Monthly Archives: March 2017

Odometers and Milestones

by Woody

1StrawberriesCoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE!

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Little Steps Add Up to Big Things

The odometer in my car recently reached 150,000 miles. I saw the milestone approaching and yet – you guessed it – forget to look down at the right moment to see it roll over from 149,999.9.

Watching 150,002.9 roll over into 150,003.0 was not nearly as exciting, I don’t imagine.

Granted, 150,003 miles is nothing exceptional for a Honda Civic. Still, it did take some perseverance as it is a 2003 model.

“Perseverance is not a long race,” Walter Elliot, a Scottish politician once noted, “it is many short races one after another.”

Nor is it one long drive, but rather many short trips – to the grocery; to drop kids off at school; to run errands; to here and to there.1SmallWooden

I had a personal odometer that measures perseverance roll over 10 days ago when my running streak reached 5,000 consecutive days. This time, I was aware when nines rolled over to zeros.

My run streak, like my Honda, is a 2003 model. Certainly I did not lace up my Nikes on July 7 of that year with the intent of running at least 3 miles every single day for the next 13-plus years.

Even when I noticed I had an unintentional streak of more than 100 days, I didn’t set a goal of 1,000 consecutive days much less 10 straight years. Rather, I set a goal that I could see on the horizon – 365 days in a row.

When I reached the one-year milestone, I decided to try for the two-year milestone. Momentum took over. All the while, however, my real goal, my real focus, was on today’s run.

Similarly, cinema’s streak runner extraordinaire, Forrest Gump, did not set out intending to run for three years, two months and 15 days. Rather, he was sitting on his porch one day when “for no particular reason” he decided to go for “a little run.”

A lot of little runs took Forrest from South Carolina to Santa Monica and then back across the country to the Marshall Point Lighthouse in Maine before turning around again and running all the way to Utah’s Monument Valley before he abruptly stopped, saying: “I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll go home now.”

My own little runs during my streak have added up to just over 48,000 miles. My next goal is to figuratively run from Ventura to Chicago, a distance that will push my streak mileage total above two trips around the earth.

If I successfully “reach” Chicago, I think I’ll head on to the Marshall Point Lighthouse. . .

Something else that got me to thinking about perseverance recently was a brick wall. Specifically, the sight of a brick wall being built. Each time I drove past, the waist-high wall grew a little longer. It wasn’t built in one hour or one day, but rather over many days of eight hours of toil.

The wall was a perfect example of John Wooden’s maxim, “Little things make big things happen.” Little bricks, one laid next to another, one on top of another, makes a big wall.

Perhaps my favorite visual of little things making big things happen was a story that golfing legend Chi Chi Rodriguez once told me.

“When I was a young boy we had a little field that was overgrown with bamboo trees,” Rodriguez recalled of his childhood in Puerto Rico. “My father wanted to plant corn, but clearing the bamboo would have taken a month. He didn’t have the time because of his job.

“So every night when he came home from work, my father would cut down a single piece of bamboo.”

Chi Chi paused, and then emphasized: “Just one piece.”

Another pause. And a smile.

“The very next spring, we had corn on our dinner table.”

A longer pause. And a wider smile.

“The lesson is that nothing is impossible,” continued Rodriquez. “The bamboo story to me is the secret to success. If you really want something and you set your mind to it and work hard enough, one by one, little by little, miracles happen.”

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

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

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Odds Favor Listening Over Speaking

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE!

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Odds Favor Listening Over Speaking

I had a one-in-a-million lunch last week.

Twice.

As a columnist and author, from time to time I am asked to give talks to local clubs and service groups. I can’t speak for my audiences, but I always have an enjoyable time because I meet some wonderful people.

Case in point is the Conejo Valley Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. I had the great fortune to be seated with five members who are as interesting as they are lovely, which is saying something. Each is a role model for remaining curious and engaged in learning for a lifetime.1livequote

By the time I went to the lectern after our hour of dining together, I just hoped to be one quarter as interesting and entertaining to the ballroom at large as my table’s Fab Five women had been.

While I heard briefly about their grandchildren, this was just a quick conversational appetizer. The main course included stories they had recently read in Smithsonian Magazine, Discover, National Geographic, Scientific American, various newspapers, and also some documentary viewings.

The conversation flew around the table like the Globetrotters passing the basketball as my hosts Brenda Nakagawa, Dawn Hollis, Nancy Kilbourn, Sandi Selditz and Sharon Martin discussed Neanderthals and Homo sapiens and their interbreeding and migration patterns; how cursive writing affects the brain and enhances learning in children; the recent discovery in a Mexico junkyard of the 1968 Mustang driven by Steve McQueen in the movie “Bullitt”; and, of course, the Revolutionary War.

Even more interesting than their reading material was their life material. I learned about a career in the classroom; competing in dance contests in the 1950s; travel destinations near and far; and the Mayflower’s voyage to America.

In addition to being a Daughter of the American Revolution, Sharon Martin is a daughter of the Mayflower. Specifically, she is a member of the Society of Mayflower Descendants. Even more specifically, she is a descendant of passenger John Howland.

Howland, as Sharon shared, fell overboard during the journey. By luck or by fate, or a dose of both, Howland managed to grab hold of a towline and was rescued from the frigid Atlantic waters.

Howland not only survived the voyage, he was one of 51 Pilgrims to survive the harsh first winter of illness and hunger in Plymouth, and ultimately had more descendants than any of his fellow passengers.

Those descendants include U.S. presidents Franklin D. Roosevelt and both George Bushes; literature’s Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Ralph Waldo Emerson; and Sharon Martin.

All told, it is estimated Howland’s descendants number 1 million. In other words, having lunch seated next to Sharon was a one-in-a-million experience.

The very next afternoon, I had lunch with The Ventura Retired Men’s Group which meets at the Elks Lodge.

Imagine combining the Greatest Generation with a troop of first-grade Cub Scouts and you get an idea of this fun group that ranges in age from 63 to 93. After the Pledge of Allegiance and invocation, jokes flew.

Among the fascinating people I met was my host and tablemate, Steve Carroll. Steve has traveled to 53 countries, and has an interesting story from each, but one especially stood out.1peacebell

In China, in a town whose name Steve forgets, an unforgettable encounter took place. In a small park with a large “Peace Bell,” Steve saw an older man proudly wearing a vintage military uniform.

A veteran himself, Steve approached and – through the man’s daughter – introduced himself. Steve said he admired the man’s uniform and asked if he had served.

“Yes, in Vietnam,” came the interpreted reply.

Steve shared that he also was in Vietman and next asked, “What year?”

Came the answer: “1969.”

“Me, too,” Steve said. “Where?”

Again their answers were identical.

Forty years after two opposing soldiers had been at the very same spot, at the very same time, they shared one more thing: a warm embrace.

“I think it’s ironic it happened in a peace park with a peace bell,” Steve said, concluding his one-in-a-million story.

I also think it’s beautiful.

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Scouts Bring Out My Cookie Monster

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE!

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Scouts Bring Out a Cookie Monster

Hello, my name is Woody and I am a Girl Scout Cookie-holic.

My recovery is not going well.

A year ago, I went cold turkey and was doing great for about 10 months. But, once again, as springtime has approached I have fallen off the wagon. And landed hard.

In the past few weeks I have eaten a couple months’ worth of Somas and Tagalongs, with an occasional box of Shortbread/Trefoils mixed in.1cookies

It doesn’t help that I run into Cookie dealers outside the grocery store. The Cookie dealers even come knocking on my front door. It’s not fair.

Making the matters more impossible, the Cookie dealers are always cuter than a puppy, with eyes as big as Thin Mints and smiles that shine – sometimes literally sparkling with braces, which makes them all the more irresistible.

Like a full moon turning a man into a werewolf, Girl Scouts selling their edibles transform me into the Cookie Monster.

My willpower is as overwhelmed as a sandcastle against high tide. I crumble and find myself making extra trips to the ATM. I add an extra mile, or three, to my daily run so my pants will still fit. This is March Madness.

I am actually faring a little better this year thanks to an assist from my adult daughter. Below, in Dallas’ own words, is her strategy that might help you too.

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It’s Girl Scout Cookie Season!

Every time I run errands, or simply drive around town, I see them: tables set up with glittery posters and a rainbow of colorful cookie boxes, and girls in green uniforms, cheerfully and patiently selling their wares.

Girls in ponytails and braids.

Girls with braces and girls with gap-toothed smiles.

Girls who remind me of my friend, Céline; who fill my heart and break it at the same time.

Céline, who died far too young, was an extremely proud Girl Scout. And a loyal one: every year in college, she would take cookie orders from us to support her old troop.

Céline even kept boxes of Thin Mints in the freezer. I’ve always been partial to the Samoas.

These days my eating habits are a lot healthier than they were back in college. Which causes a problem: I want to support entrepreneurial Girl Scouts, but I simply don’t want a bunch of cookies in my pantry.2cookies

This is not to suggest I only eat kale and not an occasional cookie. I think it is good to enjoy both – just not together, in my opinion.

In any case, whether you plan to buy one or 100 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies, here is a guaranteed way to make a Girl Scout smile. This is something Céline learned from her experience as a Girl Scout and something she would do whenever she came across a green-vested girl selling cookies.

It is now something I do in my late friend’s honor – one of my favorite ways to remember her, in fact.

Step One: Ask the Girl Scout what her favorite cookie flavor is. She will, of course, think you are asking her for advice about which kind of cookie you should try.

Step Two: Buy a box of whatever her favorite type of cookie is.

Step Three: Hand the box back to her and explain it is a gift for her to enjoy. Here is what I say: “My friend was a Girl Scout and she told me how hard it was to be selling all these cookies without being able to eat any yourself. So these are a treat for you to have. Keep up the great work!”

Step Four: Enjoy all the warm fuzzies filling you up inside.

One Final Note: This is not only a way to make a Girl Scout smile – it is a guaranteed way to make yourself smile, too.

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Me again. I have added my own Step Five: Buy a second box of Samoas and a third box of Tagalongs for myself. I’ll restart my recovery next month.

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

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

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Act II: Southern Hospitality

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE!

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Going Backstage at Tennessee’s House

During Act One, last week, our foursome made a pilgrimage to legendary playwright Tennessee Williams’ home in New Orleans.

Flicker the lobby lights. Intermission is over. Raise the curtain.

Act Two:

Brobson Lutz, wearing round wire-rimmed glasses and a button-down collar shirt and carrying an armload of papers and folders, came into focus like a university professor.

My daughter, son-in-law, son and I were standing in the middle of Dumaine Street, in the middle of the French Quarter, “star” gazing at The Tennessee Williams House. Despite being an official Literary Landmark, the two-story yellow home with a green ironwork balcony is unimpressive in its ordinariness.

Tennessee Williams' lovely swimming pool in the French Quarter.

Tennessee Williams’ splendorous pool in the French Quarter.

Then something extraordinary happened.

“Would you like to see the swimming pool in back?” Lutz asked.

Beignets from Café du Monde would not have been a more enticing offer.

Lutz, it turns out, was Williams’ next-door neighbor – and, for the last two years of William’s life, his landlord. In 1981, Lutz bought Williams’ house – which was divided into six apartments – with the stipulation the writer could keep Apartment B for $100 a month for the rest of his life.

“I think that’s what sealed the deal,” Lutz told us.

Apartment B, on the second floor in the front, is where Williams had lived – and written – off and on since originally buying the property in 1962.

“He came here three or four times a year,” Lutz recalled of the time he knew Williams. “He’d stay about a week, sometimes just one day, and then he’d be gone again. He spent most of his time in Key West.”

Williams died at age 71 on Feb. 25, 1983, in a Manhattan hotel suite after choking on the cap of a medicine bottle. It was not the final curtain call he wished for, writing in his 1975 autobiography, “Memoirs”: “I hope to die in my sleep . . . in this beautiful big brass bed in my New Orleans apartment.”

He wrote those words in Apartment B at 1014 Dumaine St.

Lutz was unable to show us the inside of The Tennessee Williams House because it has tenants, including in Apartment B. However, he took us around back to see Williams’ swimming pool.

While the front of the house is modest, the courtyard is splendorous. A red brick deck surrounds the kidney-shaped pool and abundant foliage surrounds it all.

“Many people thought Tennessee Williams put in the pool, but it had already been put in,” Brobson explained, further noting: “Legend has it he would swim here every day he was in New Orleans – even in winter.”

On this lovely winter day our host invited us to stay for wine, and more stories, on his patio next door. It was equal parts Southern hospitality and serendipity.

“Is a nice Chardonnay okay?” he asked. Tap water would have been fine; we were thirsty for more Tennessee tales. Lutz was tall to the task, his storytelling made all the more mesmerizing by a New Orleans accent thick as gumbo.

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The Tennessee Williams House, an official Literary Landmark in the French Quarter.

We learned our professorial-looking host is actually a physician, specializing in infectious disease. He also has an infectious charm.

As for Williams’ charm, Lutz answered: “Was he a friendly guy? He was more of a friendly drunk.”

About Williams’ death, Lutz recalled: “Twelve hours later an armed guard arrived here. A week later everything was moved out to the Florida Keys.”

At one point we were joined by Lutz’s dog, Kat, which reminded me of the title of Williams’ famous play, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” This, in turn, led me to ask Lutz if he liked Williams’ writing.

“I prefer his short stories to his plays,” he said.

An avid art collector, Lutz surprisingly has only one collectable Tennessee Williams book, a 1954 first-edition of “One Arm,” which was Williams’ first volume of short fiction.

More surprisingly, considering Lutz was Williams’ neighbor and landlord, it is unsigned by the author.

“Do you wish you’d thought to ask him to sign it?” one of us asked.

“Yep,” Dr. Brobson Lutz answered, his wry smile speaking volumes.

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

Wooden&Me_cover_PRCheck out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

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