Monthly Archives: July 2021

“Let Me Be Brave In The Attempt”

by Woody

The Tokyo Olympics, as the Games always do, makes me think of Special Olympics meets I have covered.

John Steinbeck, among other great writers, claimed fiction is often more truthful than nonfiction. While the names and location have been changed, the track scene below excerpted from my nearly completed novel “all is not broken” truly happened. Backstory: Charley and Finn are best friends, and Kenny is Finn’s autistic brother.

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“Never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.”

Harriet Beecher Stowe’s quote on display in her Hook Farm home in Hartford sent Charley’s thoughts racing back in time, back to Brooklyn. She thought the abolitionist author’s inspirational words perfectly described Kenny – especially at his Special Olympics swim and track meets.

Actually, “never give up” pretty much characterized every Special Olympian in Charley’s eyes.

Charley went with Finn to many of Kenny’s races and both girls got gooseflesh each time. While no world records ever fell, some of the competitors did – but only those who, like Kenny, were physically blessed enough to be able to stand in the first place. After all, many Special Olympians compete in wheelchairs.

When someone held a pity party for themselves, and this included Charley on rare occasions, Geepa would gently refocus their perspective by noting: “I felt sorry for myself because I had no shoes – and then I met a man who had no feet.” That was how watching the Special Olympics made Charley feel – blessed to have feet and shoes, and legs and arms and hands that worked perfectly.

In turn, Charley recalled a Special Olympics track meet in Brooklyn when she saw a young boy – probably about twelve years old, she guessed – stumble at the halfway mark of the hundred-meter dash. The race was called a “dash” but in truth some of the competitors walked and others limped and still others rolled in their wheelchairs.

The stumbling boy fell headfirst and bloodied his knees, bloodied his palms, and also bloodied his nose. Hearing the crowd groan with alarmed empathy, Kenny – in the neighboring lane, but far ahead of all the other runners – stopped cold ten meters shy of the finish-line tape and looked up into the stands and then back over his shoulder.

Seeing the boy sprawled on the track, Kenny started running again…

…not to the finish line to win the blue ribbon, but in the opposite direction toward the fallen competitor.

As the other racers continued full speed ahead, Kenny helped the injured runner to his feet and, with his shoulder under the boy’s arm to lend support, walked the final fifty meters at his side. Every spectator in the stands stood and cheered as though the two boys were running for the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl.

Actually, Charley did not cheer – she was too proud and too choked up with tears to do so. Little did she know that that example of sportsmanship and kindness would later change her life.

Having forfeited a blue ribbon for winning the hundred meters, Kenny disappointedly settled for a participation ribbon. Charley was of an opposite mind. Whenever she looked at the “Wall of Fame” in Kenny’s room, her eyes would invariably find their way to the white ribbon he got for finishing in a tie for last place. It, more than the many, many, many blue ribbons and gold medals combined, made Charley smile the widest because it truly highlighted the motto of the Special Olympics:

“Let me win, but if I cannot win let me be brave in the attempt.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

Long List of Short Love Stories

by Woody

After two tearjerker columns in a row some laughter seems called for today.

“Even the gods love jokes,” Plato said and hopefully that includes puns for here are some – good and bad, but all fun – contributed by my friends who responded to the prompt: “She fell in love with an electrician and she got shocked. … Keep it going.”

“She fell in love with a nurse and that was a shot in arm.” – Mary Leu Pappas

“She fell in love with a fisherman and got hooked!” – Ed Wehan

“She fell in love with a fisherman, and he caught and released her.” – Susie Merry

“She fell in love with a firefighter and things got hot.” – Kathleen Koening

“She fell in love with a papermaker and was recycled.” – Pamela Joy Dransfeldt

“She married a tailor and life was sew-sew.” – Gary Bednorz

“She married the cable installer and the reception was amazing!” – Steve Grimm

“She fell in love with a prince and he turned into a frog.” – Rebecca Ann Caron

“She fell in love with an elevator operator and life was full of ups and downs.” – Mitch Gold

“She fell in love with a moonshiner, but I loved her still.” – David Heath

“She fell in love with 800 meter runner. He had a run track mind!” – Rick Torres

“She fell in love with a runner, but couldn’t catch her.” – Trudy Tuttle Arriaga

“She fell in love with a runner and he ran away (daily).” – Conni Miller

Scott Harris took the task to heart by submitting three and saved his best for last (wink-wink): “She fell in love with a gardener and life was a bed of roses. / She fell in love with a banker and was in the money. / She fell in love with Woody and lived a masterpiece life.”

“She fell in love with a cowboy and rode off into the sunset.” – Polly-Jo Gehr

“She fell in love with a gambler and lost.” – Sam Ce

“She fell in love with a recreation supervisor and has had fun ever since.” – Lanny Binney

“She fell in love with a poet and gave birth to a sonnet.” – Angela Dixon

“She fell in love with a teacher and learned her lesson!” – Jennifer Tipton

“She fell in love with a bartender, and she was shaken not stirred.” – Elektra Cohen

“She fell in love with a bartender and all too soon she’d had her fill.” – Dennis Jones

“She fell in love with a basketball player and had a ball.” Jeff Argend

“She fell in love with a pilot and her happiness soared to unimaginable heights!” – Chuck Blais

“She fell in love with a butcher and life was a grind.” – Gary Bednorz

“She fell in love with a sailor and it’s been smooth sailing since.” – Gail Tebbets

“She fell in love with a sailor and tied the knot.” – Susan Adamich

“She fell in love with a cobbler, but later discovered he was a heel, and soleless, and gave him the boot!” – Michael Weinberg-Lynn

“She fell in love with a vintner and got wined!” – Diana Boydstun

“She fell in love with a garbage man, but he dumped her.” – Todd Kane

“He fell in love with his yoga teacher. His friends told him to break it off but he said, ‘Namastay.’ ” – Toni Tuttle-Santana

“She fell in love with a guitarist and then felt picked on.” – Patrick Burke

And, from yours truly: “She fell in love with a writer and is enjoying the next chapter of her life.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

Grief Shared, Gratitude Amplified

by Woody

It has been said over the ages by different sages, “Joy shared is doubled, grief shared is halved.” The inbox outpouring of heartfelt emails from readers regarding last week’s column about my wife’s miscarriage 18 years ago certainly made this sentiment ring true to me.

Numerous kindhearted responses echoed Maureen Zoll, “I can just say how sorry I am for the loss of your beautiful Sienna,” while many others thanked me for sharing my grief and in turn did likewise. I believe their stories may have healing power for others so here are three…

From Bonnie: “I went into labor on July 6, 1957, a month early and gave birth by Cesarean Section to a son, George Daniel. He had to be kept in an incubator in the nursery down the hall from my room. I was told by the nurses that I could see my baby when I could walk to the nursery on my own, but I could not even stand on my own that day.

“My baby died the next day without me seeing him, feeling my touch, or holding him. I have lived with this sadness all these years.

“Like you, I have imagined the special days, such as starting school, graduating from high school, college, etc., and all the other times you mentioned. I have not spent a day without thoughts of him. Thank you for your column.”

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From Kevin: “I still have tears in my eyes at your description of your loss and the poem of Elizabeth Gaskell. I’ve read it five, six, I don’t know how many times already and I always cry. I’m a little vulnerable right now as I deal with my 31-year-old son who is presently in a secure rehab facility in Denver, so maybe that’s part of it.

“Also, part of it is the overwhelming relief that we didn’t have to go through what you have. I just wanted to tell you how powerfully you have affected me, in grief and in joy. I don’t know what else to say, except ‘I’m so very sorry for your loss.’ ”

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And from Carol: “Poetry is so beautiful, for many reasons, but especially for healing. Your column today reduced me to tears and brought to mind Robert Frost’s poem ‘Home Burial.’

“I cannot even begin to imagine the pain of losing a child, born or unborn. Your sharing that pain in such a beautiful way is such a gift and will bring healing to other people who carry that burden of painful loss.

“But your column today was healing for me in a different way. It released my fear and anger about aging. Since my 70th birthday three years ago, I have been derailed by grief, regret and a sense of failure. I had no qualms about the milestones of 30, 40, 50, or even 60. But 70 brought me to my knees.

“Reading your column this morning brought a sense of shame at my self- absorption around this aging issue. I am alive. Sienna isn’t. Sharing her story gives some sense of purpose to an otherwise unfathomable loss. I am making a ‘faithful vow’ to remember how very blessed I am to be alive each and every day.”

Carol included “Another Summer Begins” by her favorite poet, Mary Oliver, which begins: “Summer begins again. / How many / do I still have? / Not a worthy question, / I imagine. / Hope is one thing, / gratitude another / and sufficient / unto itself…”

Grief shared, it seems to me, is also gratitude amplified.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Faithful Vow To Remember Thee

by Woody

My dear friend Sus believes blue jay sightings are godwinks from guardian angels. Time and again these providential songbirds have appeared when she most needed one.

I possess far less faith than Sus, and yet I cannot help but feel a godwink appeared this week when I needed it most. It was not a blue jay sighting, but rather a poem that out of the blue flew across my eyes on social media.

Penned by Elizabeth Gaskell, a 19th century English novelist, the verse is titled “On Visiting the Grave of My Stillborn Little Girl.” The timing of my reading it was a blessing because Wednesday – July 7 – was the 18th anniversary of the due date of my wife’s and my third child.

A baby lost to miscarriage.

The pregnancy had been a wonderful surprise that infused champagne bubbles into our veins. Also, because my wife was then 44, the pregnancy was high-risk. Only after she made it safely into the second trimester did we finally exhale and allow ourselves to get fully excited.

Then came the heartbreak of no heartbeat.

“It’s for the best because something was terribly wrong,” doctors say at such times. Family and friends offer similar solace: “You can try again” or “At least you’re already blessed with two amazing kids.” They all meant well, but the heart does not listen to such rationalizations.

Honestly, the only soothing words to be said, in my experience, is a heartfelt variation of the simple phrase, “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

We had chosen not to know the gender beforehand, wishing to be surprised as we had been twice before. And yet, just as we had only settled on a girl’s name when our firstborn daughter arrived; and only had a boy’s name chosen when our son was born; we again had but one name selected – a girl’s – as if our hearts were as accurate as an ultrasound exam.

Perhaps they were. A few years after the miscarriage, my wife had a vividly powerful dream in which she watched a girl at play on a swing. The girl, the same age our child would have then been, smiled and waved. Instead of renewed grief, my wife felt deeply comforted.

Gaskell’s words written 1836 offer me similar peace now:

“I made a vow within my soul, O Child, / When thou wert laid beside my weary heart,

“With marks of death on every tender part / That, if in time a living infant smiled,

“Winning my ear with gentle sounds of love / In sunshine of such joy, I still would save

“A green rest for thy memory, O Dove! / And oft times visit thy small, nameless grave.

“Thee have I not forgot, my firstborn, though / Whose eyes ne’er opened to my wistful gaze,

“Whose sufferings stamped with pain thy little brow; / I think of thee in these far happier days,

“And thou, my child, from thy bright heaven see / How well I keep my faithful vow to thee.”

I have likewise not forgotten thee. I visualized her this June at high school graduation ceremonies for the Class of 2021; imagined her last year schooling at home during the pandemic; saw her 13 years ago walking into a kindergarten classroom.

Too, I have imagined her getting her driver’s license, learning to ride a bike, taking her first steps. Indeed, often when I see girls the same age she would have been, I imagine her in their place.

And I will continue this faithful vow to keep remembering thee, Sienna.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Bikes Wonderfully Everywhere

by Woody

A Kurt Vonnegut anecdote about telling his wife he was going out to buy an envelope came to mind the other day.

“Oh, she says, well, you’re not a poor man,” the great writer began. “You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope.

“I meet a lot of people. And see some great looking babies. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And I’ll ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is – we’re here on Earth to fart around.

“And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And it’s like we’re not supposed to dance at all anymore.”

“Let’s all get up and move around a bit right now . . . or at least dance.”

Instead of going out to buy an envelope, I went for a run. I could start straight out my front door and save some time, but the streets can be lonely. I prefer to go to the park where there’s no cars to worry about and I can see familiar faces, and new ones as well, and of course dogs and kids, and infants being pushed in jogging strollers. Even fire engines occasionally go by.

On this particular day a theme emerged. Perhaps not exactly a theme, but more like how when you get a new car and you suddenly start noticing the same model everywhere. Psychologists call it the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon or frequency illusion.

Instead of certain cars, I was noticing bicycles with great frequency. It started on my drive to the park when three teenage boys were speeding down a hill while doing jumps off the sidewalk onto street, then hopping back up over the curb, all while weaving amongst each other like a choreographed dance. Waiting at a red stoplight, they did pirouettes on their back wheels.

Maybe this primed my brain for the frequency illusion because in addition to the handful of cyclists I regularly trade waves, nods and thumbs-ups with, I saw – noticed – dozens more, from speedy ones dressed in Lycra to a woman in flip-flops walking a beach cruiser with a flat tire.

But young kids were the real magic. One small boy, surely not yet 3, rode his pedal-less two-wheeler the way Fred Flintstone powers the Cavemobile. He would run while seated and then pick up his feet and coast, repeat, repeat, repeat. Let me tell you, he was Tour de France fast.

Too, I saw no less than three Norman Rockwell scenes play out with youngsters learning to ride bikes as either their father or mother jogged stooped over alongside holding the seat from behind for balance. All three kids eventually wore triumphant smiles and no Band-Aids.

Meanwhile, a kindergarten-aged cyclist with a very cool Mohawk-like bike helmet was navigating a swerving obstacle course drawn in chalk with a few soda cans to slalom through at the end. I expect to see him to be jumping off and back onto curbs, and doing 360-degree wheelies, by the summer’s end.

The moral of the story is I had a hell of a good time watching bicyclists dance.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com