Is your Club or Group looking for an inspiring guest speaker or do you want to host a book signing? . . . Contact Woody today!

* * *

For a Personalized Autographed copy of “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME” or “WOODEN & ME” mail a check for $25 to:

Woody Woodburn

400 Roosevelt Court

Ventura, CA 93003

* * *

Lowlights From High in the Sky

Mark Twain, an enthusiastic proponent of travel, famously advised, “Throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor.”

Wise counsel, yet often in the course of sailing – or flying – away I get tangled in the bowlines, so to speak.

One memorable occasion occurred when I was taking a brand-new suitcase on its maiden trip. “Big Red” was the nickname my son bestowed on the beast when he greeted me at the luggage carousel.

Exiting the airport we took a long escalator up. Warning: Don’t text while riding an escalator. With my hands momentarily off of Big Red’s handle, it tumbled backwards.

More accurately, Big Red tumbled in place like a boulder on a treadmill while I was carried higher and further away. By the time I made my way down the up-moving stairway and wrestled control of Big Red, it looked like Edward Scissorhands had been its baggage handler. Good grief it was hilarious.

Speaking of hilarity, I have become somewhat of a legend within my family for finding myself next to memorable (pronounced “annoying”) seatmates when I fly solo. I am not talking about the run-of-the-mill characters like The Talker who keeps you from a novel or nap, or The Armrest Hog who pirates your elbow room, or The Fussy Baby or The Drunk.

Lots of passengers these non-frill-no-meal days bring food on the flight, such as fast-food hamburgers, deli sandwiches, even a full pizza. I, on the other hand, had a seatmate pull from his backpack a Tupperware tub of hot soup.

Soup is simply not a plane food. I am guessing he bought the albondigas at a kiosk and transferred it into the Tupperware as a spill-proof measure. The measure failed. A bounce of turbulence left me with a soaked-and-burning thigh.

Similarly, I had another seatmate pull out a large bowl. Granted, a salad is hardly unusual, even at 30,000 feet. But this one became memorable when the man began devouring it like The Beast in “Beauty And The Beast.” Indeed, I was hit numerous times by flying lettuce shrapnel.

“Shorty Shorts” on flight to Boston.

Another beastly encounter was a seatmate who spent most of the flight with her arms raised and crossed resting atop her head. Oh, and was wearing a tank top – her bare armpits at my nose level. Unlike “Salad Beast,” I had no appetite.

I could go on at length, but here is my personal topper. On a flight from Los Angeles to Boston, where the weather upon arrival was forecast to be rainy with temperatures in the 30s, my stout seatmate boarded wearing only sneakers (no socks), tank top and shorts.

Let me clarify the latter: short shorts.

Even that description does not do justice. Let me try further. They looked like P.E. gym shorts circa 1970. Larry Bird and Magic Johnson wore longer shorts in their heyday. Olympic milers wear longer shorts. Forget Twain’s “Throw off the bowlines” – I wished: Lower the hemlines!

Worse, upon sitting down, Shorty Short’s shorts were pushed higher, revealing so much thigh as to venture from “PG-13” to “R.” Words fail—fall short, if you will—in giving a full picture, which is probably a good thing.

Certain that my family would surely accuse me of exaggeration, or under-exaggeration, I knew visual proof would be required. Surreptitiously, I snapped a knee-to-waist photo while feigning to be texting.

“Fotomat,” my wife said, squinting her eyes tight as if trying to un-see the photo on my phone, “would have refused to make a print of that!”

At least Shorty Shorts kept his armpits to himself.

* * *

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

Is your Club or Group looking for an inspiring guest speaker or do you want to host a book signing? . . . Contact Woody today!

* * *

For a Personalized Autographed copy of “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME” or “WOODEN & ME” mail a check for $25 to:

Woody Woodburn

400 Roosevelt Court

Ventura, CA 93003

* * *

Wishing Clouds Clear for Sunshine

The email from Judith, a Ventura resident, began warmly, “Dear Woody, I am one of your longtime readers . . .”

As is the frequent modus operandi, however, the butter up was followed by an appeal for a favor. Often the request is for me to write a column reviewing a self-published book or perhaps to ask my readers to donate to a classroom/club/team. That sort of thing.

Judith’s cause is her nephew. Rather, her special-needs nephew’s caregiver driver who has seen sunny times erased by storm clouds.

Unfortunately, I have found it necessary as a rule to turn down all such requests lest my general interest column become a weekly book review or fundraising bugle. Too bad, because Judith’s plea begs for a happy ending.

Riffy, Judith’s 26-year-old nephew, is autistic. His driver is named Sunshine, which seems both appropriate and mocking.

Riffy and Sunshine

Mocking because when she was 12, Sunshine lost her mother.

Mocking because Sunshine had to retire early from her career as a chemist after being diagnosed with Lupus.

More so, however, Sunshine is appropriately descriptive. For example, her home has become affectionately known as “The Sunshine House” because of her affinity for welcoming those in need of a hot meal and warm bed.

Sunshine’s caring rays filled her car as well. After leaving the periodic table in her rearview mirror, she started driving senior shut-ins to doctor appointments, shopping, and other errands.

Riffy, too, began relying on her to drive him 40 miles to his daily six-hour habilitation program; Sunshine, in turn, relies on her 2015 minivan to help Riffy. All this chauffeuring has caused Sunshine to exceed the mileage allowed by her vehicle lease, meaning she must now buy it.

Roll in the storm clouds.

Ironically, the minivan Sunshine uses for acts of kindness driving others might be lost because of her kindness: a while back she unselfishly, and unwisely, co-signed a lease for a friend who needed a car to get to work and co-signed a loan for another friend to get a place to live.

You guessed it: the latter was evicted and the former was late in making payments. Hence, Sunshine’s once-excellent credit rating nosedived and she has been unable to get the new financing she needs.

Enter Riffy’s parents, Joan and Tom, who have started a Go Fund Me page (www.gofundme.com/sunshine-driving-service) with a goal of raising the $23,440 needed to pay off the minivan.

Their real goal is to give a little sunshine to both Sunshine and Riffy, who was born with a rare genetic mutation CDK13.

“As a result,” Joan told me, “Riffy has Intellectual Disability, Autism, ADHD and a Developmental Coordination Disorder.”

She added: “When you become a special-needs parent, you have to also become a special educator, behavior specialist, attorney, activist, occupational therapist, physical therapist, speech therapist, recreation therapist, psychotherapist, not to mention an alchemist, shaman, magician and fixer.”

Sunshine and her husband Joshua, meanwhile, have been godsends.

“Early on, Joshua, who is a Deacon in his Church, told me that if anything happened to Tom and me, Sunshine and he would take care of Riffy,” Joan marvels.

“When Tom had many illnesses over the last two years, Joshua would call and ask if I wanted to have a word of prayer. Sunshine would always tell me to have a ‘blessed day’ and loves Riffy’s eccentricities. Clearly, we got so much more then drivers.”

Clearly, Sunshine’s story is worthy of a rainbow ending. I just hope Judith and Joan and Riffy understand that I can’t start doing fundraising columns. Rules are rules, after all.

* * *

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

Is your Club or Group looking for an inspiring guest speaker or do you want to host a book signing? . . . Contact Woody today!

* * *

For a Personalized Autographed copy of “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME” or “WOODEN & ME” mail a check for $25 to:

Woody Woodburn

400 Roosevelt Court

Ventura, CA 93003

* * *

Nobody Asked Me, But Here Goes Anyway

Loyal readers of this space well know that I love libraries.

Along with the breathtaking New York Public Library and the Boston Athenaeum, both of which I wrote about recently, and the Library of Trinity College Dublin that left me awestruck a few years ago, I have another new favorite: our local Ocean View Junior High library.

Although it is far more modest than the three cathedrals of books mentioned above, it is nonetheless special as evidenced by its librarian Maria Tapia being honored in Washington, D.C. with a national Inspiring School Employees Award.

How inspiring is Tapia? Students routinely pack the library from before school until after the final bell, including about 100 kids coming in during lunch period.

I wish Tapia could speak to all bureaucrats nationwide when they are tempted to cut library funding at any school.

*

I have been thinking about my vintage typewriter-collecting friend, Michael Mariani, who points out that some older models do not have an exclamation point key. Instead, one must take the time and effort to type a single quote mark, backspace, and a period to create an exclamation mark.

Nobody asked me, but I think all computer and smartphone keyboards should delete their exclamation marks and similarly force people to fashion them. This would end the epidemic of people using one, two and even three exclamation marks in a row – !!! – in texts, emails and Tweets.

*

Speaking of Tweets, I think most people – especially celebrities and politicians – need a personal social media editor to check their Twitter postings for general ugliness, meanness and worse before being sent out. It would save everyone a lot of pain.

*

Nobody asked me, but my five favorite fruits, in order, are: strawberries, raspberries, apples, bananas, and oranges.

However, if I could only choose one fruit, it would be apples!!!

*

High school kids look up to professional athletes as role models, but more and more often I believe the reverse should be true.

Case in point occurred recently in Minnesota when Totino-Grace High School pitcher Ty Koehn struck out Mounds View High’s Jack Kocon to end a big playoff game.

As his teammates rushed to the mound to celebrate the victory sending them to the state championships, Koehn – in a video that has gone viral – sidestepped them all and ran to home plate to console Kocon, who has been his friend since childhood.

Koehn told reporters: “Our friendship is more important than just the silly outcome of a game. I had to make sure he knew that.”

*

It is said that no one stands taller than when he or she bends down to help a child.

Conversely, no nation shrinks smaller than when it separates infants and young children from their mothers and fathers.

*

A kind and anonymous Good Samaritan recently left a smooth beach stone – hand-painted in purple, green, pink and orange and bearing the words “hope will come” – on the brick steps that remain curbside at my dad’s home that burned to the ground in the Thomas Fire.

What a lovely, and powerful, thought: “hope will come.” I wish somehow those three words could have been said to – and, importantly, truly felt and taken to heart by – celebrities Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade, as well as every military veteran and teenager and grownup who is currently suffering and contemplating taking their own life.

With that in mind, let me close with this, the Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255. If you or someone you know is hurting, please call and maybe “hope will come.”

Is your Club or Group looking for an inspiring guest speaker or do you want to host a book signing? . . . Contact Woody today!

* * *

For a Personalized Autographed copy of “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME” or “WOODEN & ME” mail a check for $25 to:

Woody Woodburn

400 Roosevelt Court

Ventura, CA 93003

* * *

Lined Up Like Abandoned Books

The juxtaposition was unexpected and poignant.

I was inside the Boston Athenaeum, the city’s original library dating back to 1805 and located atop famous Beacon Hill. In the grand atrium stands a larger-than-life statue of George Washington before a tall wall of windows overlooking a cemetery below.

And therein lies the juxtaposition: the headstones, lined up in row after row adding up to 2,300 markers in all, come into focus like books on the library’s myriad of shelves.

Founded in 1660, Granary Burial Ground is the third oldest cemetery in Boston. Too, it is one of the most eminent as evidenced by a bronze plaque at the iron-fenced entrance: “Within This Ground Are Buried John Hancock, Samuel Adams And Robert Treat Paine, Signers Of The Declaration Of Independence.”

A map and signposts guide visitors to these noteworthy gravesites, but the balance of tombstones remain as overlooked as old volumes forgotten on library shelves.

Initially, I was drawn to the popular books, so to speak.

First up, to the right after entering the gates, was an unpolished stone the size of a couch cushion with a plaque: “Here Lies Samuel Adams / Signer of the Declaration of Independence / Governor of the Commonwealth / A Leader of Men and an Ardent Patriot / Born 1722 Died 1803.”

Furthest, in the back and directly below the Boston Athenaeum’s statue of Washington, stands a lovely chest-high white pedestal inscribed: “Paul Revere / Born In Boston January 1734 / Died May 1818.” A small American stick flag of the sort a child might wave on the Fourth of July was stuck in the ground on this April day.

I had traveled to Boston to watch our nation’s oldest marathon. As I stood in the cold rain at Mile 22, waiting for a brief glimpse of my son running by, a similarity struck me with Granary Burial Grounds: While the spectators all cheered loudly for the race leaders, much like all the cemetery visitors flocked to pay respects to Revere and Adams and Hancock, the rest of the runners went largely unacknowledged individually except by family and friends.

This is too bad, for each of the 26,948 runners surely had an inspiring story to tell in reaching the venerable 2018 Boston Marathon. Likewise, each now-forgotten grave marker surely has a life story worth telling buried beneath it.

After cheering extra for marathoners who “hit the wall,” I was inspired to return to Granary Burial Ground. This time, I paused at tombstones that were falling over or chipped or had inscriptions erased by summer’s rains and winter’s snows.

Venturing this time off the brick walkway, I came upon a headstone with an ornate loving cup and ferns carved into it as well as this inscription: “To the Memory of John Hurd . . . Obit 20 Aug. 1784.” My thought: does anyone remember him now?

In a far corner were bookended headstones, neither larger than a novel, lonesome by a 10-yard circumference except for each other, surrounded by dirt instead of grass, their surfaces worn illegibly smooth. My thought: a wife and husband, I hope.

A larger headstone, this one featuring an elaborate carving of angel wings: “Here Lyeth Buried Ye Body Of Mrs. Elizabeth Cush (the veneer is chipped away, taking with it “ion”) / Late Wife to Cap Jermemiah Cushion / Aged 60 Years November 1689.” My thought: born just nine years after the Mayflower arrived, what was your life story Elizabeth?

One more thought: on and on these forgotten gravestones go, like anonymous runners in a marathon, like musty books on library shelves.

* * *

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon