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The Wizard can remind us of life’s forgotten lessons

6/28/2018

Charles City Press, 6-28-18

I’ll be in the play this weekend.

It’s my kind of role — short but memorable — but don’t blink, you might miss me.

I’m the title character in the Stony Point Players’ production of “The Wizard of Oz.”

Yes, that means I’m the Wizard himself.

Full disclosure: I’m pretty sure I got the role because I’m sleeping with the director. Nothing nefarious, mind you — she is my wife, after all.

If you remember the movie, the Wizard is the guy who everyone is so excited to meet. The main characters travel through Hades in a yellow brick bucket — and, among other hazards — they overcome fields of pretty poison, crabby talking apple trees, nasty flying monkeys and homicidal witches just to meet the Wizard.

Then, when they finally get there, the Wizard isn’t all he’s cracked up to be.
The characters discover that the Great Oz is not great at all, and he’s certainly no Wizard. He’s just a regular guy, hiding his true self behind a curtain. He’s a con-man. He has no magical powers. He doesn’t even really have a scary voice.

The Wizard is just a big, phony disappointment, who lets all the other characters down.

But that’s kind of the point. Life is about the journey, not the destination.

In their knight’s quest to meet the Wizard, the other characters are forced to overcome major obstacles. In doing so, they are able to find, inside themselves, all the things they thought they were going to get from the Wizard.

What they thought they lacked, they had inside themselves all along. It took the Wizard quest to bring it out.

In the end, even the Wizard himself comes out from his hiding place and faces the truth. He doesn’t have to hide behind the curtain anymore.

There are a lot of fun things along the way. Cute Munchkins, catchy songs, magic spells and a tornado, to name a few examples. And there are other lessons in the story — good stuff — about the importance of friendship, about maturity, about facing your fears, about kindness and about finding your own path in life.

These are the reasons this story has been a beloved tale for almost 80 years now.

Well, that and the fact that the show contains one of the greatest songs ever composed, “Over the Rainbow.”

I hope I do a good job. I only get about five minutes of stage time, and I’m just one of over 100 people involved in this production, so I can’t screw up too much all by myself.

But I also don’t want to be like the Wizard, and let all my comrades down.

There’s a little Wizard in all of us, I think. We all hide behind a curtain sometimes, and pray we won’t be exposed for the phonies we are. Come to think of it, like the characters in the play, at times we all behave as if we have no brains, no heart, no courage. We need to remember to not do that.

Sometimes, we go to great pains to find happiness elsewhere, when all along it was right there at home.

We learned all these things when we were kids, but a lot of us have forgotten them.

I’m proud to be the “humbug” wizard in this staged story this weekend. And I’m proud to be on the stage with a whole lot of people who have been working much harder than I have to put this thing on. They’re your friends and neighbors, and I think you’re going to like what they do.

And the Munchkins — I know you’re going to love the Munchkins.

So I hope you’ll come to the theatre this weekend and enjoy yourself. Laugh a little, cry a little, and sing along. Give these home town folks some cheers and applause for the journey they’ve been on.

You’ll have fun. You might even learn a lesson or two.

But don’t worry, that’s not required.

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No superpowers in Rockford, but they still behave as heroes

6/14/2018

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Charles City Press, 6-14-18

I have a buddy who’s an artist.

He draws, he paints, he carves, he sculpts — he does all the things you’d expect an artist to do. He’s been doing these things as long as I’ve known him, which is getting close to 40 years now. He’s very good — at least I believe he is.

You wouldn’t know he’s an artist at first glance. He’s a big guy — a northeast Iowa farm boy — and looks pretty tough. On the high school football field, he was a helluva linebacker, and he still looks like a linebacker, even though he’s in his 50s. I’m not saying artists aren’t typically tough, I’m just saying my buddy looks more like a typical linebacker than a typical artist.

He teaches some art classes, some of them for kids. One of those classes is called something like “How to Draw Superheroes.” He’s told me the kids love that class, because they get to create their own self-illustrated superhero narrative, with the superpowers they want them to have.

There’s a trick to it though. He’s told me that when you’re creating a superhero, you don’t just decide what superpowers he or she has because you think they’re cool powers. You can’t just say, “this guy can fly” or “this woman can see through walls” without cause. The superpowers have to be in response to a societal need.

So the kids have to think about it — what superpower would be helpful in solving a problem in the world?

The strength to lift two tons with one hand would be helpful, if there were a sudden rash of people trapped under cars. The ability to stop bullets would be helpful during a active shooter situation at a school.

If billions of people were starving, the power to instantly grow food would be an important one. The power to control fire with your mind would be valuable in squelching forest fires in Colorado — or in lighting my charcoal grill to cook some ribeye steaks.

The point is, heroes aren’t born heroic. Heroes emerge as a reaction to a situation.

This isn’t just true in comic books and on movie screens. This is true in the real world.

I met a couple young men on Tuesday who would never call themselves heroes, and I know they’d be upset with me if I called them that.

In fact, when I told Rockford volunteer firefighters Corey Johnson and Jim Moore that there are some people who are calling what they did heroic, they shook their heads.

“We were just at the right place at the right time,” they said. “We were just doing what we signed up to do.”

And they’re right, but not exactly.

No matter how much training they’ve gone through, no one signs up to drive into — and then run into — the whirling terror of a tornado.

And let’s speak plainly, what happened in Rockford late Saturday afternoon was a tornado, whether the National Weather Service can confirm it or not.

The wind picked a man’s truck up off the road, lifted it more than 25 feet off the ground, and slammed it down into a field, some 50 feet away. That’s just something you don’t see every day. It may not meet all the technical qualifications, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a tornado.

Those two young men reacted to the situation, risked their own livelihoods, and got a third young man to safety.

And they don’t even have any superpowers — at least none that I’m aware of.

They both told me Tuesday that they thought any one of their comrades in the Rockford Volunteer Fire Department would have done the same thing they did.

I believe they’re probably right about that.

I was over in Rockford Sunday, and I saw the mess the storm had left behind. And I saw a lot of volunteers, cleaning up.

The progress of the cleanup from Sunday to Tuesday in Rockford was remarkable. When I met with Johnson and Moore, they were covered with dirt and sweat and sawdust. They’d just put in their third straight 12-hour day of cutting up and hauling out the more than 300 trees downed by the storm — among other things.

Twelve hours? Maybe it was 16. Some of those among them might have been putting in 18 hour days, for all I know.

These people reacted to a situation, and cleaned up Mother Nature’s mess. And that’s a lot of work.

It may not meet all the technical qualifications of a hero. And they may be upset, in Rockford, if I were to call them heroes.

So I won’t call them that.

I’ll just say they’ve behaved as heroes do.

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A Jar Of Golf Balls

6/8/2018

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NOTE: I did not write this story and have no idea who did, but I’m going to post it anyway, because I like it.

If it is your property, please contact me and advise. I will either give you credit and link to you, or immediately take it down, if that’s what you wish. I am a writer myself and understand the frustration of someone taking liberties with my hard work, or taking credit for something I created.
I just liked this article so much, I wanted to put it on my blog. Well done, whoever you are.

A Jar of Golf Balls

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full.. The students responded with a unanimous ‘yes.’

The professor then produced two beers from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed ...

"Now," said the professor as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things—-your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions—-and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car. The sand is everything else — the small stuff.

‘If you put the sand into the jar first,’ he continued, ‘there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life.

"If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

"Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness.

"Spend time with your children. Spend time with your parents. Visit with grandparents. Take your spouse out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and mow the lawn.

"Take care of the golf balls first—-the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer represented.

The professor smiled.

"No matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of beers with a friend."

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Whatever Happened To My Chillow?

6/7/2018

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Charles City Press, 6-7-18

Remember when “Chillows” were a thing?

You may have seen them on television a few years back, they are cooling pads that fit inside of a pillow to keep the pillow cool.

I haven’t seen a commercial for them recently, but I’m reminded of them because of the recent hot and humid weather we’ve experienced around here.
Memorial Day Weekend was unbearable. Records were broken for high temperatures throughout the Midwest.

Things have moderated a little bit since then, and become more bearable, so I’m hopeful this won’t be one of those sweaty, sleepless summers.

It’s sleeping in the heat that’s tough for me, which was why I was thinking about the time I sprung for one of those Chillows as a gift for my wife on her birthday.

My wife likes a cool pillow to sleep on, as do most people. You can only turn a regular pillow over to the cooler side so many times before the cooler side wears off. Toss this fact in with all the other things in the world that conspire to limit sleep, and you have all the ingredients of a long, slumber-free night.

For instance, on the hottest, most sweaty nights, there always seems to be a mosquito somewhere. You can't see it. You can only hear it, and it always sounds like it is a centimeter away from your eardrum. Most likely it is on the wall clear over on the other side of the room, but mosquitoes have the ability to project the whiney, buzzy sound that they make several feet. It is how they entertain themselves. They sit on the wall on the other side of the room and somehow shoot that whiney buzzy sound into your ear. Then they chuckle that superior mosquito chuckle as you squirm and swat your hands at your own ear in an attempt to kill the buzzy bug that isn't there.

There is also the matter of a weak bladder to limit your sleeping time. Just when you think you are about to start sawing some sweet slumber-wood, your bladder tells you otherwise. You have to get up and walk in the dark, injuring yourself several times, as you feel your way to the bathroom. You don't want to turn the lights on, because you are trying to be considerate and not awaken others in the house, plus you have the feeling that if lights shine into your eyes, you will suddenly jump from your state of near-sleep to a state of high alert, and then you'll never be able to get to sleep again, ever.

As if stubbing your toe on the leg of the bed and crushing your kneecap against the coffee table on the way to the bathroom somehow won't make you more wide awake. And as if your screams of pain won't awaken your co-habitants.

Once you've actually limped into the bathroom, for some reason you don't turn that light on, either. You're confident you know exactly where the toilet bowl is, and you're pretty sure whoever used it last left the lid up. You're not positive until your hear the splash of water, but when you do, you realize you hit a bulls-eye in the dark and you're awful proud of yourself.

Don't worry, it won't be until morning that you realize you were standing in front of the dog's water dish. Dogs are usually very forgiving creatures. Just be thankful you don't have a cat. Cats hold a grudge.

So when you finally get back to bed, you stare at the ceiling for about 52 hours, perspiring the whole time and occasionally rubbing your busted knee and stubbed toe, and you consider all the ways your life went wrong. You could have been somebody, but you're just a loser. You carefully examine all the mistakes you've made, and wonder how much a licensed therapist costs.

So you can see the need for a Chillow to assist you in your sleep — which was why I got one for my wife for her birthday that year.

At the time, she thanked me and laughed that "oh my God, he is such a dork" laugh.

When we opened the "Chillow" box, we realized that there is some assembly required. You have to fill the Chillow with water, then somehow force all of the air out of it without letting the water leak out, then roll it up and unroll it to activate the chemicals in there that make it cool, then stick it inside your real pillow.

It seemed like a lot of work, and we never actually completed all the steps. So neither my wife nor I can tell you how well a Chillow works, or whether or not it is a good investment. I don’t even know where that Chillow is anymore.

If anyone else out there bought a Chillow and put it to use, let me know. If they actually work, I’ll buy Chillows for everyone. It’s Chillows on me.

They're a lot cheaper than a therapist.

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The Wizard can remind us of life’s forgotten lessons

No superpowers in Rockford, but they still behave as heroes

A Jar Of Golf Balls

Whatever Happened To My Chillow?

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