Proud to Be, St C

It plays out on a field in front of us
All in view to be seen, discussed, cheered.
The battle is hard fought in its execution
And the season completed will always be revered.

To have finished second to a worthy opponent
Should be a source of pride, not of pain.
Yet there is always a bit of remorse with an ending
For many of you will not travel these paths again.

The lessons here are not learned on Friday nights
The teaching occurs in the preparation each day
The moments that life grabs us and throws us challenges
The hurdles and difficulties that are placed in our way.

The injuries, illnesses and death this team and community have faced
Banded together we faced every foe and learned of compassion and love
And these young men and a young woman have taught us
That we are strong enough to rise above.

These Friday get togethers are about so much more than football
Although your victories and performances made us proud
The lessons are learned through watching you grow and mature
And how you've lifted our community and all you've been around.

I won't say goodbye to this season, though next year the band again plays on
And I won't lose these feelings that fill me on this day,
I will remember this season and accomplishments forever
Memories and pride that time can not wash away.

Thank you Coach, assistants, trainers and players
Cheerleaders, band and every person that attended,
All the volunteers that work each game to make it happen
And all those who through prayers and acts of kindness have lifted,

The curtains have closed on a masterful production
Such a skillful performance we may never again see,
We know our lives have been forever changed,
Which is why we remain proud to be St C.

Between the Lines

Poignant moments often catch you by surprise. Like a storm's intensity, the kindness of others, or the flight from calm to anger and back again.

I am part of a group that signed up for a fundraiser related to the Beast of the East baseball tournament. The group is planning a trip to Europe next summer and the kids and parents would work to host games at St. Clairsville's Memorial Park and earn whatever funds we might through parking, concessions, and helping to sell Beast of the East T-shirts.

 

Here is what I learned:

• Never doubt the ability of any person to complain. Our kids and parents were accosted by people not wanting to pay $2 for parking even after we explained our fundraising efforts. $2.
• The manager of Memorial Park took every opportunity to lash out at our volunteers for any and every reason (real or contrived) that he could. It takes a big man to be demeaning, or not. Our group of volunteers represented our community extremely well. Our park manager, not so much.
• A group of committed individuals can overcome any obstacle. Sarah Steele provided the leadership and energy, all others chipped in like a well oiled machine.
• Jim Miller of Yorkville is a kind, caring, helpful man that took time to empower our team of volunteers, lift them up, and continually provide support. An excellent leader.
• I learned quickly that our responsibilities would be much more than keeping the scorebook, selling concessions and t-shirts and asking for parking money. Day 1 Thursday morning started at 6 a.m. with preparing the field for play. Fortunately Jim Miller was there to get things started and my son Aaron took ownership of the field. Aaron confided later in the day that he had no idea what to do, but he just did it. Amazing. Such leadership. And the way he stepped up took the edge off for all involved. He drug the field, lined the field, repaired the field, chased foul balls to recover the good baseballs, and even handled the coin flips and start times / end times for the games. In short, he did whatever it took to get the job done. Impressive.
• And our volunteers stepped up in every way possible. It became apparent early on that the fundraising would not be as lucrative as hoped, but the volunteers kept working. Kept selling, kept laughing, kept lifting. Life lessons for all.
• And the Perkins family can represent! All participated except Kelsey but she was out of town and I'm sure she would have if she could have.

• Friday night came the storm. A horrible derecho came through St. Clairsville and much of the country. We had trees down and power outages. When we got to the field Saturday morning at 6 am the black tarp attached to the backstop had been torn down and the center field fencing had been bent backward but the force of the winds. The infield was a mess with large puddles (lakes?) at each base. Our volunteers worked and we started our games late but caught up on time throughout the day. Incredible.
• I learned what a "derecho" was.
• As fate would have it the championship game for our bracket had to be called due to darkness and impending weather. The very unfortunate part was that the rules required reverting back to the previous completed inning, when the home team was in the lead, even though the visitors mounted a rally to take the lead. When it became apparent that someone could get hurt and there was no way to get through the final inning, I headed to the field to deliver the news, not knowing what backlash I might get from the coaches. As I walked I noted my 15 year old son Aaron again stepping up. He walked in step with me to home plate to meet the umpires and the coaches. As you would suspect the visiting coach was not too happy with my decision but he did understand the situation. To say that he handled the situation with class would be an understatement. Calm, then angry, then back to understanding. Very impressive. As were both teams and all involved.

• Despite the occasional negative folks we encountered, we met many very nice individuals. Our team of volunteers managed to enjoy the 15 hour days (for some) and less than optimal working conditions with the storms and oppressive heat.

Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination.

 

Like a storm's intensity, the kindness of others, or the flight from calm to anger and back again, sometimes we surprise ourselves when we stay between the lines.

watch dog

And so the thought has occured to me recently... along with music and certainly people, our pets provide a metronome of sorts that helps us organize the chapters of our lives. For me it has been dogs.

Curly. Pearl. Rafer Olympiad Johnson. Doby. Muffin. Maya. Max. Maggie.

Just recalling the names takes me back to the days I shared under their watchful eyes. Each with their own personality, yet each consistent in their daily expectation of food, water, walks, and petting and their unconditional love for me.

New

Slowly the darkness begins to fade
A more powerful force is bursting on to the scene
And slowly yet confidently the light overwhelms

Even the air changes
A warmth fills the space where uncertainty just was
Any sadness from before is dismissed, if we allow

As a person this ritual can seem predictable
Another day to accumulate shadows and discord
One more step in the eternal march of time

And then I hear a joyous sound
Simple yet overwhelming in its celebration
The singing is loud and the new day is greeted with fanfare

Beside me the dogs rise and stretch in the warmth
The birds continue their joyous song
While I think of all that has come before
They simply marvel at the promise

A new day.

When Great Trees Fall - Maya Angelou

 
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly.  Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed.  They existed.
We can be.  Be and be
better.  For they existed.

Out Beyond Ideas

Creativity seems to be flooding my soul at the moment. This entire Destination Imagination run over the past few months has kept creative thinking at the forefront of my mind and has resulted in changes. I approach my work differently. I'm back in to music. It just seems that I'm considering alternative solutions and creative approaches. This is keeping me out of the rut of 'same ole same ole'. Shout out to the kids in my life for once again teaching me and showing me the way.

DIISA - Destination Imagination

Is it the end of the road
When all the challenges are complete?
Is this the final opportunity
That our team will ever meet?

When you embark on this journey
You know not where the road will take you
Seven adolescent teenagers, two managers,
And The Solar Stage challenge to do.

The team finishes sixteenth
Proud of their effort and success in Tennessee
Yet the team achieved so much more
And the end result seems a small piece of the story

Friendships carved and objectives met
Memories that will survive for all the day
Challenges solved that were more than DI
An opportunity to gather and pray.

A journey as a group that led us
Through a portion of time as a team
A spiritual journey forged together
Accomplishment of a dream.

From broken boxes to duct taped parts
Open conversations and open hearts
Vibrant, sassy, boisterous and brainy
Dangerous, goofy and sometimes crazy.

Time constraints and busy lives
Missed practices, missed tournaments too
Yet a team that was even better than the sum of its parts
A team that set lofty goals and somehow knew

Knew that their futures were guided by God
Their success defined by the practices throughout
A team that taught the adults around them
And gave them something to pray for and about

Is it the end of the road
When all the challenges are complete?
I know that in the future, in person or in thoughts and prayers
There will be many more times that this team will meet.

Even duct tape weakens and glue dissolves
Memories are not held together through an attempt at rhyme
But friendships last and accomplishments survive
We've created a way to Stop TIME.

C.I.P.

Sometime in high school and early in college, I resolved to become an accountant. In accounting, CIP is often used as an acronym for Construction In Progress. An apt description of me during that time period. And when I reflect on those years, the greatest impact on me was none other than CIP, Charles I. Presar. This wonderful man passed away this past Sunday.




Charles I. Presar Obituary

Our paths crossed due to Chuck already knowing the Lowthers, specifically Sarah, prior to Mary and I attending WVWC. Mary's interest in dramatic arts kept us involved in the theatre program, and then I ended up with a work study working for Mr. Presar. I expected work, I was not expecting to be mentored and challenged at every turn. Chuck chipped away at my outer shell and challenged me to look inside. He challenged me to not become a stodgy businessman but remain a feeling emotional artist in whatever I did...relationships, music, work, etc. He placed me in uncomfortable roles, both in the work setting and in plays, and constantly expected more of me than I thought was possible. I hope I met his goals. I feel like I at least came close.

I'll always regret that our paths did not cross much after I graduated from WVWC in 1988 and he retired in 1990. Even with our daughter attending WVWC the past few years I didn't make it to Central Ave. often enough. We were able to visit recently and I am thankful for that.

I know that I am a better man for knowing him. I'm not sure of a better compliment you can give someone.

RIP CIP. Thank you for taking the time to mold me.

Gifts

A man I work with recently left a gift for me by my desk. It was candies that he and his wife had prepared. I met with him later in the day and as he got up to leave my office I said "Thanks for the gift. It is very meaningful." He stopped and looked me in the eyes and struck this chord..."Mike, that is not truly a gift. There are billions of people in this world and somehow, someway, our paths crossed and I got to know you and work with you. That's a gift and a blessing."

Poignant.

Yesterday our family gathered in Williamstown, WV to celebrate Christmas, birthdays and the New Year with my wife's parents and sisters et al. We shared stories about our lives and pictures, videos of our recent adventures. My mother-in-law and father-in-law talked of the history of the family, events that had shaped them and led them to the house we had all gathered in. We had eighteen people gathered, in various stages of life's blessings. Poignant.

Our gift is what we make of our lives to help others. How we prepare the way for those around us and those to come.


I gave my best for Him. Then He smiled at me.