Cathy turned me on to Uber over the past few months. Admittedly, at first the notion of riding in someone's car to an airport not driving a yellow cab with the funny little light on the roof was a little unnerving. I'm not really sure how to explain it other than to say I am a creature of habit and am accustomed to hopping in a taxi to my final destination.
After a long week in Toronto, Canada, I was looking forward to getting to my apartment, re-packing my backpack and driving the two hours to Green Acres--a.k.a. our Alabama house. Despite the wonderful folks in Ontario and the laughs many of us shared while there, to sleep in my own bed after a week away was something I longed for, and wanted to do as quickly as possible.
I ordered up an Uber on my new-fangled Uber app I downloaded a couple weeks prior. Notification was given that my driver, Obi, would pick me up in his black Hyundai four door car. He threw my bag in the trunk and I plopped my pack next to it, jumped into his Hyundai then clicked my seatbelt (safety first!).
Obi asked me about my flight and where I was returning from; the usual idle chit-chat between two strangers attempting to pass time until they part. I told him I had been in Toronto and was happy to be back in the United States as he nodded his head in the affirmative.
"Yes, there's no place like the U.S. It is the best country in the world."
His accent was smooth and fluid, not quite Caribbean, not entirely British, and certainly not French. His remarks made my ears perk up so I asked where he was from originally. "Nigeria," he replied.
I told him about my fascination with the African continent and how I wanted to spend a lot of time there. Obi explained how much the people of Nigeria loved visitors and how they open their homes to foreigners.
Our discussion drifted to how he came to America; he won a government sanctioned lottery that allows fifty thousand aliens to acquire green cards and work toward citizenship. The amazing thing? There were millions of applications and Obi was one of the chosen few--a golden ticket winner!
I asked him about Nigeria and he told me about the beauty of its people and the staggering corruption of the government. "We have oil and other resources, but the president and politicians keep da' money for themselves. They do not care about the people. In America, the government cares about its citizens, and that is why I am here.
"There is so much in America. We have all da' resources and the opportunity to succeed if you work hard. I just bought my own car and I work hard to send my mom and siblings a little money so they can eat.
"In Nigeria, the children are lucky to get one meal a day. They work all day instead of going to school, and that is sad because there are so many very smart people there."
Naturally, our conversation drifted to politics, but my mind was on what he told me about his home country. He asked who I was supporting for president and was quick to point out how adept the U.S. government was and how the American people took care of one another.
As he spoke, I continued to think about his mom, brothers, and sisters Obi left behind in Nigeria. I wondered how much food they had each day and whether or not he was able to send enough money to give them a second meal each day.
When our conversation (and ride) ended, I was so happy to have met such a gracious man. Some day I hope to run into him again, but in the meantime I allow my mind to drift to Africa...
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Friday, September 23, 2016
Just Stop and Breathe
This world is upside down. People are hysterical over things that do and do not impact them personally. With so much that truly threatens we Americans, our way of life, and our personal freedoms, why are we concerned with circumstances beyond our immediate control?
I'll tell you why--"news" stations that do not report news, but focus on ratings. Ratings are driven by viewership, which is fueled, these days anyway, by emotion. Guess what else feeds off emotion? Social media! When you see an event televised and posted on Facebook, Twitter, and other forms of social media, ask yourself what the intent of the "story" is, and what emotion it invokes in you. If you are angered, the story has done its job and will take a life of its own, as tens of thousands of people will share it again and again.
Oftentimes, I see people post things like, "don't be a sheep," or "lead, rather than follow." No one seems to understand what this means (most especially those posting it). I guess the take-away from recent events is to "love one another." Like my friend Garry Parker asked, "Where's the love?" Right on, I say!
Here's another question you should ask yourself, "Am I my brother's keeper?"
I suppose when everything is said and done, one simple emotion is all your really need. The one you choose, however, is up to you.
As for me--man, I love all y'all.
So go out into this big old nasty world today and make a positive difference. I'll leave the how's and what's to you. How and what you do to impact someone's life in a positive manner is the only emotional choice you should make. We all have the power to destroy and maim, but we also have a greater power--to heal and love.
Make your choice.
I'll tell you why--"news" stations that do not report news, but focus on ratings. Ratings are driven by viewership, which is fueled, these days anyway, by emotion. Guess what else feeds off emotion? Social media! When you see an event televised and posted on Facebook, Twitter, and other forms of social media, ask yourself what the intent of the "story" is, and what emotion it invokes in you. If you are angered, the story has done its job and will take a life of its own, as tens of thousands of people will share it again and again.
Oftentimes, I see people post things like, "don't be a sheep," or "lead, rather than follow." No one seems to understand what this means (most especially those posting it). I guess the take-away from recent events is to "love one another." Like my friend Garry Parker asked, "Where's the love?" Right on, I say!
Here's another question you should ask yourself, "Am I my brother's keeper?"
I suppose when everything is said and done, one simple emotion is all your really need. The one you choose, however, is up to you.
As for me--man, I love all y'all.
So go out into this big old nasty world today and make a positive difference. I'll leave the how's and what's to you. How and what you do to impact someone's life in a positive manner is the only emotional choice you should make. We all have the power to destroy and maim, but we also have a greater power--to heal and love.
Make your choice.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
When We Vacation (Or Go On Holiday)
We have all done it--we go somewhere on vacation, some incredibly beautiful paradise, then decide we will quit our jobs and move immediately. This is natural for most people, Cathy and I included, to begin brainstorming creative job opportunities in order to expedite our move to a beach front community.
Cathy and I have attempted to temper our purchasing resolve in St. Augustine, Florida, but planned on looking at houses while here (in advance of our trip) to potentially make an investment purchase. I would be lying if I said the beach bug had not bitten us shortly after looking at the first three homes, but we elected to take a deep breath and talk about what we want to accomplish in the short and long term. (Sometimes acting like adults is a terrible thing.)
With that, I have made it no secret how much I adore this small town, The Old City, the Castillo de San Marcos, the Fountain of Youth, and the very unique lighthouse that stands proudly on the west side of Anastasia Island. The residents of the town are wonderful, and we found ourselves hanging out with some regularity at Isabela's Cigar and Wine Shop. I was fortunate enough to have met Isabela, a wonderful Cuban immigrant who claims to be the only American female cigar shop owner, several years ago and was blessed to enjoy her company once again.
Just walking around town, you get a sense of the centuries old history of the area. The Minorcan Indian tribe that resided there before the Spanish Conquistadors arrived are an integral part of the city's feel. Brick and cobblestone line the Old City's roads and mom and pop shops keep the local economy vibrant and consistent.
On Anastasia Island, hidden bars tout "locals" hanging out, and it is clear that it is true in many cases. Smiles, a slow pace, couples young and old holding hands as they walk along the gorgeous beaches are all part of the reason we want to own a place here.
The truth is I have always wanted to be a pirate and love the pirate lifestyle; well, I would have to shower more frequently, but still, would it not be very Jimmy Buffet-esque to sail the St. Augustine Sound, fishing and singing about tourists covered in oil?
To sail the Atlantic off the coast of Saint Augustine is my dream. Maybe one day...
Cathy and I have attempted to temper our purchasing resolve in St. Augustine, Florida, but planned on looking at houses while here (in advance of our trip) to potentially make an investment purchase. I would be lying if I said the beach bug had not bitten us shortly after looking at the first three homes, but we elected to take a deep breath and talk about what we want to accomplish in the short and long term. (Sometimes acting like adults is a terrible thing.)
With that, I have made it no secret how much I adore this small town, The Old City, the Castillo de San Marcos, the Fountain of Youth, and the very unique lighthouse that stands proudly on the west side of Anastasia Island. The residents of the town are wonderful, and we found ourselves hanging out with some regularity at Isabela's Cigar and Wine Shop. I was fortunate enough to have met Isabela, a wonderful Cuban immigrant who claims to be the only American female cigar shop owner, several years ago and was blessed to enjoy her company once again.
Just walking around town, you get a sense of the centuries old history of the area. The Minorcan Indian tribe that resided there before the Spanish Conquistadors arrived are an integral part of the city's feel. Brick and cobblestone line the Old City's roads and mom and pop shops keep the local economy vibrant and consistent.
On Anastasia Island, hidden bars tout "locals" hanging out, and it is clear that it is true in many cases. Smiles, a slow pace, couples young and old holding hands as they walk along the gorgeous beaches are all part of the reason we want to own a place here.
The truth is I have always wanted to be a pirate and love the pirate lifestyle; well, I would have to shower more frequently, but still, would it not be very Jimmy Buffet-esque to sail the St. Augustine Sound, fishing and singing about tourists covered in oil?
To sail the Atlantic off the coast of Saint Augustine is my dream. Maybe one day...
Monday, August 22, 2016
Our Passions Become Us
In halls far and wide people gather to train, sweat, and sometimes bleed. It is difficult to articulate to the non-martial arts practitioner what drives us to engage in the violent arts, but for those of us driven to learn budo (lit. warrior way) it is as natural and understandable as breathing.
For those who do not understand why multitudes of people get together in their white pajamas and inflict pain on one another with great regularity, let me not attempt to explain, but rather un-explain what we do.
The traditional arts of Okinawa and Japan were not intended for "cowards," as I have sometimes heard some ignorantly state. In fact, the older military arts of Japan were developed by and for the bushi (lit. warrior). After the Meiji Restoration of the late nineteenth century in Japan, the samurai were no longer the ruling class and the arts moved to a more mainstream arena offered to those not of the samurai class, or of samurai lineage.
In Okinawa, Te (lit. hand) was brought from mainland China and developed into what we now know as karate, or karate-do. Different family systems were created and passed down to the sons of those early masters. Eventually, western soldiers were allowed to train in the Okinawan and Japanese arts, which resulted in their propagation in the western world.
As with anything and any association, politics rears its head and system members leave and train alone. Karate is no different than other organized activities and multiple factions were created in the fifty plus years after its migration from the far east.
I was privileged to be a part of a reunification of sorts; a coming together of brothers and sisters originating from Dr. Tsuyoshi Chitose's Chito Ryu. Family members sharing this lineage piled into a hall at General Butler State Park in Kentucky for four days to learn and train with one of the last great students of Dr. Chitose, Masaru Inomoto.
For decades Inomoto sensei lived next door to Dr. Chitose and trained in his brand of karate. He kept intact what he learned from his teacher and shared openly with those of us fortunate enough to attend "the gathering."
Men and women sweat, banged around on each other, broke bread, laughed, and toasted Inomoto sensei as a group sharing a common understanding of a karate system in dire need of unity. We are a strange bunch--those who share combative and lethal techniques then talk about how proud we are to brandish bruises and bloody knuckles.
I look forward to other gatherings and sharing of information, history, and combative techniques--for these are the things that drive the budoka (lit. person who studies the warrior way).
Banzai!
Friday, August 12, 2016
Our Homeless
I work in Atlanta, Georgia and see homelessness every day on my ride into the city. Naturally, I've born witness to poverty all over the world, and always feel a strong sense of remorse for not being able to help folks who have found themselves, for whatever reason, in such a terrible position in life.
Of course, as with anything else, there are scammers out there who make a fanciful living begging for money on street corners or at intersections. I recall one such instance when I would see the same guy at the same intersection each day when I lived and worked in Chicago. One day, as I approached the intersection, the young man was hopping around and smiling, presumably listening to music on a phone or iPod. As soon as the light turned red and the cars were forced to stop, his body position changed to some sort of slumped over, malnourished being . His face contorted into one so pitiful, had I not just witnessed the transition, I would have thought him truly unhappy, without family, and homeless. This guy was gaming people and most likely making a fair living working the street.
A few years ago, I wrote about a homeless guy panhandling in the street while I was in Raleigh, North Carolina. This guy was amazing, and as I stood there talking to him, he on his two prosthetic legs in the middle of the road, a guy stopped and handed him a dollar. The man, he referred to himself as Everyman (I'll never forget that), handed me the dollar and told me to donate it to my church. What a guy! Of course, I handed him his dollar...but can you imagine that?
There is this one unfortunate gentleman who begs for change with regularity not far from where I now work. I had my doubts about his homeless status, and figured he lived in some government paid housing not far from the area. I say that to repeat what our moms taught us long ago--don't assume anything.
On my way home one day, I crossed under Interstate Twenty, making my usual left turn to drive up the on-ramp. As I sat at the red light awaiting my turn, something caught my attention from the corner of my eye--movement directly under the interstate and above the steep concrete wall. There in the small area created by the top of the wall and the bottom of the highway lay a man. He rested on his side in the sweltering heat and I recognized him immediately. He had on the same ratty white t-shirt and jeans I had seen that morning on my way into work. I can't even begin to tell you how bad I felt for him and how upset with myself I was for thinking he was scamming people out of their money.
The next day, as I exited the interstate, I saw him. He would put his hands together in a prayerful motion and bow to each car that passed him by. I stopped and handed him five dollars and he looked up at me with his rheumy eyes and a blank face.
"Thank you so much, sir. God Bless you and please pray for me." That's what he said to me.
Now, I don't know what he did that five dollars, and to be honest, I don't really care. Did I enable more bad behavior? I don't know, but what I realized was I gave a poor person a moment of relief. Whether he bought food, cheap wine, or a hit of crack was irrelevant to me, because for just a brief second we were both part of the same stratosphere, and for just a second this guy was given notice by another human being.
Of course, as with anything else, there are scammers out there who make a fanciful living begging for money on street corners or at intersections. I recall one such instance when I would see the same guy at the same intersection each day when I lived and worked in Chicago. One day, as I approached the intersection, the young man was hopping around and smiling, presumably listening to music on a phone or iPod. As soon as the light turned red and the cars were forced to stop, his body position changed to some sort of slumped over, malnourished being . His face contorted into one so pitiful, had I not just witnessed the transition, I would have thought him truly unhappy, without family, and homeless. This guy was gaming people and most likely making a fair living working the street.
A few years ago, I wrote about a homeless guy panhandling in the street while I was in Raleigh, North Carolina. This guy was amazing, and as I stood there talking to him, he on his two prosthetic legs in the middle of the road, a guy stopped and handed him a dollar. The man, he referred to himself as Everyman (I'll never forget that), handed me the dollar and told me to donate it to my church. What a guy! Of course, I handed him his dollar...but can you imagine that?
There is this one unfortunate gentleman who begs for change with regularity not far from where I now work. I had my doubts about his homeless status, and figured he lived in some government paid housing not far from the area. I say that to repeat what our moms taught us long ago--don't assume anything.
On my way home one day, I crossed under Interstate Twenty, making my usual left turn to drive up the on-ramp. As I sat at the red light awaiting my turn, something caught my attention from the corner of my eye--movement directly under the interstate and above the steep concrete wall. There in the small area created by the top of the wall and the bottom of the highway lay a man. He rested on his side in the sweltering heat and I recognized him immediately. He had on the same ratty white t-shirt and jeans I had seen that morning on my way into work. I can't even begin to tell you how bad I felt for him and how upset with myself I was for thinking he was scamming people out of their money.
The next day, as I exited the interstate, I saw him. He would put his hands together in a prayerful motion and bow to each car that passed him by. I stopped and handed him five dollars and he looked up at me with his rheumy eyes and a blank face.
"Thank you so much, sir. God Bless you and please pray for me." That's what he said to me.
Now, I don't know what he did that five dollars, and to be honest, I don't really care. Did I enable more bad behavior? I don't know, but what I realized was I gave a poor person a moment of relief. Whether he bought food, cheap wine, or a hit of crack was irrelevant to me, because for just a brief second we were both part of the same stratosphere, and for just a second this guy was given notice by another human being.
Thursday, August 4, 2016
It's Time to Take a Stand!
Like most people, I grumble and gripe about things my government does or doesn't do. More often than not I post sarcastic and snide remarks about their candid disregard for laws and the American Constitution. Yeah, I'm that guy, but there comes a point where the grumbling must stop and action must begin.
Let me say, first and foremost, we are still a nation of laws and relative peace. While I support the people's right to rebel against our government, I am an avid supporter of peaceful protest and insisting our voices be heard by our elected officials.
It has recently been reported that the Obama administration, and more specifically the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives (ATF) have begun illegally collecting names and addresses of legal firearm owners. This database is not only immoral, it's illegal!
My fellow Americans: I'm asking you to take this step--sign the petition below, and continue sharing it (not just once...not just twice) until President Barrack Obama is forced to respond and destroy this illegal list of law abiding citizens who happily and legally exercise their right to keep and bear arms. Your help is needed, and I cannot stress enough how important it is to make our voices heard. Send this to your elected officials; let them know we will not sit idly by while they continue to shred the very paper upon which our rights were promised by the Founders of this greatest country in the world!
Let me say, first and foremost, we are still a nation of laws and relative peace. While I support the people's right to rebel against our government, I am an avid supporter of peaceful protest and insisting our voices be heard by our elected officials.
It has recently been reported that the Obama administration, and more specifically the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives (ATF) have begun illegally collecting names and addresses of legal firearm owners. This database is not only immoral, it's illegal!
My fellow Americans: I'm asking you to take this step--sign the petition below, and continue sharing it (not just once...not just twice) until President Barrack Obama is forced to respond and destroy this illegal list of law abiding citizens who happily and legally exercise their right to keep and bear arms. Your help is needed, and I cannot stress enough how important it is to make our voices heard. Send this to your elected officials; let them know we will not sit idly by while they continue to shred the very paper upon which our rights were promised by the Founders of this greatest country in the world!
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Another Project (or Three) on the Horizon
People who know me know my mind works a million miles per hour. I can't help it--it's the way I'm wired. Perhaps I don't see things differently than most, but I tend to notice subtleties, or nuances about peculiar things. As a result of the way my mind processes details, I'm rarely without bizarre thoughts and speculation. I like to think of this mindset, if you will, as hyper-awareness of the rather mundane.
My imagination runs rampant with possibilities; hence my appetite for writing. I don't proclaim to be masterful in story-telling--on the contrary, I'm most likely quite ordinary. But I want to believe (hope?) that I can bring forth stories that are entertaining, a little educational, and very speculative. If I can accomplish this, and you the reader enjoy what I've written, then my mission has been accomplished.
I don't write for accolades or ceremony. Writing has always been a passion of mine, but pouring my heart into a project then throwing it to the proverbial literary wolves to be devoured makes me nervous. We all know what happens when something is taken into the human body, yes? It's processed and used to nourish the body, or it sickens the body and finds its way from one or both orifices. I pray the former, rather than the latter, is what readers gain from my trysts.
With a hectic 2015 and an even more hectic first half of 2016, I was forced to dabble in my writing, although I wanted to immerse myself in it. Life changing events brought me endless days and short nights with which to jot down thoughts or lines I thought might fit into a particular work. And as suddenly as the craziness started, it slowed to a drizzle--like a light rain in early April that covers the greening grass with a fine mist, only to quickly give way to an early morning sun.
And so a project I began last year is in process--something much different than my two previous fictional tales. This is a work of passion--stories told by those having faced tremendous odds and how they have dealt with adversity through their lives. You're going to love this book: for it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you, and people you know and love.
Another project I've begun working on is a labor of love. This treatise is a compilation of traditional budo (Jp. lit. warrior way) masters outside of Okinawa and Japan that have spent their lives dedicated to their respective art. Even for the non-martial artist, I believe you will enjoy these stories.
Lastly, Bill Evers is making his long awaited return! His newest adventure will take you, once again, to far away lands as he searches for someone or something intent on bringing great harm to humanity. He is my unfortunate hero, and one I've hated to love and loved to hate. A man with without a conscience in search of his soul.
So there it is, my friends. This is where I've been...where my mind has taken me, and where it will keep me for some time.
As always, please feel free to comment below, share these blog posts, and most importantly live your own adventure!
My imagination runs rampant with possibilities; hence my appetite for writing. I don't proclaim to be masterful in story-telling--on the contrary, I'm most likely quite ordinary. But I want to believe (hope?) that I can bring forth stories that are entertaining, a little educational, and very speculative. If I can accomplish this, and you the reader enjoy what I've written, then my mission has been accomplished.
I don't write for accolades or ceremony. Writing has always been a passion of mine, but pouring my heart into a project then throwing it to the proverbial literary wolves to be devoured makes me nervous. We all know what happens when something is taken into the human body, yes? It's processed and used to nourish the body, or it sickens the body and finds its way from one or both orifices. I pray the former, rather than the latter, is what readers gain from my trysts.
With a hectic 2015 and an even more hectic first half of 2016, I was forced to dabble in my writing, although I wanted to immerse myself in it. Life changing events brought me endless days and short nights with which to jot down thoughts or lines I thought might fit into a particular work. And as suddenly as the craziness started, it slowed to a drizzle--like a light rain in early April that covers the greening grass with a fine mist, only to quickly give way to an early morning sun.
And so a project I began last year is in process--something much different than my two previous fictional tales. This is a work of passion--stories told by those having faced tremendous odds and how they have dealt with adversity through their lives. You're going to love this book: for it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you, and people you know and love.
Another project I've begun working on is a labor of love. This treatise is a compilation of traditional budo (Jp. lit. warrior way) masters outside of Okinawa and Japan that have spent their lives dedicated to their respective art. Even for the non-martial artist, I believe you will enjoy these stories.
Lastly, Bill Evers is making his long awaited return! His newest adventure will take you, once again, to far away lands as he searches for someone or something intent on bringing great harm to humanity. He is my unfortunate hero, and one I've hated to love and loved to hate. A man with without a conscience in search of his soul.
So there it is, my friends. This is where I've been...where my mind has taken me, and where it will keep me for some time.
As always, please feel free to comment below, share these blog posts, and most importantly live your own adventure!
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