2020: The year of lemonade

2020: The virus, the 'rona, COVID, the quarantine, the shutdown. And a layoff for me, and temporary work stoppage for Dawn.

I've always been a glass-half-full guy, but this year has definitely challenged me. I cried, I questioned, I second-guessed, and I worried.

But along the way I had some amazing friends who offered me some small odd jobs, and somehow I darn near turned myself into a handyman of sorts.

Life gave me lemons. But friends gave me some sugar, and I made a big ol' batch of lemonade while the world argued about masks.

This is my life update, and a two-fold nudge: One of encouragement if you're going through a difficult season, and one of being that friend when someone else is struggling.

It was April, and I had just finished a week of furlough. I learned that my 3 weeks of unpaid time off was changing to an elimination of my position. The years of struggles in the newspaper industry finally knocked on my door, and within a few days I was cleaning out my work desk and turning in my laptop and building key, just like I had seen so many friends and co-workers do. 

After a couple weeks of being butt-hurt, I picked up a couple of small mowing jobs, helped a friend lay some pavers at the back of his house, and then decided to let the Facebook world know that I might be interested in doing some landscape / yard work if anyone was interested. That led to one small job, and some more mowing work. Next thing I know I'm sanding a 1,000-square foot deck, hauling and spreading mulch and loading up field stones from a friend's pile of unwanted rock and delivering it to a customer to line their flower beds. These jobs, mostly, were that sugar I was talking about friends providing. Don't ever underestimate the importance in helping a friend. I will forever remember how these friends reached out and hired me as a show of kindness and God's love, when they didn't have to.

I also had the opportunity to work with my son two days a week for most of the summer, and what a treat that was to see what he had learned, and to watch him command his work. Drew's trailer-backing skills? Impressive!!! And it put us in a truck together for a few hours a week to have some meaningful conversations, and some fun conversations.

Along the way I got a shout-out for doing good work, and someone I haven't seen in decades heard about that and suggested me to a friend, which led to some part-time work basically all summer long, cleaning up their many, many flower beds, delivering and spreading mulch, trimming trees, and transplanting plants (my over-aggressiveness removing a rose bush put me on the DL for a while, but that's a story for another day). 

I even took on a job inside a new home, hanging some custom-ordered blinds and installing hardware on cabinets. You know, super basic tasks for lots of people, but jobs that forced me to lean on YouTube for tips. 

I was thoroughly enjoying the work. It felt good to be busy, to sweat and to be outside in the 90-degree days of June and July. I actually had a moment where I wondered if I could start my own business and sustain this. But winter scared me, and there was a need for a job that provided health insurance.

During all of this, applications were filled out and resumes submitted, including for 2-3 jobs that on paper looked like a very good fit for my skills. Because you know, when your skills are writing, editing, website management and social media, good fits aren't all over the place.

On a couple of occasions, a good friend had mentioned to me the idea of changing industries and trying my hand in the world of insurance, where he has built a respected company.

And that is where I have landed. I'm joining the team at Unified Group Services, and I'm beyond excited to go to work at a business where management cares about the employees, where they empower people to learn and grow, and where they place a priority on the health of the employees. I'm ready to dig in and learn new skills and see where things go in a new future.

There's some uncertainty about such a big change, but I believe this is where God wants me, and if you were part of my support system the past few months, you're appreciated more than you know.

The writings that were never published

I'm a part-time blogger. VERY part-time, like sometimes I go months without adding anything to my blog. (looks like my personal record for longest dry spell is 18 months).

Blogging, for me, can be kind of like exercise has been at various times in my life. Sometimes hard to commit to staying with it. I need to make a New Year's resolution to blog consistently!

And sometimes I start an entry because I come up with a topic or issue that I want to write about, and then I get into it and decide I don't like the direction I'm going, and I pull the plug on myself. It's always a great idea, of course, and I frequently come up with a couple of super witty lines, but as I get into it, I just can't convince myself that the finished product is going to be worth sharing with you.

Professionally, I'm an editor, and sometimes I have to tell a reporter to not pursue a certain story. Personally, I edit myself, too, and sometimes I tell myself to push the brakes on an idea. Sort of like having a conversation with my wife. Sometimes I tell myself, "No, Phil. Don't go there. Just stop. Move on."

So here, for your amusement, are some left-on-the-keyboard comments from unpublished blog entries. Deep thoughtful remarks that likely mean much less when isolated from the full thoughts they were intended to be surrounded by:

--- Nov. 11, 2019, SAY WHAT? But here I am, at the age of 52. I've had three surgeries in my life, all in the last 10 years, and all three occasions involving the doctor accessing my insides through my mid-section. As a result, my stomach now has so many markings that it resembles a map of the state of Texas. A couple of larger scars on the left side look like the metro areas of Houston and Dallas. In the center is a scar that winds around my belly button. Maybe that's a section of the Colorado River, or one of those large reservoirs that draw the fishermen to the Lone Star State. I think I'll call it my Toledo Bend Reservoir. On the other side of my stomach is another larger spot. That's San Antonio, and in between there are several smaller marks that could be the Texas towns with populations of less than a million. I have a Waco, a Galveston, an El Paso, a Midland and a Lubbock.

--- April 11, 2018, I DON'T CUSS. OK, SOMETIMES I DO: The decision to put these thoughts in writing happened shortly after I went skydiving in July 2016, something I had always wanted to do. As I was stepping out of an airplane from 12,000 feet in the air the thought occurred to me, "I should make a bucket list." No, I'm kidding. I was definitely not thinking that when I stepped out of the plane. My thought was more along the lines of, "What the &%$#! am I doing?"

--- May 29, 2017, NO MORE HIGH SCHOOLERS: But the event DOES serve as sort of closing the book. And I'm feeling a bit nostalgic thinking back to those 13 years for Drew at Blue River Valley. He's been blessed with some awesome friends and great teachers that have created lots of memories.

--- Sept. 1, 2016, CONCERT AND CAMPING: What does Building 429 mean, you ask? It's based on Ephesians 4:29 ("Let no unwholesome words come out of your mouth, but only words used in the building up of others"). Turns out that the band members knew of a church youth group that had a "429 challenge," where youth group members, if they heard another member say something inappropriate or hurtful to someone, were to respond with a "429" reminder. ..... Also, Dawn went camping. Actually slept all night in a tent!!

How big is your mountain, and who is helping you climb it?

I had an "aha" moment the other day while rock climbing, shortly after hitting the ground after my last try on a top rope course.

You need to understand that I'm not an experienced rock climber. I had done it once before, in this same safe, controlled inside facility. So even making it part of the way up the wall was a bit of an accomplishment for me.

And so there I was, about halfway up a 40-foot wall trying to follow a specific route so that my daughter wouldn't call me a wuss, like she had a few minutes earlier. And at that midpoint, I decided I was done. I lost my confidence when I looked for a next foot placement, and I hollered down, "I give up. Ready to come down." I had convinced myself that halfway up was an accomplishment, and that I should be satisfied.

My friends and family -- notably Natalie, who was my belayer -- responded in a way that froze me in my tracks, clinging to the wall. "NOOO! You can't give up now! Just lift that left foot up to the next spot, it's right there. You can do it!"

The encouragement from my group was enough to give me pause, and reconsider my decision. I just held on for a few seconds, catching my breath and letting their words build me up. And then I told them I was going on.

One step, then another. A short pause while eyeing what was left of the wall and the route that could get me there.

And after just a few more minutes, I was at the top, making contact with the very top in a celebratory way. I did it!

So .... that "aha" moment: Somewhere during the process of taking off my harness and turning in my rental equipment, gathering my belongings and walking to the van, I realized the similarities between my journey up the wall, and our journeys through life.

Sometimes in life you feel all alone. Maybe you're not literally hanging on a wall, but you might be stuck in a situation that feels like the mountain of all mountains. Just remember, there's always someone holding that rope for you. There's someone out there who wants to cheer you on. There's family, and there's friends. And even if you feel like you're without friends, or even family, God is with you. Every step of the way.

No matter how skinny that ledge of the mountain is, there's room for God to be right beside you. Even when you feel like you're in the middle of the ocean with no boat, Jesus is your life vest.

Find those friends who can help you reach the highest of heights. Lean on those family members who want to guide you on your journey. And trust that God will be with you every step.

"There's no shadow you won't light up, mountain you won't climb up, coming after me." Reckless Love, by Cory Asbury

Be as brave as this guy

This little guy could be labeled a rules-breaker, or a villain.

But I see him different. I see him as bold enough to chart his own path, as so creative that he's willing to pop up in a spot where he doesn't know if he'll be wanted. He's a risk-taker.

You see, we didn't plant any marigolds this year. We planted geraniums, and pansies, and impatiens, and petunias, all to complement our hostas and a mini rose bush. But this little marigold, currently with just a single orange flower and no other blooms in sight, he punched his way through our mulch on his own. It was several weeks ago, and several weeks after we planted our annuals, that he showed his face and let us know he was going to take up residence near a couple of our artificial frogs. He was going to shoot his roots far into the soil and show off his green leaves against the backdrop of our black mulch and try his best to be a friendly face in our front yard.

And he has made my summer. I have been regularly weeding my landscape area this year -- a task I admittedly don't always stay current on -- and I have plucked many weeds from the ground in the area of this rebel marigold. But I've kept him around, happily watching him grow until he was strong enough to sprout a bud and, eventually, let his full colors show.

Take this marigold's style and apply it to your life. Go plant yourself somewhere where you aren't sure if you're wanted. Be so beautiful that your presence makes the people there happier because of you. Be such a pleasant surprise that no one thinks of you as a weed and wants to uproot you.

The Masters: An experience unlike any other

The bright azaleas, the beautiful flowering trees, and the towering Georgia Pines.

The immaculate fairways, the perfectly raked and groomed bunkers, and the iconic images of the bridges crossing Rae's Creek at Amen Corner.

The polite acknowledgment from the golfers as fans address them, and the up-close-and-personal views of their swings as they tackle the challenges of Augusta National Golf Club.

The sounds of the golfers' drives from those tee boxes tucked into an intimate notch in the course, the patrons' collective moans when a shot just misses and the thunderous roars from 2-3 holes away as a player makes a Sunday charge.

You can see and hear much of that while watching the television coverage from the comfort of your couch. Trust me when I tell you that TV absolutely does not do it justice.

Taking my first steps onto the historic golf club Sunday morning with Natalie, I thought I was prepared for the beauty of it all. The biggest surprises, perhaps, were observing the massive size of the facility, and of the crowd. Standing near the clubhouse allows you to see so much of the grounds to fully appreciate the size.

But my most memorable part of this trip is not anything visual. No, those roars in the distance are what will stick with me more than anything else. For an hour or so, we were perched in the grandstands overlooking the No. 13 green -- the conclusion to Amen Corner -- and the No. 14 tee, watching the final groups come through. And twice while sitting there watching the likes of Rickie Fowler, Rory McIlroy and Patrick Reed, we heard crowd explosions off in the distance.

After the first roar, another patron -- that's what Augusta National officials call their guests at this prestigious tournament, not fans -- smiled and said, "Spieth must have birdied." Sure enough, in the next minute or so, the leaderboard updated to show that Jordan Spieth's score had improved by one stroke.

The sound is just so different than the cheers you hear at other sporting events. It does not compare to the celebration of a game-winning home run, a last-second touchdown pass or a daring pass into a turn as cars race to the checkered flag. The sound at Augusta is calm and quiet, with some mild polite claps mixed in. And then suddenly, unexpectedly, the cheers electrify the course in a booming way, rattling their way up through the glorious pines.

That's my No. 1 takeaway from a day I'll never forget. A day made possible by my brother was full of all the things we thought we were supposed to do. While we were inside the gates of August National, we got good looks at Amen Corner. We ate pimento cheese sandwiches. We latched onto some spots right up against the ropes to get within 10 feet of some of the world's best golfers. We drank a beer out of the plastic green Masters cups. We sat greenside for a few holes to watch golfers' approach shots land on the green, or find a bunker, and then to watch them chip and putt. We waited in line for a course-provided photo with the clubhouse and iconic flower bed in the background. And we bought souvenirs.

A day that happened because attending the Masters was a bucket-list item for me ended up being so much more. It ended up being a fun weekend road trip with my girl three weeks before she graduates from college and has to start adulting for real.

We took the time to explore Asheville, N.C., on the way, we tried for a little bit of good health by using the hotel fitness room, we ate bagels, pizza and chicken and drank coffee and milkshakes, we laughed, and we sang (Nat takes great pride in her Spotify playlist). We drove 1,400 miles and were gone exactly 48 hours.

Step out of your comfort zone .... I dare you!

When I rang in the year 2016, I fully expected it to be sort of the status quo for the next 12 months. I mean I knew there would be bumps in the road, and maybe some new excitement. I jumped out of an airplane in 2015, so there was always the possibility of a big thrill in 2016, too. A new family vehicle was going to be a necessity, and I was hopeful that I could continue a mostly healthy lifestyle.

But when you are 48 going on 49, the box you live in has pretty well been determined, right?

And then I decided to try my friend's exercise class at the Yorktown YMCA, because I had heard that it was so popular she had a waiting list. I was curious. What could Molly possibly be doing to make exercise THAT much fun?

So I hustled off to Yorktown after work one day to give cardio boxing, as she called it, a try. And I loved it. It was so much fun that I said to Molly, "I wish the New Castle Y offered this class. Maybe I'll suggest to them that they look into it."

And then Molly opened her big mouth. "Why don't YOU just teach it?"

My daughter Natalie loves my class!

I probably rolled my eyes.

I'm not an exercise class instructor! They have people to do that. You have to be trained to do that. I don't have time for that. And that's not me, anyway. In every personality test I've ever taken, I've been labeled as more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy.

But inside, I listened to Molly's half-joking, crazy, out-of-the-box idea. And I wondered. Could I really do that?

In the weeks that followed, I mentioned the idea to the decision-makers at the Henry County YMCA. They were energetic in their response, and not just that the class was a good idea but that me teaching it was a good idea. They, and Molly, assured me that I didn't need any certification or long-term education. I COULD be one of those exercise class instructors.

I really felt like this was God tugging on me and telling me to take this opportunity, with three possible benefits: 1) Make a few extra dollars, 2) Force myself into the gym for regular exercise every week, and 3) Use my abilities to help others be healthy.

And so the plans were put in place. I got some equipment lined up, I got some training and coaching from Molly on how to do this, we found two evening time slots where it would fit in the Y's schedule, and when July rolled around I led my first class. I think there was one, or maybe two, people in it. In the weeks that followed, some people came and tried it once and then I never saw them again. Some came a few times, and some are in the "occasional" category. And 6-7 people are what I would call hardcore regulars.

And now fast-forward 6 months to the end of the year, and I'm getting ready to start teaching the same class outside of the Y once a week, at a church where some good friends pastor and asked me about starting a program to help them utilize some new space. It will be an exercise class with a little spiritual twist to go with it, an offering for church members but also a community outreach, where hopefully we can use their facilities to grow God's kingdom, all while punching away some fat.

If you are still with me after 10 paragraphs, you might be wondering about that "dare" in the headline. And so my point is this: Don't confine yourself to the box in which you are currently comfortable. Just because you have lived one way for many years, or a few decades, doesn't mean you can't mix things up.

Be determined to prove that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks. Don't let past experiences limit new opportunities.

New Year's resolutions are sometimes stale and quickly forgotten. And you can commit to being a better you at any time of the year, not just on January 1. But we're in that time period where we're throwing out calendars and hanging new ones, so go ahead and grab hold of something new now.

How are you going to be better in 2017 than you were in 2016?

Sometimes, there's no replacing a momma

I like stories with happy endings. But sometimes, the end isn't what you want, and you're left grasping what it all means. Join me as I try to wrap my mind around a short-lived effort to save a life.

Last spring, a bird decided to build a nest in the tongue of my boat trailer, while it sat
in our driveway. We would see it fly in and out, and eventually we heard baby chirps. And if we shined a flashlight just right through the very narrow opening, we could see the little beaks, and the necks stretching toward the light, waiting for their next meal. Eventually the sound of chirping was gone. Momma bird had done her job raising the babies and releasing them into this big world.

This spring, it happened again. I saw an adult sparrow flying in and out of the trailer. But it was a little later in the year, and we didn't hear chirping until about a week before our Minnesota vacation. The vacation where our van would pull that trailer with the boat on it. I looked in on the birds, and could see some feathers. They weren't BRAND new, and I was hopeful they would fly before we left for our 900-mile journey with the trailer.

The day of us leaving was very busy, and I felt like I didn't have time to try and dismantle the trailer to see if I could reach the nest and somehow relocate it. I had resigned myself to the fact that they were going with us, and would certainly die during the bumps, swerves and curves that 900 miles of travel would include.

Natalie's big heart for animals wasn't any too happy about that, but she understood. Sort of.

And off we went. Four Beebes and a guest in the van, plus an unknown number of birds in the trailer. And 400-500 miles into the trip, while pumping gas, I heard a chirp. And again. And it wasn't coming from any nearby bushes, but the trailer tongue. Something was still alive in there!

At each ensuing stop, I heard it again, and at one point I finally shared the news with Natalie. Her smile filled the van, and she jumped out to listen with me.

When we pulled into the resort, we began unloading the van and the contents of the boat to get settled in. When Natalie could see we were almost done unloading, she knew what was next. Back the trailer toward the lake, submerge it into the water and launch the boat. And she came to me with her heart heavy.

"Dad, before you put the boat in the water, will you please ask Alan for some tools and try to get the birds out?"

I was eager to get on the water, and wasn't really interested in a delay. But this was one of those times I absolutely could not tell Nat no.

So I went to Alan, the resort owner.

"I have a rather unusual request for help," I said. "Do you have some tools I could borrow to try and take apart the tongue of my trailer?"

I then proceeded to tell Alan my dilemma, and he was intrigued, and happy to help. He removed the front piece of the trailer tongue for me to open up the area. With that clearer view, we could see at least one live bird. But we still couldn't reach the nest.

Alan and his son found a couple of long items that would slide through the back opening in the tongue and reach the nest to push it forward. With Alan doing the pushing and me directing him based on where the stick emerged on the other end, we finally got the nest to move forward and fall out the front opening. With it came one bird that had already died. It looked like it had died a while ago, maybe during the drive or even before.

But the live one danced around Alan's stick to try and hold on to his safe location. Alan's son then used a "grabber" tool to try and pull the bird out, and after several attempts he got hold of a wing and slid him right out. Natalie was standing there beaming, and she picked it up. She immediately started brainstorming about how to care for him -- and what to name him -- while Alan put my trailer back together so vacation could officially begin.

Natalie searched online for a fitting name and settled on Bea, which she found to mean, "Bringer of joy. Traveler. Voyager through life."

Perfect, considering the voyage Bea had just traveled, and the joy he brought Natalie.

Natalie then took charge of a box and filled it with some natural elements to create a home for Bea, and she then borrowed a worm from our bait box and cut it up to feed the young bird, which was fully feathered but apparently not yet ready to fly. With just a little encouraging, Bea opened his mouth and gobbled up the pieces of the worm. He seemed to be thriving, and Natalie was very proud, very satisfied.

Evening fell, and Natalie went to check on Bea one last time before we hit the sack. He seemed content.

And then morning came. I was the first to rise, and after starting a pot of coffee I decided to check on  Bea. My heart immediatley sank. He didn't make it through the night. It was a chilly night, and our only thought was that he couldn't stay warm enough. Natalie had provided some bedding, and a box for shelter, and he was in the screened-in porch, protected by a solid lower half to limit any breeze. But he didn't have the warmth of his momma through the night.

I was very sad, and gave the news to Natalie when she woke up. She cried, and didn't want to believe it. She felt she had failed, and she sobbed on my shoulder. She wanted so bad to be this baby's momma and see it to a safe first flight.

So that's the sad end to this story, and leaves me realizing that not everything is replaceable. Sure, life can go on without our mommas in most cases, and a dad, or a sister, or a friend can fill some of the voids. But there are just some things that no one can do like momma.

Natalie, be proud of your effort. You helped me see the value of pausing my own life to try and help someone else, you gave me yet another example of your caring heart and you gave Bea a few glorious final hours of his life, enjoying a couple of meals and your attention, your love.