Dear Olfar,
You asked for thoughts to help you age well and you sent me thinking about thoughts I have for myself in the learning to age well journey.
I need to live creatively with friends. If a friend does something stupid, forgivingly restore the relationship and save my critical comments for myself. I’ll do something stupid before the days are out and will need forgiveness.
I should stay focused in helping those who are oppressed by sharing in their pain and burdens. I know when I care, Jesus is pleased and gives blessings. I know when the "I can’t feelings" start, it only hurts myself and others.
The art of carefully examining and explaining who you are and the gifts of work you receive, it’s then that you’ll be happy in the "doing."
Don’t compare or compete with others. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t be self absorbed in stuff.
Olfar, take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life. Be spontaneous always.
Keep on keeping on.
Your friend,
Ed
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
William Wadsworth Webber III
A gloomy day, a downed spirit, a time of soul searching for my fresh reality and for me the escapes from my reality is a travel experience. 1988, 63 years old, spring, a day for myself to escape, northern California coastline was my comfort arena and the route was highway 1 starting from San Francisco (from Berkeley).
Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge was scary with billows of ocean fog clinging to the air making driving a strain. Sausilito is an out of the way charm place but I wasn’t in the mood for charm. I traveled the Tamolpais valley road to Muir beach, a place with sand and water. I decided not to venture a walk on the beach. My beach thoughts took me back 45 years to the grand Southern California places of family fun at places like Huntington Beach, Corona Del Mar, Oceanside, Manhattan Beach where the sand was clean, water warm, waves /surf to ride and undertow at times to challenge. It was cold and dreary, time for coffee. There stood an English style, bed and breakfast, that could put me instantly on the coast of Wales. Coffee all alone is no fun. More sinking of my spirit even though the fireplaces was glowing. Must move on.
Jenner Beach was a one restaurant, no population place with a name. Time for lunch. Fish was OK, fries a tad greasy but sour dough bread always places a stamp of approval. My thoughts wandered to crazy land like, “I wish I were different, better, better finances, a man who stayed home all the time, a better image, could be happy with life, more God, a future doing what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be.” Now my spirit is really dropping. The Guerneville valley was slightly dumpy. It fit where I was at, dumpster. I hope it has come out or up. Now it’s time to answer questions, create visions of change. The weather had improved to Santa Rosa was a time to reflect on my Santa Rosa friend Vic. Vic had his life all together to the point of a beautiful office building and office. He seemed to like me so I thought it would help if I connected and I could ask, “how ya doin? How are your polo ponies, your family, what does your crystal ball say, etc?” I knew I had to “pump up” because no one, no matter how nice they are, wants to engage a sicko-psycho. Vic was in Italy, so the slide continues. I pointed the car to Calistoga (another town one grade higher than trailer trash. Then south to St. Helena, Rutherford, Kenwood, Yountville where wine tasting shops beckoned. A couple of tastes and life started to hum.
The point of this story is that on the journey to Berkeley (home) I started to think about change. First my name that I never fully appreciated. It sounded so Swedish with roots from my emigrant parents, father from Aland Islands (between Sweden and Finland) who was a Swede-Finn and mother from Denmark. My 1st name was Eric, born in 1925. It was “kosher” Swedish and when I could, in junior high school, I took my 2nd name, David as my name. In beginning school, my name was “fats.” In the Army Air Corp my name was Ed (dropping both names and just using the initials). To the rest my name became Dave.
Time to change my name and the best I got was W.W.W.III or William (American) then Wadsworth (unusual) and Webber (the name of a classy high school friend) then added the heritage identification. I started to laugh at my craziness. I had hit bottom. At that point change started to take place so now I’m who I am, Eric David Wennstrom, alias OLFAR and that’s OK.
Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge was scary with billows of ocean fog clinging to the air making driving a strain. Sausilito is an out of the way charm place but I wasn’t in the mood for charm. I traveled the Tamolpais valley road to Muir beach, a place with sand and water. I decided not to venture a walk on the beach. My beach thoughts took me back 45 years to the grand Southern California places of family fun at places like Huntington Beach, Corona Del Mar, Oceanside, Manhattan Beach where the sand was clean, water warm, waves /surf to ride and undertow at times to challenge. It was cold and dreary, time for coffee. There stood an English style, bed and breakfast, that could put me instantly on the coast of Wales. Coffee all alone is no fun. More sinking of my spirit even though the fireplaces was glowing. Must move on.
Jenner Beach was a one restaurant, no population place with a name. Time for lunch. Fish was OK, fries a tad greasy but sour dough bread always places a stamp of approval. My thoughts wandered to crazy land like, “I wish I were different, better, better finances, a man who stayed home all the time, a better image, could be happy with life, more God, a future doing what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be.” Now my spirit is really dropping. The Guerneville valley was slightly dumpy. It fit where I was at, dumpster. I hope it has come out or up. Now it’s time to answer questions, create visions of change. The weather had improved to Santa Rosa was a time to reflect on my Santa Rosa friend Vic. Vic had his life all together to the point of a beautiful office building and office. He seemed to like me so I thought it would help if I connected and I could ask, “how ya doin? How are your polo ponies, your family, what does your crystal ball say, etc?” I knew I had to “pump up” because no one, no matter how nice they are, wants to engage a sicko-psycho. Vic was in Italy, so the slide continues. I pointed the car to Calistoga (another town one grade higher than trailer trash. Then south to St. Helena, Rutherford, Kenwood, Yountville where wine tasting shops beckoned. A couple of tastes and life started to hum.
The point of this story is that on the journey to Berkeley (home) I started to think about change. First my name that I never fully appreciated. It sounded so Swedish with roots from my emigrant parents, father from Aland Islands (between Sweden and Finland) who was a Swede-Finn and mother from Denmark. My 1st name was Eric, born in 1925. It was “kosher” Swedish and when I could, in junior high school, I took my 2nd name, David as my name. In beginning school, my name was “fats.” In the Army Air Corp my name was Ed (dropping both names and just using the initials). To the rest my name became Dave.
Time to change my name and the best I got was W.W.W.III or William (American) then Wadsworth (unusual) and Webber (the name of a classy high school friend) then added the heritage identification. I started to laugh at my craziness. I had hit bottom. At that point change started to take place so now I’m who I am, Eric David Wennstrom, alias OLFAR and that’s OK.
Whatever, Wherever, Forever
Here are some churchgoing memories that are etched in the mind. Easter in Paris at Notre Dame, where thousands stood in the square and after the ceremonies, the people in a chorus shouted, “HE IS RISEN!”
To see and hear Pope Paul II, on a bright Palm Sunday in Rome, with the square filled with priests, nuns and followers who carried rosaries and who were wearing all different kinds of head coverings. It was a marvelous experience for my grandchildren. Also, attending services at the beautiful our nations National Cathedral, the Lutheran Church in Bergen, Norway as well as my first church (and the ones that have followed), are wonderful memories.
There is one church in Vermont and two churches in California that are the “un-usuals.” The first is the Stowe Community Church. This church was started over 100 years ago by three congregations that used this New England beauty for their individual worship services. In addition, the town of Stowe used the building for their meetings. A rare mixture of churches and the state was OK then. Deke and I got involved on one of our adventures. One beautiful Saturday, while our wives shopped, we talked to an elderly lady sitting on the church steps and asked questions. “Do you go to this church? Describe the pastor. Can he preach, what time is the worship service, etc?” The next day we went to the early service starting at 8:30 AM and it was finished at 9:00, or what they called the short service. A time of one hymn, prayer and a twenty-minute sermon. It was refreshing and we will remember the scene with fond memories.
There’s a church on the coast of Northern California that Alfred Hitchcock made famous in the movie, The Birds. My friend Chuck, who loves to roam the country of the north coast, took me by this church and it is a classic in design. A picture was turned into a painting that displayed birds so as to remind me of the experience.
In Placerville, California, the Federated Church on a hill is most unique. It is a partnership between the local Presbyterian and Methodist churches. It’s no cathedral or classic in church design, but it is my choice for being different. My wife’s aunt Kay lived in Placerville until she died at the age of 102, so with the visits, on most Sundays, I would do the usual and attend this church. Every experience gave me a refreshing lift to my spirit.
On one memorable Sunday, the service was a double header (within one hour). The first part was a sermon by the Presbyterian Minister on the subject Whatever. Having come from Scotland, his choice of words, timing, enunciation and sounds were captivating, I had to listen. The sermon was about how our culture has become the “Whatever Era.” It explained when things are relative, you have freedom to roam in whatever direction, do whatever pleases the flesh, say whatever one wants about a person regardless of the pain, and other examples with good illustrations. The words were appropriate and went into my memory bank, helping to adjust my compass to truth.
The next sermon was by the Methodist Minister who was a lady. I think she was the first lady in the pulpit to preach I had ever witnessed. Her sermon topic was Wherever. This was an outstanding presentation where we read in the Old Testament how the people built the Great Temple as a place where God was and where He was to be worshipped. A lively and colorful word picture was painted. I noticed that the attention level was high. Then the change came to God’s people when Christ came to us with, “Wherever two or three are gathered in my name, I am with you.” We could feel the Spirit of our Lord amongst us as we worshipped God.
We know the promises given to those who believe are, Whatever, Wherever, Forever God is God. Life is so good, friends are the treasures forever and doing good in love is life.
To see and hear Pope Paul II, on a bright Palm Sunday in Rome, with the square filled with priests, nuns and followers who carried rosaries and who were wearing all different kinds of head coverings. It was a marvelous experience for my grandchildren. Also, attending services at the beautiful our nations National Cathedral, the Lutheran Church in Bergen, Norway as well as my first church (and the ones that have followed), are wonderful memories.
There is one church in Vermont and two churches in California that are the “un-usuals.” The first is the Stowe Community Church. This church was started over 100 years ago by three congregations that used this New England beauty for their individual worship services. In addition, the town of Stowe used the building for their meetings. A rare mixture of churches and the state was OK then. Deke and I got involved on one of our adventures. One beautiful Saturday, while our wives shopped, we talked to an elderly lady sitting on the church steps and asked questions. “Do you go to this church? Describe the pastor. Can he preach, what time is the worship service, etc?” The next day we went to the early service starting at 8:30 AM and it was finished at 9:00, or what they called the short service. A time of one hymn, prayer and a twenty-minute sermon. It was refreshing and we will remember the scene with fond memories.
There’s a church on the coast of Northern California that Alfred Hitchcock made famous in the movie, The Birds. My friend Chuck, who loves to roam the country of the north coast, took me by this church and it is a classic in design. A picture was turned into a painting that displayed birds so as to remind me of the experience.
In Placerville, California, the Federated Church on a hill is most unique. It is a partnership between the local Presbyterian and Methodist churches. It’s no cathedral or classic in church design, but it is my choice for being different. My wife’s aunt Kay lived in Placerville until she died at the age of 102, so with the visits, on most Sundays, I would do the usual and attend this church. Every experience gave me a refreshing lift to my spirit.
On one memorable Sunday, the service was a double header (within one hour). The first part was a sermon by the Presbyterian Minister on the subject Whatever. Having come from Scotland, his choice of words, timing, enunciation and sounds were captivating, I had to listen. The sermon was about how our culture has become the “Whatever Era.” It explained when things are relative, you have freedom to roam in whatever direction, do whatever pleases the flesh, say whatever one wants about a person regardless of the pain, and other examples with good illustrations. The words were appropriate and went into my memory bank, helping to adjust my compass to truth.
The next sermon was by the Methodist Minister who was a lady. I think she was the first lady in the pulpit to preach I had ever witnessed. Her sermon topic was Wherever. This was an outstanding presentation where we read in the Old Testament how the people built the Great Temple as a place where God was and where He was to be worshipped. A lively and colorful word picture was painted. I noticed that the attention level was high. Then the change came to God’s people when Christ came to us with, “Wherever two or three are gathered in my name, I am with you.” We could feel the Spirit of our Lord amongst us as we worshipped God.
We know the promises given to those who believe are, Whatever, Wherever, Forever God is God. Life is so good, friends are the treasures forever and doing good in love is life.
Whales, Wales, and Wails
Stan was a friend from early childhood. Our parents celebrated Christmas Eve with a huge Swedish dinner, exchanged a few (low cost) gifts, then went go to bed. A celebration at our home, then next at the Bjorkman’s in Wilmar. Very few people in California knew where Wilmar was located. It was just a Red Line streetcar stop with a few homes. Way out country. The creative part was housing 4 adults and 7 children (ages 7 to 17) in 2 bedroom homes (about 900 square feet) that also included a large Christmas tree.
Stan was cool, a couple of years my senior. He had a marvelous smile and contagious laughter. In 1941, Stan had a 4 door red convertible Mercury with a Carson top. At church it gathered a crowd of luster’s. Then WWII separated us. Stan enlisted in the Merchant Marines (boat life) and I to the Army Air Corp. In the late 40’s, we renewed the good life. Stan had a 14-16 foot outboard and enjoyed going out of Newport Beach on fishing trips. He would invite me for a free ride in his craft for the excitement of catching barracuda, a fighting fish. Usually we would have to settle for mackerel (no ones favorite) and halibut, which is like hauling in a sack of wet clothing (but good to eat). Yah, the good old days.
The last fishing trip with Stan was trolling along the coast with views of Corona Del Mar and Laguna Beach, California. We caught some fish and headed north to the boat ramp when suddenly the most vivid scare of my life emerged about 10 feet from the boat, headed in the same direction. It was close enough so that we could see the barnacles attached. He was travelling at a faster speed, so we slowed way down and had swivel heads looking for the monster, sure that we would be attacked. Out of sight, we journeyed home with the whale tale.
Our 1997 Europe experience started in Paris with Heidi and Gary. We chunneled to London, rented a station wagon and toured to Oxford. The Oxford highlight was to have beers in the same place that C.S. Lewis made famous. Then on to several B&B’s in the English villages country enjoying the charms and the pubs. The village of Bath was the place where Gary and Heidi went back to London and we continued our tour of UK. From Bath, we drove to Wales.
Our remembrance of Wales was a place of beauty. Rolling hills, lots of sheep, a few super old churches, castles in disrepair. The villages and the few cities were smaller. Wales seemed like a relaxed place. We left the main highway to find a B&B. What a find! A 3 building village, with the pub the largest place. Across the road was an old church with the manse converted to a small B&B. After settling in, we went to the pub for a delightful dinner. What made the charm were the happy people enjoying life. The brogue was warm and creative to our ears. A good meal value, along with the home brew ale, sent us to the manse for rest and another day.
The next morning we went out to the church, a very small modest house of worship that was over 300 years old serving the valley. Then we read tombstones. A man was tuck pointing the church as a volunteer. Standing on a ladder smoking a pipe he answered my questions with energy. Not too many Americans have found this place. Before leaving we walked to the river careening through the valley. This was the birthplace of the “remembrance stone” concept. An eyeful of beauty, the warmth of the people, the joy of touring with Joan in such a place, gives this high ranking on the joyful experiences list. Wales was wonderful.
Wail is a word that is not used often in our communication. We see mothers wailing on TV holding a sick or dying baby. We don’t usually experience it firsthand. A highly emotional word or experience we avoid.
In 2001, I experienced my 3rd “wake call.” A time in intensive care with congestive heart failure. I had 6 different roommates. Two died. All different ages, problems, anxieties, even visitor types. Dragi Vrosevic was the most unusual. He was a 16 year old HS freshman, 6 foot 8 inches tall, 350 pounder and Serbian. It’s the day before Easter. He thinks he’s having a heart attack. He wants to watch TV. I don’t. A compromise was offered. “Dragi, you can control the TV today, but tomorrow I want to go to church. It’s Easter.” His response, “I’ll go with you, OK?”
Easter, 1999 TV church starts with Charles Stanley from Atlanta. It was typical Stanley style. The next was Ben Hayden, Presbyterian Church, Chattanooga. Outstanding!!! He used the Lazarus tomb story as his Easter topic. The scene of the wailing women was vividly described.
Then he shared a personal wailing story. Ben’s mother had received a telegram that her brother was killed in Europe. She started to wail. She wailed for over 24 hours ending in total exhaustion. The TV wailing scenes became real. Then Ben shared why his mother wailed. “She wailed because she was sure that her brother would spend eternity in hell because of his unbelief in the risen Christ.” Impacting!!! Dragi and I shared our faith that Easter Sunday.
I had never seen anyone wail firsthand. I hadn’t heard any wailing stories. Later, I had a wailing experience.
In 2001, Carla, our daughter-in-law (wife of Cregg, mother of Carin, Anders and Lissie) discovered that she could possibly have breast cancer. There was serious testing. We as a family started to worry and pray that Carla would test negative. Then came the “Verdict day.”
Mother and I were waiting in the living room and soon we saw Cregg walking down towards the front door. We saw him weeping. We started weeping as Cregg came and told us that Carla had serious breast cancer. We wrapped our arms around each other and cried and cried.
Cregg went back to Carla and his family wondering what was next.
Mother sat crying in the breakfast room, I went out to the screen porch. Suddenly I started to cry aloud. Why Carla and Cregg? She’s so young. They have been so good. I haven’t told Carla enough of my respect and love for her goodness to Cregg and her kindness to us. The wailing came over me and I let go. For an hour Joan watched my experience with love.
Exhaustion sets in. Now what? How bad? What can we do? Questions, questions, questions.
No answers. I experienced wailing for which I am grateful. It reminds me how life is so fragile and only God knows the future. The older I get, the less I know, but what I do know, I know more clearly. I know without shadow of a doubt that God loves us, has His best for us and some day we won’t weep, cry or wail because of being in His presence throughout eternity.
Eight months later, Carla was in her last stage of treatment and we’re so thankful that she’s OK. From whales to Wales to wailing can be wonderful, unforgettable experiences. I know that I won’t forget.
Stan was cool, a couple of years my senior. He had a marvelous smile and contagious laughter. In 1941, Stan had a 4 door red convertible Mercury with a Carson top. At church it gathered a crowd of luster’s. Then WWII separated us. Stan enlisted in the Merchant Marines (boat life) and I to the Army Air Corp. In the late 40’s, we renewed the good life. Stan had a 14-16 foot outboard and enjoyed going out of Newport Beach on fishing trips. He would invite me for a free ride in his craft for the excitement of catching barracuda, a fighting fish. Usually we would have to settle for mackerel (no ones favorite) and halibut, which is like hauling in a sack of wet clothing (but good to eat). Yah, the good old days.
The last fishing trip with Stan was trolling along the coast with views of Corona Del Mar and Laguna Beach, California. We caught some fish and headed north to the boat ramp when suddenly the most vivid scare of my life emerged about 10 feet from the boat, headed in the same direction. It was close enough so that we could see the barnacles attached. He was travelling at a faster speed, so we slowed way down and had swivel heads looking for the monster, sure that we would be attacked. Out of sight, we journeyed home with the whale tale.
Our 1997 Europe experience started in Paris with Heidi and Gary. We chunneled to London, rented a station wagon and toured to Oxford. The Oxford highlight was to have beers in the same place that C.S. Lewis made famous. Then on to several B&B’s in the English villages country enjoying the charms and the pubs. The village of Bath was the place where Gary and Heidi went back to London and we continued our tour of UK. From Bath, we drove to Wales.
Our remembrance of Wales was a place of beauty. Rolling hills, lots of sheep, a few super old churches, castles in disrepair. The villages and the few cities were smaller. Wales seemed like a relaxed place. We left the main highway to find a B&B. What a find! A 3 building village, with the pub the largest place. Across the road was an old church with the manse converted to a small B&B. After settling in, we went to the pub for a delightful dinner. What made the charm were the happy people enjoying life. The brogue was warm and creative to our ears. A good meal value, along with the home brew ale, sent us to the manse for rest and another day.
The next morning we went out to the church, a very small modest house of worship that was over 300 years old serving the valley. Then we read tombstones. A man was tuck pointing the church as a volunteer. Standing on a ladder smoking a pipe he answered my questions with energy. Not too many Americans have found this place. Before leaving we walked to the river careening through the valley. This was the birthplace of the “remembrance stone” concept. An eyeful of beauty, the warmth of the people, the joy of touring with Joan in such a place, gives this high ranking on the joyful experiences list. Wales was wonderful.
Wail is a word that is not used often in our communication. We see mothers wailing on TV holding a sick or dying baby. We don’t usually experience it firsthand. A highly emotional word or experience we avoid.
In 2001, I experienced my 3rd “wake call.” A time in intensive care with congestive heart failure. I had 6 different roommates. Two died. All different ages, problems, anxieties, even visitor types. Dragi Vrosevic was the most unusual. He was a 16 year old HS freshman, 6 foot 8 inches tall, 350 pounder and Serbian. It’s the day before Easter. He thinks he’s having a heart attack. He wants to watch TV. I don’t. A compromise was offered. “Dragi, you can control the TV today, but tomorrow I want to go to church. It’s Easter.” His response, “I’ll go with you, OK?”
Easter, 1999 TV church starts with Charles Stanley from Atlanta. It was typical Stanley style. The next was Ben Hayden, Presbyterian Church, Chattanooga. Outstanding!!! He used the Lazarus tomb story as his Easter topic. The scene of the wailing women was vividly described.
Then he shared a personal wailing story. Ben’s mother had received a telegram that her brother was killed in Europe. She started to wail. She wailed for over 24 hours ending in total exhaustion. The TV wailing scenes became real. Then Ben shared why his mother wailed. “She wailed because she was sure that her brother would spend eternity in hell because of his unbelief in the risen Christ.” Impacting!!! Dragi and I shared our faith that Easter Sunday.
I had never seen anyone wail firsthand. I hadn’t heard any wailing stories. Later, I had a wailing experience.
In 2001, Carla, our daughter-in-law (wife of Cregg, mother of Carin, Anders and Lissie) discovered that she could possibly have breast cancer. There was serious testing. We as a family started to worry and pray that Carla would test negative. Then came the “Verdict day.”
Mother and I were waiting in the living room and soon we saw Cregg walking down towards the front door. We saw him weeping. We started weeping as Cregg came and told us that Carla had serious breast cancer. We wrapped our arms around each other and cried and cried.
Cregg went back to Carla and his family wondering what was next.
Mother sat crying in the breakfast room, I went out to the screen porch. Suddenly I started to cry aloud. Why Carla and Cregg? She’s so young. They have been so good. I haven’t told Carla enough of my respect and love for her goodness to Cregg and her kindness to us. The wailing came over me and I let go. For an hour Joan watched my experience with love.
Exhaustion sets in. Now what? How bad? What can we do? Questions, questions, questions.
No answers. I experienced wailing for which I am grateful. It reminds me how life is so fragile and only God knows the future. The older I get, the less I know, but what I do know, I know more clearly. I know without shadow of a doubt that God loves us, has His best for us and some day we won’t weep, cry or wail because of being in His presence throughout eternity.
Eight months later, Carla was in her last stage of treatment and we’re so thankful that she’s OK. From whales to Wales to wailing can be wonderful, unforgettable experiences. I know that I won’t forget.
We All Live In Our Own Nuthouse
Living in the country has many quiet benefits. But some of the elements of country living cause screams and groans. Mice make people scream and squirrels cause groans. They store their nuts in strange places like shoes. Squirrels are country comics with their ability to go out on the limb, dance on fence tops and avoid the crushing wheels of chasing autos.
In a way, we all live in our own nut houses. We store stuff in our closets, and cupboards, then pantries. Soon the garage and the attic get full. Next storage place is the storage places that have become big business. We find it difficult getting off the path of accumulation.
After gathering nuts for fun and security, I’ve started the process of down-sizing or downward mobility. I’m discovering that it’s easier to get than to get rid of stuff. Part of the problem is who to give my old stuff to. My children have their nut houses filled with more stuff than I have.
An easy, but maybe a stupid, and outrageous solution, is to get a dumpster and except for furniture, throw everything away. With empty storage space one could start all over collecting new stuff. In that way, one could start getting what is really, I mean really needed for security and comfort rather than trendy stuff that loses it’s place in the sun.
I could not throw everything out. I could not throw my stuff for painting MOILS, the computer for communicating with my friends, and some books. I would want to save a forty year old sweater that holds memories of Venice, Italy, a fine blue suit and a nice sweat suit.
In my vision of aging well is the concept of no more shopping for stuff. The decisions of choosing what to wear would be virtually eliminated. This would expand the life by being with people and having more living experiences. Life would take on a new dignity The time for fresh thoughts and ideas could enter life resulting in “Life Gardening.” And that does not take closet space.
Maybe I’m searching for the uncomplicated, simpler peaceful ways of life. Thoughts have emerged about turning trails of trash into tracks of mercy and goodness. I am learning slowly, daily that the answer to life’s deepest meanings is not found in the pursuit of products and programs but meaning is found in connecting with people and rubbing hearts in peace. That is sacred space. This is pursuit that is opposite of the world’s centrifugal forces.
Trend followers seem to fall into selfishness, self-centeredness and vanity. They stray away from being unique with a radiance of inward beauty. This takes soul searching and the transfer of the focus of life. Many personal decisions remain in my life and probably always will as I journey back to basics. At the same time cultures are bursting to get more stuff.
There is a risk of pioneering the path of self-freedom in being what God created, a unique individual, doing His will.
The ability to expand hope is the link between faith and love. Living in the house of hope is love.
In a way, we all live in our own nut houses. We store stuff in our closets, and cupboards, then pantries. Soon the garage and the attic get full. Next storage place is the storage places that have become big business. We find it difficult getting off the path of accumulation.
After gathering nuts for fun and security, I’ve started the process of down-sizing or downward mobility. I’m discovering that it’s easier to get than to get rid of stuff. Part of the problem is who to give my old stuff to. My children have their nut houses filled with more stuff than I have.
An easy, but maybe a stupid, and outrageous solution, is to get a dumpster and except for furniture, throw everything away. With empty storage space one could start all over collecting new stuff. In that way, one could start getting what is really, I mean really needed for security and comfort rather than trendy stuff that loses it’s place in the sun.
I could not throw everything out. I could not throw my stuff for painting MOILS, the computer for communicating with my friends, and some books. I would want to save a forty year old sweater that holds memories of Venice, Italy, a fine blue suit and a nice sweat suit.
In my vision of aging well is the concept of no more shopping for stuff. The decisions of choosing what to wear would be virtually eliminated. This would expand the life by being with people and having more living experiences. Life would take on a new dignity The time for fresh thoughts and ideas could enter life resulting in “Life Gardening.” And that does not take closet space.
Maybe I’m searching for the uncomplicated, simpler peaceful ways of life. Thoughts have emerged about turning trails of trash into tracks of mercy and goodness. I am learning slowly, daily that the answer to life’s deepest meanings is not found in the pursuit of products and programs but meaning is found in connecting with people and rubbing hearts in peace. That is sacred space. This is pursuit that is opposite of the world’s centrifugal forces.
Trend followers seem to fall into selfishness, self-centeredness and vanity. They stray away from being unique with a radiance of inward beauty. This takes soul searching and the transfer of the focus of life. Many personal decisions remain in my life and probably always will as I journey back to basics. At the same time cultures are bursting to get more stuff.
There is a risk of pioneering the path of self-freedom in being what God created, a unique individual, doing His will.
The ability to expand hope is the link between faith and love. Living in the house of hope is love.
Very Good Soil
In the beginning on the road to aging well, or the start of nothing to do, being a work-alcoholic (Swedish blood) and as a transition project, I planted the first New Aland food patch. It was virgin soil, plowed and fluffed, 100 X 300 feet. Not being learned in the fine art of agriculture, I planted seeds for tomatoes, corn, lettuce, cucumbers, basil, on and on. Then there was the 138 tomato plant’s, because of everyone’s love for a good one, was grand because of my friend’s responses. The zucchini was amazing. You could almost see them grow. I waited until the end of the harvest season before picking some. They were 3 ½ feet monsters. They were amazing.
What does that have to do with the VERY GOOD SOIL story?
From age forty to fifty, I learned from Harry the bottom-up style of management which is, “The opportunity is so big, I need to get people smarter than I to climb the mountain.” Harry was/is very smart. In my area of opportunity, I tried to follow that motto: get people smarter than I and encourage them to blossom. Get the right soil to plant seeds (ideas) and watch the growth.
In the 2nd half of life, an opportunity beyond ability came. Twenty five “goat lots” in Round Hill Country Club, Alamo, California and a parcel to build 40 homes in Danville. It was the challenge to do the “Harry management” concept. A “goat lot” in this scene were lots that the local builders didn’t want to build their boxes on, so they passed. They wanted flat not “goat” lots.
Building a team of friends according to Dr. Webster’s definition is, “A friend is someone you trust and have a common cause with” was the focus. A friend by this definition, Chuck, agreed to the picture. Chuck loved putting fine homes together and he had a friend, Doug, who was starting to prove himself as a world class person with a passion for architecture. The three of us pulled Judy into the mix, adding the skill in financing. Ideas came together, energy rose, then the happening.
Imagine this new team in an old place rising to the top in one year in all Northern California. It started with the Round Hill model home, environmentally sensitive with a lavish master bedroom bath that brought the beginning action. That home sold in 1977 for $170,000. Fifteen years later the current owner paid $650,000. Today, after another fifteen years they’ve turned down $2,000,000.
Giant brain Doug went on to design the stars of the building industry, Chuck giving his TLC and Judy tying everything together. I watched, planted thought seeds and encouraged life. Then along came Blackhawk, which is another story. It is five thousand acres of lavish living for 2500 residences. This is a collection of stories that started with Doug one afternoon on the hills of $$$.
Doug attended the University of California, Berkeley during the late 60’s which produced the “Goofies.” I met Doug and his wife JoAnn in the 70’s and fell in love with them and watched as Ben and Kyla entered planet earth. I’ve watched the seed of passion grow in Doug’s brain towards accomplishments that are changing this world towards better living all across America and now several places in China. Doug is teaching many friends by being a working teacher with TLC.
Being friends is pleasant, pleasurable and purposeful. They are unpretentious people who know the meaning and style of love. The blessing is, the very good soil lives in a normal head.
What does that have to do with the VERY GOOD SOIL story?
From age forty to fifty, I learned from Harry the bottom-up style of management which is, “The opportunity is so big, I need to get people smarter than I to climb the mountain.” Harry was/is very smart. In my area of opportunity, I tried to follow that motto: get people smarter than I and encourage them to blossom. Get the right soil to plant seeds (ideas) and watch the growth.
In the 2nd half of life, an opportunity beyond ability came. Twenty five “goat lots” in Round Hill Country Club, Alamo, California and a parcel to build 40 homes in Danville. It was the challenge to do the “Harry management” concept. A “goat lot” in this scene were lots that the local builders didn’t want to build their boxes on, so they passed. They wanted flat not “goat” lots.
Building a team of friends according to Dr. Webster’s definition is, “A friend is someone you trust and have a common cause with” was the focus. A friend by this definition, Chuck, agreed to the picture. Chuck loved putting fine homes together and he had a friend, Doug, who was starting to prove himself as a world class person with a passion for architecture. The three of us pulled Judy into the mix, adding the skill in financing. Ideas came together, energy rose, then the happening.
Imagine this new team in an old place rising to the top in one year in all Northern California. It started with the Round Hill model home, environmentally sensitive with a lavish master bedroom bath that brought the beginning action. That home sold in 1977 for $170,000. Fifteen years later the current owner paid $650,000. Today, after another fifteen years they’ve turned down $2,000,000.
Giant brain Doug went on to design the stars of the building industry, Chuck giving his TLC and Judy tying everything together. I watched, planted thought seeds and encouraged life. Then along came Blackhawk, which is another story. It is five thousand acres of lavish living for 2500 residences. This is a collection of stories that started with Doug one afternoon on the hills of $$$.
Doug attended the University of California, Berkeley during the late 60’s which produced the “Goofies.” I met Doug and his wife JoAnn in the 70’s and fell in love with them and watched as Ben and Kyla entered planet earth. I’ve watched the seed of passion grow in Doug’s brain towards accomplishments that are changing this world towards better living all across America and now several places in China. Doug is teaching many friends by being a working teacher with TLC.
Being friends is pleasant, pleasurable and purposeful. They are unpretentious people who know the meaning and style of love. The blessing is, the very good soil lives in a normal head.
Valuables
Doctor Webster defines the word valuable as something of high monetary or characteristic of value, of great importance, and having admirable qualities.
Some people have defined the world’s values as love of money, power, applause, great sex and lots of stuff.
Two of my grandsons joined me to see Hollywood’s screen version of Howard Hughes in the movie The Aviator. I enjoy some movies for their story, scenery, struggles (without blood) and the incredible creativity blended with the latest film technology. Films can move you inside wars, politics, families, countries, cities, villages, history, relationships and the versions of love.
The time setting of The Aviator was from the depression of the thirties through Word War II. The locations were Culver City, Hollywood, Beverly Hills and Long Beach, California. The more specific places were The Brown Derby restaurant, Ambassador Hotel, Coconut Grove (dance palace), Paladium and film studios like Metro Golden Mayer. These were places of memories from my first twenty-five years. I parked cars at the places while in HS, snuck into the movie studio’s fake western towns and got caught. When Joan and I were married on July 26, 1947, we started our honeymoon staying one night at the Ambassador Hotel. I could only afford one night.
Our first home was in Culver City, the city made famous by Howard Hughes with his aircraft company and film studios where he made the world famous film, Hell’s Angels. The city named a street Hughes Avenue in honor of his achievements. We were ten years old in 1935 when Howard was on top. Anders and Andrew saw and felt what Joan and I grew through.
Howard Hughes exemplified the sum total of Doctor Webster’s definitions of world values, valuables and understanding of love. His energy and creativity was committed to being number one at all cost. The film he created, Hell’s Angels, was to be the biggest epic about airplanes in WWI. He had to build the world’s fastest airplane that could fly 352 MPH. He had to fly around the world, breaking records. He had to own a major airline. He had to build the world’s largest troop carrier. It was made of wood with eight turbo engines and was called the Spruce Goose. Howard was gathering power and applause all the time everywhere, even on the floor of Senate.
Sex was major in his life including the famous Katherine Hepburn. All the while, Mr. Hughes was building a mountain of stuff and in-powered people to the max. His pile was high, but his soul was dry. Howard died a withered, weird man living high, but not aging well.
Aging well is the path of peace and collecting riches, not necessarily stuff. It can be the richness of peace that is beyond understanding. It’s being pregnant with compassion, patience, mercy towards human kind. Then forgiveness with forgetting, freedom from want or stress and to give, always looks for the best and doesn’t look back but keeps going to the end. The big jewel in the bag of riches is being a light of love even to un lovelies.
The summary: All that really matters is faith working through love. Through love are values of value that are valuable.
Some people have defined the world’s values as love of money, power, applause, great sex and lots of stuff.
Two of my grandsons joined me to see Hollywood’s screen version of Howard Hughes in the movie The Aviator. I enjoy some movies for their story, scenery, struggles (without blood) and the incredible creativity blended with the latest film technology. Films can move you inside wars, politics, families, countries, cities, villages, history, relationships and the versions of love.
The time setting of The Aviator was from the depression of the thirties through Word War II. The locations were Culver City, Hollywood, Beverly Hills and Long Beach, California. The more specific places were The Brown Derby restaurant, Ambassador Hotel, Coconut Grove (dance palace), Paladium and film studios like Metro Golden Mayer. These were places of memories from my first twenty-five years. I parked cars at the places while in HS, snuck into the movie studio’s fake western towns and got caught. When Joan and I were married on July 26, 1947, we started our honeymoon staying one night at the Ambassador Hotel. I could only afford one night.
Our first home was in Culver City, the city made famous by Howard Hughes with his aircraft company and film studios where he made the world famous film, Hell’s Angels. The city named a street Hughes Avenue in honor of his achievements. We were ten years old in 1935 when Howard was on top. Anders and Andrew saw and felt what Joan and I grew through.
Howard Hughes exemplified the sum total of Doctor Webster’s definitions of world values, valuables and understanding of love. His energy and creativity was committed to being number one at all cost. The film he created, Hell’s Angels, was to be the biggest epic about airplanes in WWI. He had to build the world’s fastest airplane that could fly 352 MPH. He had to fly around the world, breaking records. He had to own a major airline. He had to build the world’s largest troop carrier. It was made of wood with eight turbo engines and was called the Spruce Goose. Howard was gathering power and applause all the time everywhere, even on the floor of Senate.
Sex was major in his life including the famous Katherine Hepburn. All the while, Mr. Hughes was building a mountain of stuff and in-powered people to the max. His pile was high, but his soul was dry. Howard died a withered, weird man living high, but not aging well.
Aging well is the path of peace and collecting riches, not necessarily stuff. It can be the richness of peace that is beyond understanding. It’s being pregnant with compassion, patience, mercy towards human kind. Then forgiveness with forgetting, freedom from want or stress and to give, always looks for the best and doesn’t look back but keeps going to the end. The big jewel in the bag of riches is being a light of love even to un lovelies.
The summary: All that really matters is faith working through love. Through love are values of value that are valuable.
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