Author Archives: Woody

Strawberries Sweet in All Seasons

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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Strawberries Sweet in All Seasons

Jim Murray, my writing hero, once told me he regretted his modesty in not doing a column about his memoir when it came out. This lesson, combined with numerous readers of this space asking me about the meaning behind the title of my new book of essays, “Strawberries in Wintertime,” leads me to shamelessly share the backstory.

In my boyhood, I fondly remember picking wild blackberries and raspberries on humid summer days at a weekend cabin in rural Ohio. My two older brothers, younger sister, and I filled pail after pail with ripe berries – and nearly as many berries went directly into our mouths as into the buckets.1berriesstand

So plentiful were the blackberries, especially, that my dad made wine with them. Once. Not only did the blackberry vino prove undrinkable, Mom’s pots and pans were stained purple beyond ruin in the process.

Still, wild blackberries and raspberries, and store-bought strawberries, in summertime were always a delicious treat. Too, an expected one.

Berries in the wintertime, in the Midwest, however, are something I cannot recall from my youth. I am sure they were available at the supermarket in the 1960s for a premium, but Mom never brought them home.

So it was a magical winter indeed when my family took a Christmas vacation to Ventura in 1971 and spent a week at the charming Solimar beach house of family friends. I had never before seen the ocean in person, much less bodysurfed and built sandcastles or explored tidal pools at low tide and chased a “grunion run” under a full moon’s high tide.

And here is something else magical: fresh strawberries in wintertime!1berriesflat

Instead of by the bucketful as with Ohio blackberries, we enjoyed Southern California strawberries by the “flat” topless box containing a dozen plastic pint baskets with a bonus pint piled atop.

I am guessing, but I imagine the price for the entire overflowing flat from a roadside farmer’s stand in Saticoy – for Ventura County was then, as it remains today, the nation’s leading producer of strawberries – wasn’t much more than the cost of a single pint basket in a Midwest grocery store in December.

The temptation during the drive from the farmer’s stand back to the beach house was too tempting to resist. In the car, en route, I ate crabapple-sized strawberries by the handful, by the mouthful, sweet red nectar dripping down my chin.

The following summer we moved from Columbus to Ventura and strawberries became a year-round fare. Still, in my mind they have remained a special treat in wintertime. Hence the title of my newest book, as I hope each offering will make the reader smile and want to devour another.

Indeed, over the years “Strawberries in Wintertime” to me has become a metaphor for an unexpected pleasure in any season. For example, meeting my wife at a college Christmas party was certainly a strawberry-in-wintertime event – and so was having John Wooden befriend me a few years later in springtime.

A surprise birthday party, even in summer, is a strawberry in wintertime – and so is a planned trip in autumn that proves to be magical at every turn.

The point, I suppose, is that by paying attention and having the right frame of mind, our own strawberries in wintertime can fill a “flat” to overflowing no matter what page the calendar shows.

Watching an elementary school play or a Broadway show, cheering at a youth track meet or an Olympic race, building a sandcastle or visiting a castle in Ireland, can all be strawberries in wintertime.

Bumping into an old classmate or finding an email in your inbox from a friend you haven’t heard from in years, these too are strawberries in wintertime.

When I think back to my first visit to Ventura, or in fact any time I stroll on the beach or dive into the surf, I am reminded of this advice from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”

In my mind, he should have added: “And eat strawberries in wintertime.”

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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”

Wedding Story With a Twist

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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Wedding Love Story With a Twist

We felt like interlopers, nearly, in Agoura Hills last Saturday. But like the “Wedding Crashers” characters played by Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn, my wife and I had an absolute blast.

To be honest, being invited was a surprise because the only person I knew was the groom.

Added honesty: the invitation made my heart sing, as did the tearful bear hug my tuxedoed friend greeted me with before the ceremony. You would have thought we went back two decades instead of only a couple years.

But, as one of the groomsmen noted in his dinner toast, that is the magic of Jon – he makes all his friends feel like they are his best one.

Jon has many more magical qualities, perhaps none more endearing than how he wears his heart on his sleeve. Actually, his heart seems to be tattooed on his wrist.

Jon and his dad

Jon and his dad

So it was no surprise that as each groomsman and bridesmaid walked down the aisle, Jon’s tears flowed. When the bride appeared, the trickle became Niagara Falls. His visible love was almost as beautiful as the bride herself.

After exchanging lovely vows and rings and a first kiss as wife and husband, Jon stomped on a glass and the gathering shouted “Mazel tov!” – Congratulations! – and the party was on.

Later, as the DJ earned his pay and the dance floor earned its rental fee, I spotted the father of the groom across the ballroom sitting alone at the head table. After introducing myself, the DNA source of Jon’s warmth was obvious.

I wanted to tell him about my first meeting with his son. As he had talked about his writing career, Jon lit up; discussing music and movies, he beamed more; and when he spoke about Natasha, whom he had only recently started dating, he fairly glowed.

But even this joy grew 100 watts brighter when Jon began sharing stories about his dad. This is what I shared, for while the dad certainly already knew about Jon’s love for him. it is always nice to hear such things.

In his toast, Jon’s dad had mentioned how his son phones him at midnight just to say “hi,” or to share this or that, or tell him to listen to a certain song. When Pavarotti died, Jon called in tears because he remembered listening to “The Three Tenors” with his “Pops.”

“How did you become such good friends with your son?” the father privately told me he is often asked. His answer: “I did the opposite of what my dad did.”

He explained that his own dad, a child of The Great Depression, felt his fatherhood duties began and ended with paying the mortgage and putting food on the table. And so he didn’t attend Little League games or Boy Scout gatherings. He gave reprimand, not praise, for report cards with even one B.

Jon’s father did the opposite. He went to every youth game and cheered for his son off the playing fields as well. He took young Jon to trading card shows far and near. He showed an interest in his son’s interests. He gave his time and offered praise and, no small thing, frequently told all his children he loved them.

In short, he was the dad he had not had.

When Jon was 8, his father shared with me proudly, Jon found a wallet containing $100 and on his own turned it into the police. This is not surprising after spending time with Jon’s role model.

Indeed, that private time off to the side of the ballroom, off the dance floor and away from the excitement, visiting with Jon’s dad was every bit as heartwarming as the wedding vows and cake-cutting ceremony and toasts recollecting how Natasha knew Jon was “the one” after their first date and how it wasn’t long before Jon proposed on bended knee in the aisle of a Southwest flight 30,000 feet in the sky.

I came to the wedding knowing Jon was a special man, but I left knowing why he chose his dad to serve as his “best man.”

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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”

“Old Glory,” Old Laundry

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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“Old Glory” Treated Like Old Laundry

Looking at the photograph while inside the warmth of my home gave me chills.

The photo was taken two weeks ago more than 2,700 miles away from Southern California in Virginia; taken during Winter Storm Jonas; taken as Arlington National Cemetery was being buried beneath two feet of snow.

Snapped at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the photo shows a proud member of the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment – also known as “The Old Guard” – keeping sentry during the blizzard.1foldflag

The Old Guard’s young guard is standing solemnly at attention, rifle resting on his left shoulder, both shoulders of his navy blue uniform coat dusted heavily with frozen dandruff.

His long vigil in the fierce conditions is more strikingly evidenced by two inches of snow that has piled up atop his dress cap like thick vanilla frosting on a fancy cupcake.

The chilly image gave me goose bumps of patriotic pride and a surge of gratitude for those who serve, and have served, in our military.

Another photograph, this one taken four days ago, taken in New Hampshire, taken late on primary night inside the campaign headquarters of Hillary Clinton, also made my spine shiver.

With sadness and with anger.

This photo was of an American flag crumpled on the floor in front of empty bleachers. Election night looked like laundry day.

Sadness. The warrior in The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier gave his life fighting for this flag. Anger. Our young men and women warriors sacrifice life and limb for it today.

These two photos, of The Old Guard on duty and Old Glory on the floor, reminded me of another image, this one recorded in my mind a few months past at the funeral of a local World War II veteran.

Charles Banker McConica, Navy veteran and family man and successful auto dealer and beloved friend and longtime admired member of the Ventura community, lived to be 94. The eulogies painted a beautiful and accurate portrait.

Son Jim spoke about how his dad was his biggest cheerleader. Son Charles recounted – one by one with examples of each – how his father exemplified the “Boy Scout Law” of being “Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent.”

And daughter Judy shared her parents’ cutest of cute meets, how her dad spilled salt in a USO dining hall in Belfast and her Ireland-born mom, seated nearby, suggested he superstitiously toss a pinch over his shoulder. The luck of the Irish ensued as their shared future held 69 years of marriage, three children, seven grandchildren and six great-grandkids.

The spoken words were poignant, but perhaps more so was the silent ceremonious folding of an American flag performed by two soldiers from Naval Base Ventura County.

Performed in slow motion, in full dress uniform, in a church so quiet you could hear your own heart beating, the speechless choreography of the two soldiers was as moving as witnessing a member of The Old Guard marching back and forth in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

After each lengthwise folding, the flag was pulled taught. Each fold was creased with care. Next came the triangular folds, each made with perfect corners, each creased with reverence, thirteen in all until the red-and-white striped portion of the flag met the blue field and white stars.

After the last corner was painstakingly tucked into an open edge, forming a triangle that represents a cocked hat to remind us of the soldiers who served under General George Washington, the two soldiers used their formal white gloves as though they were heated clothes irons and made the three edges crisp and sharp and perfect.

Hugging the folded flag to the chest as though it were as precious as a newborn baby, one solider then lovingly presented it to Charles’ widow, Rosena. Taps was played, more tears fell, and then the soldiers silently exited.

I wish the Clinton campaign staffer who ingloriously left Old Glory on the floor could have been at Charles McConica’s funeral. The New Hampshire photograph would have been different.

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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”

Rapunzel and “Grief Hair” Gift

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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Rapunzel and ‘Relay For Life’

How many wigs for cancer patients could Rapunzel’s long golden strands have made?

This thought crossed my mind after my daughter recently had a 10-inch ponytail cut off for Locks of Love.

1dallasCeline

Dear, dear friends Celine and Dallas.

In truth, a tangle of reasons had me thinking about Rapunzel and cancer and wigs. This includes Rachel Halpern, a freshman at Camarillo High School, whose recent class writing assignment was serendipitiously shared via email with my daughter the very day she donated her lovely locks.

Choosing Disney’s movie “Tangled” as her muse, Rachel wrote about tears and flowers and singing in her second-story bedroom.

“Every time she opens the window,” her personal essay says, “she half expects to hear, ‘Rachel, Rachel! Let down your hair!’ ”

“Stylist, stylist! Cut off my hair!” were tearful words for my daughter to utter, and not because she has had flowing locks since she was young child.

Rather, because of the reason behind the drastic haircut. It was in tribute to her dear, dear friend, Celine, who was tragically killed one year ago when her taxi was hit by a truck.

The first time they met, on Move-In Day their freshman year a decade past, Celine had very short hair because she had just donated her own lengthy brown tresses to Locks of Love. It was a brave thing to do right before starting college, but Celine was fearless.

In an effort to be more fearless herself, my daughter grew her “grief hair” out for a full year and on the anniversary of the tragic accident cut it off for a very worthwhile cause.

A wig for someone who has lost her hair while fighting cancer is no small thing. I remember my own dear, dear friend, Karen Hart Haight, whose Rapunzel-like platinum locks fell victim to chemotherapy.

The final time I saw her before she passed away, Karen briefly turned my tears into laughter by tipping her wig askew and sticking out her tongue in a funny face. That moment, thanks to a wig, matters to me 19 years later.

Something else that matters is the American Cancer Society’s “Relay For Life” which will soon kick off its annual season locally with 24-hour events that include: April 9-10 at Camarillo High School; April 30-May 1 at Isbell Middle School in Santa Paula; May 7-8 at Westlake High School; May 14-15 at Ventura College; May 21-22 at Nordhoff High School and also at Conejo Creek Park South; June 25-26 at Hueneme High School; July 16-17 at Oxnard High School; and July 30-31 at the Fillmore Courthouse. For further information: http://relay.acsevents.org.

In each of our own life relays many people, often strangers, help us carry the baton. For my daughter, in her past year of grief relay, this included a new stylist.

Her scissors in action, Anastasia asked my daughter why she was donating her hair. Upon hearing the tearful answer, Anastasia paused and gathered her own emotions before sharing that her best friend died in a car crash seven years ago.

“The first anniversary is the hardest,” Anastasia consoled. “It gets better. Just hang in there.” Her warmth was medicine for a weeping heart.

After sealing the ponytail in a plastic bag for donation, Anastasia styled my daughter’s short locks, added a blow dry and then did one thing more: she refused to accept any payment.

“This is a gift for your friend,” she insisted.

That night my daughter imagined Celine telling her, “Oh my god, Dallas! Your hair! You look fabulous!” and says she found solace in an Eskimo proverb that states: “Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where the love of our lost ones shines down to let us know they are happy.”

Rachel’s written words also added comfort, especially these: “The reflection of the stars makes her eyes twinkle like the stars themselves. Each star illuminates the dark night. They look down on her and sparkle a smile, almost reminding her that the world is still hers to explore.”

The title of Rachel’s wonderful essay: “She’s Shining in the Starlight.”

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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”

Getting Things Off My Chest

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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Mr. Positive Takes a Negative Spin

A reader recently told me she likes my columns because they are always upbeat and positive. She meant it as a compliment, of course, but after waking up on the wrong side of the bed I see it as being typecast.

So if you were expecting 700 words of Winsome Woody this morning, you are going to be as disappointed as the proud owner of Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat finding himself driving a Prius.

If you want sugar and nice, phone your grandma. I’m in a Donald Trump ranting at the “wise-guy media” kind of mood.

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1superbowllogoI’m steamed at the NFL for switching away from Roman numerals this season and calling its championship game “Super Bowl 50” instead of “Super Bowl L.”

How are school kids, and the rest of us, supposed to learn or remember Roman numerals now? On a scale of I to C, my ticked-off meter is at about

LXXXVIII.

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The Nincompoop Football League didn’t ask me, but this year’s game should be marketed as “Super BowL.”

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I’m churning mad at the Pacific Ocean for beating up our beloved Ventura Pier this winter.

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Tom Spence, community treasure and host at News Talk 1590 KVTA radio, ticks me off for being about XLIII times more funny than am I, as evidenced by this gem he came up with after Sarah Palin droned on and on while endorsing Donald Trump for president:

“A ‘Palindrone’ is something that does not make sense forward or backwards.”

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As for palindromes with an “m,” I prefer “I prefer pi” over “Tacocat.” However, I do prefer tacos over apple pi.

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The debates – Republican and Democratic – have me steam me like a frothy cappuccino.

Even more annoying than the candidates’ Palindroning and pandering is the moderators constantly harping “Time!” . . . “Time, senator/governor/secretary!” . . . “Time’s up, so please shut up!” while the politicians continue to blabber on.

I say it’s time put up a countdown talk clock, much like the NBA’s 24-second shot clock. In this case, when the clock hits zero a buzzer goes off and the podium mic is instantly shut off. If the candidate is in mid-sentence, though luck.

Better yet, place each podium above a dunk tank – candidates who continue to blow hot air after the buzzer sounds will find themselves drenched in cold water.

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The Southern California Gas Co. has me ready to blow my lid. I say make every SoCal Gas executive live in Porter Ranch 24/7 until the months-long natural gas leak is stopped.

I’m XCIX-percent certain that would make them act with more urgency.

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Similarly, force Michigan Gov. Rick Snyder along with all the leaders at the state Department of Environmental Quality to live – and bathe – in Flint, XXIV/VII, until the lead pipes that are poisoning the water are replaced.

Again, I guarantee you the crisis would suddenly be addressed with the all-out effort it rightly demands.

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Speaking of less-than-express action that steams me like an espresso, how about if the Post Office replaces its maple sap-slow window clerks with hyper-speed multi-tasking Starbucks baristas?

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Litter ticks me off, off the charts, especially people who throw cigarette butts out car windows and most especially those who pollute our beautiful beaches with this blight.

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Homelessness. We can, and must, do better.

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I get a surge of road rage that makes my head spin like the titanium-spoked wheel of a racing bike when I read in my favorite newspaper, seemingly weekly, about another cyclist being struck by a car.

To be sure, cyclists who feel like they own the road are maddening – but in my experience they are the minority of the Spandex set.

More maddening, and I believe more common, are impatient drivers who don’t want to share the road with cyclists – and, worse yet, make their displeasure known by buzzing dangerously close when passing them.

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My DCC words are up. Thanks for reading. You’ve been a great audience. Drive safely.

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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”

 

Kindness Times One Million

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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Kind Acts, One by One, Add Up Big

Ventura’s One Million Acts of Kindness campaign is underway in an effort to document seven figures of nice deeds as the city approaches its 150th birthday on April 2.

I am doubtful One Million Acts of Kindness will actually be posted on social media – such as Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/venturakindness) and Tumblr (http://venturakindness.tumblr.com) – as encouraged, but I have zero doubt the target number will be performed locally by the Sesquicentennial celebration.1VenturaKindess

With nearly 110,000 residents in Ventura, mathematically each person needs to perform just one kind act per week from now until April 2 to reach the goal.

Spread out evenly, each of us would likewise be the beneficiary of 10 nice deeds by the big birthday. Judging from my personal experience on the receiving end of kindness in recent days alone, this is going to be a slam dunk.

A quick sampling . . .

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My wife, daughter, son and I had just scooched in together around the only open table, designed for just two people, in the self-seating bar area of a local Irish pub when a young couple seated at a bigger table across the room waved us over and insisted we switch with them.

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While I was on a run at Ventura Community Park, a driver pulled alongside me at the soccer fields and rolled down his window. Instead of asking for directions, he asked if I like avocados.

Avocados?

He explained he sees me running daily and just wanted to give me a token of thanks for inspiring him. He then handed me a beautiful avocado, with a sticker on it from the grocery so it wasn’t even a freebie from his own backyard.

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A woman named Thelma mailed me the book “Life Wisdom from Coach Wooden” that she came across at a Ventura Friends of the Library sale.

She included this kind note: “I thought you might enjoy this if you do not already have a copy.”

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Speaking of books, and John Wooden, Mark Wilson bought four copies of my “Wooden & Me” and requested I donate them to disadvantaged youth.

Nancy and Richard Francis did likewise with a couple copies of my newest book, “Strawberries in Wintertime.”

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I have mentioned here previously a lady selling flowers at a local farmers market who bargained me down from a $5 tip to $2.

The next time I bought flowers, I stubbornly “won” our tip negotiations.

Which brings us to our most recent transaction. Walking up, I overheard her say “That’ll be seven dollars” to the customer before me. When I selected an identical bouquet of sunflowers, however, I was told the cost was $5 – she had already started our tip dance.

I continued our two-step, telling told her I knew these flowers cost $7. She smiled playfully, agreed to take $7, but insisted on getting me a fresher bouquet from inside her van.

She then returned with a bouquet twice as large!

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My friend Scott had a similar tipping experience recently after taking a shuttle from long-term parking to LAX. Upon being dropped off at his terminal, he realized his smallest bill was a $20.

Scott asked the driver if he could make change, but was told: “Don’t worry, you can get me next time.”

Getting this same driver ever again was, of course, a long shot. But a bigger long shot is for Scott to stiff someone of a tip, so he handed over the $20 bill.

Remarkably, the driver refused it.

Scott insisted, and persisted, until the driver accepted.

However, the driver then dug deep into his pocket and insisted, and persisted, until Scott accepted a wad of uncounted $1-bill tips – $13 it turned out – as change.

“I was struck by how hard he pushed to not take a tip that he obviously thought was too much,” Scott recalls. “There was no doubt he was sincere. The dignity with which he handled this small exchange was inspiring.”

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Inspiring. That’s a good word to describe our citizenry throughout all of Ventura County.

Indeed, with Ventura’s One Million Acts of Kindness campaign the bar seems to have been set too low.

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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”

 

Lost & Found, A Dog Story

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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Feliz Navidad Arrives Belatedly

An uninvited guest dropped by on the first Sunday morning of this New Year and instantly made herself right at home.

Lunch came and dinner went, and still she stayed, making herself comfortable on the couch. It was obvious she expected to spend the night, if not longer.

"Navi" making her cute self at home on our couch.

“Navi” making her cute self at home on our couch.

It was all my wife’s fault. She not only welcomed our guest with open arms – she carried her in her arms across a busy stoplight intersection and then the final few blocks to our house, fearful the small lost dog would dart into traffic.

The dog, you see, had started following my wife while she was out on an early-morning run. How long the dog had been giving chase before being noticed, my wife was not sure.

“Stay,” “heel” and “stop!” commands all failed. The interloper kept following.

My wife circled through this unfamiliar neighborhood, listening for a worried owner’s shout and looking for an open gate to a backyard, all to no avail. The dog, with no collar and ID, still followed.

We immediately drove back to where the dog latched onto my wife’s Nikes and canvassed the area. A boy, about age 10, seemed to recognize the white dog with black markings and directed us to a house where he thought it lived. Indeed, a very similar-looking dog answered the front door with its owner.

After striking out with a few others we encountered, we put up half-a-dozen “FOUND DOG” signs throughout the area and also posted messages on the Ventura County Animal Shelter’s webpage.

A visit to the veterinarian revealed the dog had no microchip for identification. (Public Service Announcement: collars with identification tags can come off so get your pet microchipped!)

As a Hail Mary, I posted a photo on my own Facebook page and asked Ventura friends to “share” it.

We cancelled our afternoon plans, stayed home, and waited.

Frankly, I did not do cartwheels having a lost dog in our backyard. Our 9-year-old boxer, Murray – named after the great writer, Jim Murray – was none too pleased either. He and I both knew it was only a matter of time, and not much, before my wife’s heart melted and she brought the dog inside from the chill.

The over-under-was an hour. The “under” bets won, and easily.

The energetic small dog not only won over my wife (no big feat), she also won over Murray (no small feat). I, too, quickly succumbed to the charms of this affectionate and playful pup.

That night, as we contemplated confining the new dog in the laundry room, she raced into our bedroom and hopped onto the bed. If you tell me you could have looked her in those brown doey eyes and ordered her “off!” I will tell you that you are lying.

Before we drifted off to sleep, the dog had snuggled her way into our hearts.

Mid-morning the following day, the only thing that would have made us happier than adopting this lost dog happened: the social media Hail Mary was caught in the end zone.

Joey Archuletta, a sophomore at Buena High, recognized the dog in the Facebook picture as belonging to his good friend and classmate, Diego Villa. Within an hour, the story had a happy ending.

Here’s how happy: “I felt like Joey just cured me of cancer when he showed me that you found Navi,” Diego told me.

Feliz Navidad on January fourth.

Navi, you see, is short for Navidad – named thusly because Diego and his family got the Jack Russell-Labrador mix as a 12-week-old puppy for Christmas 2014.

Nine days after this Christmas, the side gate had been left unlatched and Navi escaped unnoticed. That she also leapt over a four-foot-high wall comes as no surprise after seeing her jump entirely over our couch with the ease of an Olympic high jumper.

The surprise here is that Diego says Navi is an outdoors dog and does not sleep in his bed.

One more surprise: even after just one night of her company, the foot of our mattress feels a little empty without Navi.

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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”

This and That, Plus Balls Tally

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s new book STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter is available for Pre-Order HERE NOW! In time for the holidays!

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This, that and final holiday ball tally

            Nobody asked me, but here goes anyway . . .

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It has certainly been “raining cats and dogs” this week, which raises the question: How in the world did that crazy expression originate?

During my trip to Ireland last year, I got the answer – or, at least, one that makes as much sense as any.1catsdogsrain

During a countryside tour of County Cork, our guide pointed out a number of traditional thatched roofs that still exist. He explained that when these roofs were the standard long ago, cats and dogs actually climbed up, burrowed into, and slept inside the thick straw.

When it rained exceptionally hard, the animals would jump out to escape from near drowning. Hence the expression, “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

Even if our Irish guide was pulling our American legs, I like it!

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The word “unbelievable,” I believe, is greatly overworked.

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Listen up, NFL and NCAA football! Either do away with the rule against offensive players pushing, pulling and using forklifts to assist the ball carrier, or start throwing the penalty flag. It looks like a rugby scrum on 25 percent of the running plays!

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I lack all musical genes, and have no songwriting experience whatsoever, but I am still convinced I could write a hit for Adele.

Shoot, I believe she could sing this column and make it sound wonderful, so unbelievable is her voice.

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Speaking of unbelievable voices, Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully once told me about a fantastic book he had just finished reading, “The Professor and the Madman.”

Hearing him summarize this story behind the creation of the Oxford English Dictionary made me think that Scully could read straight from the Oxford English Dictionary and make it sound like poetry set to music.

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The Jane Laut murder trial in Ventura County for the fatal shooting of her husband, former Olympic athlete Dave Laut, is finally set to begin next week.

Understand, the shooting took place on August 29, 2009 – more than six years ago. And only now, in January 2016, the trial? Unbelievable!

The judge and court didn’t ask me, and I only know what I read in my favorite newspaper, but that is so glacier-ly slow it seems here like one or both sides have been more focused on playing games and stalling rather than on pursuing timely justice. That’s just my two cents.

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The lighting in grocery stores is truly unbelievable: bananas that appear a nice yellow turn out to be green as limes when I get them home in sunlight.

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Nobody who contributed to “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” asked to be recognized in print, but I feel their generosity deserves nothing less and is a small measure of thanks for the disadvantaged kids they made smile.

Contributors not mentioned here previously include, in no special order: Marty and Freida Harary, Bill Ferguson, Tom and Sheila McCollum, Jim and Sandie Arthur, Kay Giles, Michael Mariani, Norma Fulkerson, Howard and Kathy Reich, Tom and Karyne Roweton, Brad and Mia Ditto, Audrey Rubin, Orvene Carpenter, Lisa Trout, Ann and Kevin Drescher, Steve Magoon, Steve Askay, Patricia Herman, Kathy and Jim Vargeson, Arlys Tuttle, Gayle Camalich, Trudy Tuttle Arriaga, Toni Tuttle-Santana, Kymberly King, Doug Woodburn, Jim Woodburn, James Woodburn, Linda Reynolds, Sally and Tom Reeder, Kathy and Joe Vaughan, and many anonymous angels as well.

Also, shoutouts to Draza Mrvichin, who gave a mix of 14 balls; my former next-door neighbor from childhood, Norma Zuber, and her PEO Sisterhood service group, which donated 19 various balls; and Jerry and Linda Mendelsohn, who donated 20 balls evenly split between basketball and soccer.

The finally tally from this past holiday season was . . .

. . . drum roll, please . . .

. . . a whopping 253 new sports balls – up from 211 a year ago – broken down thusly: 148 basketballs, 62 soccer balls, 27 footballs and 16 playground balls.

Thank you, dear readers. Your kindness is unbelievable.

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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”

 

Advice: Chase Butterflies

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s new book STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter is available for Pre-Order HERE NOW! In time for the holidays!

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My Your Heart Go Aflutter in New Year

Chase butterflies.

When asked recently to write a brief essay on the topic of “A Letter Of Advice To My 21-Year-Old Self,” that was my answer in a nutshell. Chase butterflies.

I will soon explain more fully.1butterfly

But first let me say that chasing butterflies also seems timely advice, for anyone of any age, as we begin our 2016 journey around the sun.

Even though spring is yet a far ways off, the turning of the calendar pages from the old year to the new always brings to my mind a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. The caterpillar’s past has been shed and left behind; the world is anew and bright and full of promise.

Moreover, most butterflies emerge in the morning – again, the image of a new year’s fresh beginning. Indeed, New Year resolutions are goals for a personal metamorphosis of sorts.

But my advice to chase butterflies is more than metaphorical.

Remember in your youth when you raced after Monarchs with a butterfly net? There are few images of girlhood or boyhood more carefree.

Perhaps you did not even catch any butterflies. That didn’t even matter because the joy was in the running, in the sport of it, in the zig-zagging through a field until you were out of breath – the breathlessness, in part, from laughing at your “failure” to catch the elusive fluttering prey.

Lesson from the child: when is the last time as an adult you didn’t let “failure” get you down and instead happily laughed it off?

Yes, we would all do well to pursue our adult passions with this same sense of joy and play as we did racing barefooted in the grass with a cheesecloth net-on-a-stick in our hands.

Chasing butterflies also means embracing things that scare you – things that make your stomach flutter with nervousness.

As I wrote in that letter to my 21-year-old college self: “Remember the swarm of butterflies doing cartwheels in your stomach the first time you asked out that gorgeous girl you are now dating? Spoiler alert, Woody, that works out marvelously even 34 years later!”

The butterflies of trying new things and taking chances should not be avoided. The riskier thing, truly, is to remain inside a safe cocoon. As the Roman poet Virgil noted, “Fortune favors the bold.”

Fortune favors butterfly chasers, I say.

Or as Mark Twain so wisely put it: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

And, he might have well added, do things that make the butterflies in your belly dance.

Eleanor Roosevelt knew this, famously advising: “Do one thing every day that scares you.”1Bold

If the word “scares” scares you, keep in mind that “frightening” is a close cousin of “exciting.” So when a new challenge or unchartered adventure or out-of-your-comfort-zone opportunity gives you butterflies, run (BEGINITAL)towards(ENDITAL) it not from it!

Throw off your bowlines and learn a new language. Take guitar lessons. Or golf lessons. Enroll in a painting class. Sign up for volunteer work.

Train for a marathon. Learn to surf. Climb Mount Whitney.

Start writing that novel you have long felt you had inside you. Ask someone on a date – or accept the invite.

Join Toastmasters and tackle your fear of public speaking. Tackle a career change from the safe job you have, but doesn’t excite you, to the one of your dreams.

Travel. Explore. Go sailing. Go for it!

I closed my letter to my younger self with John Wooden’s “7-Point Creed,” which I consider to be concise wisdom of great breadth and depth:

Be true to yourself.

Make each day your masterpiece.

Help others.

Drink deeply from good books.

Make friendship a fine art.

Build a shelter against a rainy day.

Pray for guidance and give thanks for your blessings every day.

And, I concluded, add this eighth point: Chase butterflies.

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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”

 

Special Birthday Request

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s new book STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter is available for Pre-Order HERE NOW! In time for the holidays!

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Turning Down a Birthday Request

            The letter writer was polite, almost apologetic, and full of praise. Also, as is often the case when readers reach out to me, had a request.

“First of all, thanks for taking the time to read this email,” Chuck Herrera began. “I would like to say I enjoy reading your column every Saturday in the Ventura County Star and also in the past had enjoyed your sports write ups in the Star-Free Press.

“I just recently got a great tip last week in The Star about a cool book sale in Santa Paula where I purchased all kinds of great books and music. I tell you, my purchases were the best entertainment value I have had in quite some time.

“In the digital age, I still prefer turning book pages. A couple of books of interest I picked up were “Jim Murray: The Last of the Best” and your book “Wooden & Me” which I plan on giving to one of my brothers for Christmas. He is a huge Coach Wooden fan.

“Another reason I am writing . . .”

Aha, after the introductory butter-up here comes the favor request.

“. . . is because I have five brothers and the one I plan on giving your book to, his name is Ron, and it happens to be his birthday on Christmas Day. And this year is a special birthday for him.

“He is turning 60, which for him is truly a miracle because Ron was born in 1955 and he was born with Spina Bifida with a slim-to-none chance to survive. But my parents refused to believe that and took him home and cared for him and loved him. If there were a Parents Hall of Fame, they would have been first-time ballot selections.

“Ron is amazing. He has never kicked a football in his life, but by studying books, film, clinics, etc., he learned. He volunteers and coaches high school-level football kickers from Buena to currently Rio Mesa High School. He also coaches Freshman Basketball. The kids love him and he loves coaching.

“For all the times Ron has been in and out of hospitals, months at a time in some instances, and even the times we thought we were saying our final ‘goodbyes’ to him, he has never once felt sorry for himself or complained about one of the million things he could complain about.”

Having a hold on my attention, and my heart, Chuck then added my favorite Wooden-ism to try and seal the deal: “Ron just goes about Making Every Day His Masterpiece.

“My request, if possible,” Ron concludes, finally getting to The Big Ask, “is we are celebrating his Big 60 with a big celebration for him on Saturday, December 26th. If you could give him a birthday shout-out in your column that Saturday, he would love it! If you can’t, I understand.

“Thanks for your time,

“Chuck Herrera”

Well, Chuck, I obviously cannot wish your brother Ron a birthday shout-out in print today. It would simply set a bad precedent.

I mean, if I granted your request the next thing I know every remarkable person kicking Spina Bifida’s butt for six decades and serving as an inspiration and role model for the rest of us on how to slam dunk self-pity and instead Make Each Day Our Masterpiece, no matter the challenges we face, would all want me to do the same for them.

There are just so many important things I should write about in my column. For instance, “Star Wars: The Force Awakens,” which is all everyone is talking about these days. I really should offer my two-cent review.

Or perhaps share my New Year’s resolutions or predictions for 2016. And, of course, there’s always El Nino to write about as well as the verbal El Nino known as Donald Trump. And on and on.

So, Chuck, thanks for your letter but I just can’t honor your request. Sorry. I hope you understand. Maybe next year I can find a small space in my column to offer a “Happy Birthday, Ron!” shout-out.

Sincerely,

Woody

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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”