson Caleb is growing like a weed. He's so funny and smart and full of himself. I don't see him much, but when I do it is such a joyful time. I get to see him in October for a few days when I go down to MC's homecoming. Christian and Aimee are officially a couple now. Aimee rented a house near Beth so they are all near each other. Chris got some training to process claims from the oil spill in the Gulf. He is still working with the band and writing music, playing and recording.
Katie transferred from Nicholls and will be at LSU this fall. Hannah is still working hard on her Masters. She gets down to Baton Rouge every so often...kind of like me, I guess. Jeremy is still working for Clicks and I think is going to school this fall. I know he applied to work at the nuclear plant in St. Francisville but I haven't heard if his application was accepted.
I have been working on a geneology of the Crawford family and have gotten stuck at your great grandfather. I think he was killed at the end of the Civil War around spring of 1865. That's just some of the stuff I wish that had asked you when you were around.
Well, Pop, that's all for now. I will write again soon.
Bennie
Monday, July 19, 2010
A Monday morning musing
Over the weekend, I heard of the passing of another childhood acquaintance. It is to be expected that as we age, people die. That's one of the fundamental laws of nature so to speak; penned so eloquently by the write of Ecclesiastes so many years ago. "To every thing there is a season...a time to be born and a time to die". As children we prayed the prayer..."now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep...and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take".
I am sure that if I sat here long enough and thought back on all of the folks that I have known over the years, the sting of Death has touched all in some way or another. My first encounter was probably the death of one of my great-grandparents on my mom's side of the family; probably Great Grandpa Dendy. I was probably 3 when he died and was closer to five or six when my Great-Grandma Dendy passed in 1960. They were old, they were supposed to have that "foot in the grave" so-to-speak. Through the years, I have experienced the sting through the loss of friends who passed way before their time. Those losses and the loss fo a child are the hardest for
My spiritual orientation teaches me that there is an after-life and that those who profess Jesus as the Son of God will reach that after-life. Other religions have their own interpretation of the after-life. The Scriptures tell us of a New Jerusalem where there will mansions prepared for us. We call that the Blessed Hope...that one day when this life is over, we will go to that place that is prepared for us. It is my hope that this is the case; for I don't really want to come back and do this thing called life again. I like the idea of in the "Sweet Bye and Bye, we will meet on that beautiful shore..." Then again, I have never been one for opulence; a little cabin overlooking a crystal brook will be fime with me.
I am sure that if I sat here long enough and thought back on all of the folks that I have known over the years, the sting of Death has touched all in some way or another. My first encounter was probably the death of one of my great-grandparents on my mom's side of the family; probably Great Grandpa Dendy. I was probably 3 when he died and was closer to five or six when my Great-Grandma Dendy passed in 1960. They were old, they were supposed to have that "foot in the grave" so-to-speak. Through the years, I have experienced the sting through the loss of friends who passed way before their time. Those losses and the loss fo a child are the hardest for
My spiritual orientation teaches me that there is an after-life and that those who profess Jesus as the Son of God will reach that after-life. Other religions have their own interpretation of the after-life. The Scriptures tell us of a New Jerusalem where there will mansions prepared for us. We call that the Blessed Hope...that one day when this life is over, we will go to that place that is prepared for us. It is my hope that this is the case; for I don't really want to come back and do this thing called life again. I like the idea of in the "Sweet Bye and Bye, we will meet on that beautiful shore..." Then again, I have never been one for opulence; a little cabin overlooking a crystal brook will be fime with me.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Memorial Day 2010
One year ago next month we received the news that my dad had cancer. Daddy was a veteran of the Pacific theater of WWII, part of what Tom Brokaw calls the "Greatest Generation". He volunteered for the Navy when he turned 18 rather than be drafted into the Army. Daddy turned 18 on 16 November 1944 and he was a first semester junior at Clarksdale High School. He started school in the fall of 1932 and was scheduled to have graduated in May or June of 1944 just a few month short of his 18th burthday. Sickness during his younger years caused him to be held back a couple of years so he was technically not scheduled to graduate until the spring of 1946.
My grandmother Crawford told me that his sickenss was something like TB, but when asked he would deny that it was "that disease". Nevertheless, as he grew older he grew stronger but he still was two years behind his age group in school. Knowing he was probably going to be drafted he promised his mother that he would join the U.S. Navy where he certainly going be safer than in an infantry unit storming the beaches of some forsaken island in the Pacific or freezing somewhere in France. So, he joined the Navy and shipped off to boot camp sometime after his 18th birthday. Boot camp was in Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Great Lakes, Illinois just north of Chicago. While in boot camp you decided what "job" you would like in the Navy, so being the son of a contractor and liking the outdoors and building things...he chose the construction battalion or SeaBee's. SeaBee's go in after the island is taken and build runways and docks for ships, any buildings, etc. It was not a safety position by any means, but at leaast he didn't volunteer to be a corpsman. You see the Marines don't have their own corpsman...they get them from the Navy.
With a promise that he would keep his head down and come back to her, off to war he went. He left out Millington NAS on a train bound for San Francisco where he was loaded onto a troop carrier bound for Okinawa.
For those who don't know, Okinawa was the staging point for what was to be the battle of Japan. He would later tell me that the sight of 100,000 body bags sobered him up to the fact that he might not make it through this event. As we know the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki stopped the clock on the Battle of Japan and brought Daddy and many others like him home to their families.
So, on this Memorial Day weekend I salute the one's like my dad who went and served and came home to be with their families. I also salute the one's who paid the ultimate price and gave their lives for the cause of freedom. God bless ou Daddy and all the one's who went before you and have come along since as we remember you on this Memorial Day.
My grandmother Crawford told me that his sickenss was something like TB, but when asked he would deny that it was "that disease". Nevertheless, as he grew older he grew stronger but he still was two years behind his age group in school. Knowing he was probably going to be drafted he promised his mother that he would join the U.S. Navy where he certainly going be safer than in an infantry unit storming the beaches of some forsaken island in the Pacific or freezing somewhere in France. So, he joined the Navy and shipped off to boot camp sometime after his 18th birthday. Boot camp was in Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Great Lakes, Illinois just north of Chicago. While in boot camp you decided what "job" you would like in the Navy, so being the son of a contractor and liking the outdoors and building things...he chose the construction battalion or SeaBee's. SeaBee's go in after the island is taken and build runways and docks for ships, any buildings, etc. It was not a safety position by any means, but at leaast he didn't volunteer to be a corpsman. You see the Marines don't have their own corpsman...they get them from the Navy.
With a promise that he would keep his head down and come back to her, off to war he went. He left out Millington NAS on a train bound for San Francisco where he was loaded onto a troop carrier bound for Okinawa.
For those who don't know, Okinawa was the staging point for what was to be the battle of Japan. He would later tell me that the sight of 100,000 body bags sobered him up to the fact that he might not make it through this event. As we know the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki stopped the clock on the Battle of Japan and brought Daddy and many others like him home to their families.
So, on this Memorial Day weekend I salute the one's like my dad who went and served and came home to be with their families. I also salute the one's who paid the ultimate price and gave their lives for the cause of freedom. God bless ou Daddy and all the one's who went before you and have come along since as we remember you on this Memorial Day.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
6 degrees of separation
Six degrees of separation (also referred to as the "Human Web") refers to the idea that everyone is at most six steps away from any other person on Earth, so that a chain of, "a friend of a friend" statements can be made to connect any two people in six steps or fewer. (From Wikipedia).
I have been able to go back to thinking about things lately. The work project that engrossed me was suddenly complete and I found myself with some "time" on my hands. I got to looking around on Facebook and "found" some old friends on the FB pages of other friends. After making contact with these old friends, I got to thinking about that "6 degrees of separation thing". Truly we are part of a bigger "family" in the sense that we are connected in ways that we have never really pondered. It's about information or rather access to information. It is about connections..."hey, you are related to Bob...or I didn't know you knew Dave and Sally...yeah, we were in the same church for a while or our kids played soccer together....". One of the things that saddens me is the fact that many times I find about of the passing of a friend from years back. Memories are triggered of that person and then the wondering about their last days. A deeper sadness occurs if their death came by their own hand. What despair wracked them during those last days, I wonder to myself.One of my personality traitsis that of one who feels and so I feel at that moment those things that I would have felt back when the event actually happened.
34 years ago I graduated from college and I kept a core of friends from those days. We talked and wrote letters, spoke on occasion by telephone or ran into each other while visiting family or friends. In the middle 90's I got my first computer and an AOL account and suddenly email opened up a new world for me. Cell phones soon followed and then texting....computers became smaller and then we adults discovered MySpace followed by Facebook, then Twitter....well that's as far as I have gotten. There's other stuff...stuff that I don't have time to investigate. I have so much information, just a few keystrokes away. It astounds and baffles me at times. Yet, there is an element missing....
My youngest daughter recently posted a request on her Facebook page for letters. I sat down and wrote one...Lord, I can't tell you the last time I had performed that actvity. It was an effort to write a page and a half...but, I did it and mailed it to her and she was pleased. It takes little effort to do these things...handwriting letters, calling someone just to say "I'm thinking of you". It used to be that we grew up finsihed school, went off to college or the military, then came back home to work in the family business, teach school or establish a new business around people who knew us or knew our folks. Not so today. We are more likely to take jobs away from our home base unless we grew up in a major metropolitan area. Trips home are replaced with emails, texts and cell phone calls and maybe even Skype sessions. However, none of this satisfies the longing for the human touch; the hug of a family member, the soothing hand of comfort from your friend of 30 plus years, the feeling of just knowing that you are where you matter.
I enjoy my connections via social networking; I marvel at the friends that I have who know each other, but not through or because of me. I like the feeling of being connected to others. In the end it matters not how you got be friends or that you are connected in this 6 degree way...it just matters that you are!
I have been able to go back to thinking about things lately. The work project that engrossed me was suddenly complete and I found myself with some "time" on my hands. I got to looking around on Facebook and "found" some old friends on the FB pages of other friends. After making contact with these old friends, I got to thinking about that "6 degrees of separation thing". Truly we are part of a bigger "family" in the sense that we are connected in ways that we have never really pondered. It's about information or rather access to information. It is about connections..."hey, you are related to Bob...or I didn't know you knew Dave and Sally...yeah, we were in the same church for a while or our kids played soccer together....". One of the things that saddens me is the fact that many times I find about of the passing of a friend from years back. Memories are triggered of that person and then the wondering about their last days. A deeper sadness occurs if their death came by their own hand. What despair wracked them during those last days, I wonder to myself.One of my personality traitsis that of one who feels and so I feel at that moment those things that I would have felt back when the event actually happened.
34 years ago I graduated from college and I kept a core of friends from those days. We talked and wrote letters, spoke on occasion by telephone or ran into each other while visiting family or friends. In the middle 90's I got my first computer and an AOL account and suddenly email opened up a new world for me. Cell phones soon followed and then texting....computers became smaller and then we adults discovered MySpace followed by Facebook, then Twitter....well that's as far as I have gotten. There's other stuff...stuff that I don't have time to investigate. I have so much information, just a few keystrokes away. It astounds and baffles me at times. Yet, there is an element missing....
My youngest daughter recently posted a request on her Facebook page for letters. I sat down and wrote one...Lord, I can't tell you the last time I had performed that actvity. It was an effort to write a page and a half...but, I did it and mailed it to her and she was pleased. It takes little effort to do these things...handwriting letters, calling someone just to say "I'm thinking of you". It used to be that we grew up finsihed school, went off to college or the military, then came back home to work in the family business, teach school or establish a new business around people who knew us or knew our folks. Not so today. We are more likely to take jobs away from our home base unless we grew up in a major metropolitan area. Trips home are replaced with emails, texts and cell phone calls and maybe even Skype sessions. However, none of this satisfies the longing for the human touch; the hug of a family member, the soothing hand of comfort from your friend of 30 plus years, the feeling of just knowing that you are where you matter.
I enjoy my connections via social networking; I marvel at the friends that I have who know each other, but not through or because of me. I like the feeling of being connected to others. In the end it matters not how you got be friends or that you are connected in this 6 degree way...it just matters that you are!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)