Category Archives: Columns

Poor Proposal, Rich Marriage

by Woody

Among Carol King’s full catalogue of memorable songs, one lyric is most dear to me. It is from her iconic “Tapestry” album and goes, “Where you lead, I will follow.”

That, without the piano accompaniment, was what my college sweetheart told me matter-of-factly a month before I was to graduate from UC Santa Barbara. Wherever I eventually found a newspaper job, she promised to follow.

“Well, then, we might as well get married,” I replied without a moment’s hesitation, without a ring, without getting down on bended knee. It was perhaps the least planned and least romantic proposal in history.

Our very first date…

“Quit joking,” she replied and laughed.

She had good reason to think I was kidding. After all, we had dated for less than a year and a half, and that included a three-month breakup in the middle of our romance – of course, doesn’t every worthwhile rom-com have a breakup? – plus a full summer spent apart. Moreover, we were so very young. She was only 23 while I was still a couple weeks away from turning 22.

No matter. After she stopped laughing, I tried once more: “I’m serious. Will you marry me?”

This time she said “yes” and today – Sept. 4 – we celebrate our 39th wedding anniversary.

I cannot speak for my much-better-half, but when asked for my secret to a blissful marriage here is my answer: Find a former homecoming princess whose inner beauty impossibly outshines her outward comeliness; who is supremely kind and confident and charming, intelligent and generous and strong; with a sense of humor and an ocean of grace and, importantly, has a soft spot in her heart for a knuckleheaded guy.

Thirty-nine years – and two children raised to adulthood, and one grandchild thus far – is a long time, yet it also seems to have passed in about 39 days. The French writer Andre Maurois noted, “A happy marriage is a long conversation that always seems too short.” That’s how Lisa makes me feel.

… and as a beautiful bride.

Too, she brings to my mind the poetry of Tennyson and these lines: “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you . . . I could walk through my garden forever.” If only I had recited those syrupy lines when I proposed it might have compensated for not having already bought an engagement ring.

In “As You Like It” Shakespeare wrote, “Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” So it was with me.

Our meet-cute happened under a sprig of mistletoe at a college Christmas party thrown by mutual friends. She was wearing a light-blue turtleneck sweater, jean bell bottoms and running shoes, while I was soon wearing a smile that reached from Isla Vista to the Channel Islands.

Our first date was the very next day, a hole-in-the-wall dinner out, and I showed up at her door with a single yellow rose. At the time, I had no clue that yellow roses convey “friendship” while red ones signify “love.” In hindsight, yellow was perfect because it exemplifies a passage from A.A. Milne’s “Winnie-the-Pooh” that still describes my love for Lisa:

“ ‘We’ll be Friends Forever, won’t we, Pooh?’ asked Piglet.

“ ‘Even longer,’ Pooh answered.”

Half of forever later, as I reminisce about watching “Leese” walk down the wedding aisle, the words of the great John Steinbeck invade my heart. In his essay “The Golden Handcuff” about his long and deep love for San Francisco, he wrote: “My God! How beautiful it was and I knew then how beautiful.”

My God! How beautiful she was and I knew it then. I know it still.

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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

Readers Share Nature Memories

by Woody

Sharing some smiles from my email inbox…

“Your column ‘Mining gold in front yard’s wildness’ rang a bell with me,” wrote Cyndi Nichols. “I have always enjoyed nature. I’m a gardener now, but when I was a child I collected bugs, their eggs and offspring. When there was a science fair in school, I brought the bugs and their eggs and the food that they would eat to share. I did not harm them.

“One year, I collected about 200 caterpillar’s eggs from our elm tree. I put them in shoeboxes and fed them elm leaves every day. One day I forgot to put the lids back on and had to scramble to catch them all and put them back in the boxes. Eventually, they spun their cocoons and emerged as butterflies. I took all the boxes into the backyard and let them out at the same time. What a sight!

“When I was about three, we lived in the desert, in Lancaster. My brother says I walked in with a tarantula in my small hand to show everyone. All my shocked mother could say was, ‘Take that thing outside,’ which I did. To this day I do not kill spiders in the house. Little jumpers and daddy longlegs I catch barehanded, but as I have gotten older larger spiders get caught in tissue and put out.

“I still love nature, from the tiniest flowers in the lawn, to the largest Dahlias. I love to garden and would like to have one of everything. I feel the same about animals of all kinds, whether it be pets, lizards, bugs. Thank you for bringing me down memory lane.”

*

Linda Calderon also took a mental trip back to her youth: “My Dad used to walk my late brother and me to the end of our street and teach us which constellations were which. I sure don’t recall today, but it was great for him to do that.

“He also taught us to lay on our backs in the yard and imagine what different things the clouds looked like. I still find myself taking photos of some that look like poodles, etc., and I told my grandkids to go outside at their house and do the same. At 80, I’m still amazed at rainbows and photograph them also.

“I grew up in a small village (about 400 population) in the countryside and I am still in love with nature.”

*

            In response to my comment that the Channel Islands are underrated, John Snyder replied: “Shhhh! I sailed to the islands, all of them except San Clemente and San Nicolas, at various times between 1972 and 2015.

“Most of our vacations, and practically all long weekends, were to/around Santa Cruz Island. Other than stinkpots becoming more prevalent over the years, little changed. This included the proposal by the family owing the eastern portion of the island to turn it into a resort area with hotel and fast food restaurants, which, fortunately, was shot down.

“That the island has been preserved is one of the happier memories of my life. As far as I’m concerned, the Channel Islands can remain concealed from human view, much like Brigadoon. Not like Brigadoon necessarily, but more, out-of-sight; out-of-mind, only those who have taken the time and made the effort to get there, knowing its delights.”

*

Barbara Murray shared this closing wisdom: “It is hard in this current time to remember the beautiful things. I have one addiction: I think laughing is underrated. It heals the body and the soul.”

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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

 

These Opinions Might Be Overrated

by Woody

Nobody asked me, but here’s a list of things I think are underrated or overrated.

Farmer’s markets are underrated.

Watermelon is overrated and bananas are underrated.

Our local fresh strawberries cannot possibly be overrated.

Tacos are overrated – just kidding.

Even after all we’ve been through during the enduring COVID-19 pandemic, frontline workers, from grocery cashiers, food service and agricultural workers to janitors, truck drivers and all healthcare employees, are underrated.

Frontline teachers are especially underrated and CEOs are especially overrated.

Doctors tend to be correctly rated, but nurses and physician assistants are definitely underrated.

Novacaine cannot be overrated if you are sitting in a dentist’s chair getting a filling.

Even if you try to fully appreciate it, good health is underrated until you fall ill or are injured.

Tom Hanks’ niceness is overrated – it simply has to be!

The magic of being a grandparent is overrated – until you become one.

The value of having music and art education in our schools is underrated.

The value of having kids in our schools, as opposed to attending classes remotely, cannot be overrated.

Individual universities are often overrated, but earning a college degree remains underrated.

Trade school degrees are greatly underrated.

Having a good mechanic, plumber or repairman/woman is underrated.

The dangers firefighters face are underrated by most of us.

All superheroes other than Superman, Batman and single parents are overrated.

A simple lunch or happy hour with another person, in person, is no longer underrated as of 2020.

Ditto for visiting a parent or grandparent in a senior living facility.

Expensive stylish shoes are overrated and comfortable shoes are underrated.

Before one sees the Grand Canyon in person it cannot help but be overrated; standing on its rim, however, it is impossible to underrate its awe-inspiring grandeur and breathtaking beauty.

Yosemite Valley is probably underrated.

The Channel Islands are definitely underrated.

Barefooted walks on the beach are highly rated, but still underrated.

Pizza is underrated, except for Hawaiian-style which is grossly overrated.

A short commute to work – especially from the bedroom to the kitchen table or extra bedroom/office – is no longer underrated.

Local microbreweries and small wineries are underrated.

Local charities that humbly do tremendous work are underrated.

Independent bookstores are underrated, as are public libraries and Little Free Libraries, too.

Ebooks are overrated by people who prefer printed ones, and vice-versa.

I thought Tolstoy was overrated, at the least overly longwinded, until I recently read some of his short stories – he merits his lofty rating.

At the risk of jinxing myself and getting a flat on the freeway, today’s car tires are underrated.

Common sense is underrated.

Cats are overrated to dog people, and vice-versa – but both are wrong because no beloved pet can be overrated.

Teenagers overrate the calamity of having a few pimples.

Older people overrate the calamity of having a few gray hairs.

The “good ol’ days” are overrated and today’s youth are too often underrated by those who were youths back in the “good ol’ days.”

A friendly smile is underrated by the person who is sharing it.

The medical miracle of all vaccines is underrated.

A true friendship cannot be overrated.

Handwritten letters and cards sent in the mail cannot be overrated.

Butterflies and birds are underrated, as are flowers and trees, and seas and sunsets. Let’s just say all of Nature is underrated.

These opinions are probably overrated to everyone except me.

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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

 

 

Two Stories As Sweet As Cider

by Woody

“One of these days in your travels,” Damon Runyon wrote, “a guy is going to come up to you and show you a nice brand-new deck of cards on which the seal is not yet broken, and this guy is going to offer to bet you that he can make the Jack of Spades jump out of the deck and squirt cider in your ear.

“But, son, do not bet this man, for as sure as you are standing there, you are going to end up with an earful of cider.”

As a break from the earful of sour news we all get squirted with daily, here are two stories to give you a smile – one sent to me by a friend, the other by my nephew, authors unknown.

*

“I was shopping in a big store and heard a loud crash. Multiple items had broken. Without even seeing what had happened, that much was obvious.

“I went to investigate. It was a shopping cart accident. An older shopper had misjudged a corner and steered her cart into a tall display, which came crashing down. It was quite a mess. Many items were shattered.

“The older shopper who had caused all this was on her knees. She was extremely embarrassed. Frantically, she was trying to clean things up. It was all her fault. She would make it right. People were gathered around her, doing nothing but gawking.

“Since I heard the crash, I felt I had to do something. I knelt down beside this poor woman and told her not to worry. I helped her pick up the broken pieces.

“After about a minute, the store manager appeared. He got on his knees next to us and said, ‘Leave it all there. We will clean it up.’

“The woman who was responsible said, ‘I want to pay you for all the damage.’

“The store manager said, ‘No, we have insurance for this. You don’t have to pay a thing. These things happen. It’s really nothing. Please don’t let this ruin your day.”

*

“I’m not a garbage man, but my dad was before I was born.

“He’d found old fishing lures, a Bulova watch, but more importantly…

“My dad was the driver who had this one girl’s garbage route, and every time the girl would hear the truck she’d get all the last-minute garbage from the house and take it out so she could get a good look at all the garbage men.

“And she was interested in my dad. She even scheduled her radiography classes around trash collection day, just so she’d be home. When my dad noticed the trend, he’d often switch roles with one of the guys on the back of the truck so he could take the girl’s last-minute garbage from her and toss it in.

“This went on for months. One day, the girl’s father locked her out of the house and said he wouldn’t let her back in until she gave her phone number to one of the garbage men.

“Coincidentally, this was one day my dad was driving. She took the trash up to the guy on the back and asked him, ‘Hey, is your driver seeing anyone?’

“The guy yelled to my dad, ‘Hey, Keith, are you seeing anyone?!?!’

“And that is how my dad found his most valuable treasure, my mom, in the garbage. They’ve been happily married for almost 26 years.”

*

I like to think – no, in fact, I know – these sweet-as-cider love stories and Golden Rule kindnesses happen all around us, and to us, each day.

 *   *   *

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

 

 

Mining Gold In Yard’s Wildness

by Woody

In fifth grade, in springtime, in the afternoon, Mr. Hawkins, one of my all-time favorite teachers, grounded me from recess and instead gave me an assignment as a small punishment for talking in class.

While my classmates raced onto the playground, I was sent outside to the school’s front yard and told to fill a sheet of notebook paper with observations. I returned in about five minutes, bored and with an empty page, begging to go join my friends in kickball.

“Don’t come back until the page is filled,” Mr. Hawkins reprimanded, adding encouragingly as I remember it like yesterday: “Look up in the sky, look at the trees, get down on your hands and knees and really look.”

It may not be memory’s sweet exaggeration to report that I filled up two full pages, even three, with my findings. Certainly, long before reading these words by John Muir I learned their meaning that day: “There are treasures hidden in the glorious wildness like unmined gold.”

Hidden, too, in a schoolyard’s grass, bushes and trees.

This all came flying back to my mind, like a red robin alighting on a dogwood branch, the other day when I spent some time really looking at the drought-resistant wildness of my front yard.

This close examination was further tied to Mr. Hawkins, who doubled as the school’s science teacher. Whenever a spider intruded in our classroom he would capture it beneath an upturned coffee cup, slide a piece of paper below, and then release it outside. He explained that while spiders may seem scary, they benefit our ecosystem by eating insects and pests.

Ever since, except in the middle of the night when I choose the heel of a shoe instead of a cup, I try to catch-and-release spiders as I would a lovely rainbow trout.

This time, when I bent down to liberate the eight-legged guy – or gal – in the front-yard landscape, I sighted a beetle crawling on a decorative boulder. I proceeded to watch it seemingly defy gravity by climbing down the steep face like a rock climber rappelling Half Dome.

Next, my eyes followed the paroled spider as it slowly scaled the long arm of a cactus plant. By now, I was back in the fifth grade, literally back on my hands and knees, filling up a lined notebook page in my mind.

A single file of ants marched across a dry creek bed of smooth stones; a butterfly, black and orange but not a Monarch, flitted by; a bird chirped out of sight and leaves overhead fluttered like nature’s gentle wind chimes; a second butterfly joined the first and they did an aerial ballroom dance together; another bird, a crow I believe, made a short commuter flight from our rooftop to the top of a plum tree.

For a long while I observed a lone worker bee go from flower to flower to flower like a trick-or-treater from door to door. In the midst of this viewing, a stray cat, black as midnight with golden eyes that seemed neon-lit, strolled up beside me as if to ask: “Hey, buddy, have you seen any mice in there anywhere?”

To this I would have thankfully answered “no” for I am too phobic of rodents to rescue and relocate one with a coffee mug.

And so it went, for fifteen minutes or maybe it was 45, I do not know. I do know this, as Mr. Muir also wrote: “In every walk with Nature, one receives far more than he seeks.” Mr. Hawkins would have surely agreed.

 *  *  *

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

 

“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.

*

“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.”

 *  *  *

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.”

*

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.’ ”

*

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.

 *  *  *

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.

*   *   *

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.

*   *   *

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