Category Archives: Columns

Pocketful of “Selfie” Notes

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! 

*   *   *

Thoughts on “On Time” and More

A pocketful of “selfie” thoughts jotted down the past few weeks . . .

*

A story headlined “5 Minutes Early is on Time; On Time is Late; Late is Unacceptable” recently caught my eye – and fortunately didn’t make me late for anything.

While I generally agree punctuality is a virtue, this is not ironclad. As Einstein said, time is relative, so here is my “On Time” theory:1einstein

Yes, 5 minutes early is on time for a work meeting; but5 minutes early for a doctor’s appointment is wasting your own valuable time; and 5 minutes early for a dinner party is rudely unacceptable.

*

When you see a car out on the roads with a dented fender or door, or both, you often aren’t surprised why after a couple blocks of seeing the way the driver drives.

*

While I am still awaiting official approval for the naming of a race horse in my honor – first choice from a reader vote-in contest being “Masterpiece Day” followed by runner-up “Streakin’ Woody” – I already have a four-legged friend named after me, sort of.

Stan Whisenhunt, my first managing editor at the Star, wrote to me the other day: “You might be interested to know that we have a wonderful little Jack Russell Terrier named Woody.”

Keeping my ego from inflating like a balloon, he poked a needle: “He already had that name when we got him,” but then kindly added, “and I wasn’t about to change it.”

I consider that a namesake. Now I need to get a sandwich named after me, perhaps “The DagWoody”?

*

The Tennessee Volunteers are my new adopted college football team. Specifically, I am rooting for former Star sportswriter Rhiannon Potkey to have a terrific team to cover in her debut season as the beat writer for the Knoxville News Sentinel.

*

My two cents on the Colin Kaepernick kerfuffle: Patriotism does not mean you cannot find fault with your country, nor or that you must remain silent. To the contrary, social change and progress has rarely happened without protest. Ergo, protesting is patriotic.

And even if you are angered by Kaepernick’s method of taking a stand – by sitting, or kneeling, during the pregame nation anthem – his non-violent protest has been remarkably successful in creating a national discussion without inconveniencing others via a shutdown freeway or clogged city street requiring police intervention.

*

My 2 cents on the 805: Break up the area code and thus BRIEFLY annoy a segment of residents and disturb a few businesses that incorporate 805 in their name, rather than ENDLESSLY inconvenience everyone by having to dial 10-digit numbers for local calls.

*

The other evening I happened upon a PBS episode of “California’s Gold” and was once more reminded that we all should strive to embrace travel and new experiences and meeting people with half the curiosity and enthusiasm the show’s iconic host, the late Huell Howser, always exhibited.

Indeed, his lasting legacy is as an AMAAAAZING inspiration to see life through new eyes.

*

Speaking of inspiring, here’s an update on Francelia Teran, whose long and unstoppable educational journey I chronicled here in late May after she graduated from CSU Channel Islands with a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology:

Fran has been accepted into the Clinical Psychology Master’s program at Antioch University Santa Barbara for this Fall quarter.

*

About the nicest thing you can do for a friend is an unexpected kindness for one of their kids or spouse.

*

Wisdom is generally shared by elders to younger people, but the exchange can go the other way as evidenced by a thank-note recent Ventura High graduate Nestor Rodriguez sent me and concluded with this nugget:

“If I could offer some advice it would be to remember to get lost once in while. And also remember what it was like to be a teen and a kid, a time when your were basically nonexistent.”

Now that this column is finished, I’m going to put my play clothes on and go get lost in an adventure.

*  *  *

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”

Save

Save

Save

Save

Words From Father of the Bride

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! 

*   *   *

Old ‘Two Trees’ and One Young Couple

For the past 34 years, come Sunday afternoon, my wife has been The Most Beautiful Bride I Have Ever Seen – in person, in photos, in the movies.

But at 4 o’clock tomorrow, on our Sept. 4 anniversary date, my much-better-half will relinquish this title – or, at the very least, now share it. And she will not at all mind me saying as much.

1DalAlTble

Dallas and Allyn, Hollywood name “Dallyn.”

Our little girl is getting married.

I say “little girl” purposely instead of “daughter” because I am reminded of the toast my wife’s father gave at our wedding. Actually, he sang his toast, the

song “Sunrise, Sunset” from “Fiddler on the Roof.”

Here are a few key couplets:

“Is this the little girl I carried, / Is this the little boy at play?

“I don’t remember growing older, / When did they?

“They look so natural together. / Just like two newlyweds should be.”

I, too, don’t remember growing older, but I have not forgotten this wedding-related memory of the little girl I carried. When she was very young, she once asked my wife, a hint of hurt in her voice: “Mommy, why wasn’t I at yours and daddy’s wedding?”

Since we couldn’t share our wedding day with her, it seems only fair to do so with our charmed anniversary date.

Returning to music, another lyric has been stuck in my head leading up to The Big Day. This lyric is from the Jason Mraz song “Quiet,” which my soon-to-be-son-in-law – who, it should be noted, had never before played the guitar – spent months learning to strum, and sing, for a proposal serenade.

The album is appropriately titled “Yes,” which was my daughter’s happy answer.

The lyric goes: “Heartbeats rise, heartbeats fall / Will you be my constant through it all?”

“Through it all” – that is the key for love, isn’t it?

“Through it all” also reminds me of a metaphor I once heard that employs two trees to illustrate a successful marriage. Even though her wedding is in the Bay Area rather than her hometown, the specific image I conjure up is our beloved landmark “Two Trees” holding sentinel high atop their hill overlooking Ventura below with the Pacific Ocean and the Channel Islands in the distance.

The metaphor goes like this: Newlyweds are like two trees growing beside one another. The trees will enjoy sunshine and their leaves will blossom.

Even the best of marriages, however, will sometimes experience fierce winds – and this is good because the two trees learn to lean upon one another.

More sunshine and gentle rains will bring more blossoms, and perhaps the two trees will bear fruit, and their leafy canopies will provide cooling shade, and their branches may even cradle a nest or three.

But sooner or later drought will arrive – and this, too, is good because through the adversity the two trees will dig their roots deeper into the soil.

Eventually, with the truest love, the two trees will grow tall and strong with roots that not only reach deep and wide, but actually entwine and fuse together. And the day comes, after years and years of a wonderful marriage, when the couple realizes they are one tree, not two.

And so, after their vows have been pledged and their rings exchanged and their first kiss as husband and wife shared; after they walk down the aisle together and dance together and ceremonially cut the wedding cake together; when it is my time, as the father of the bride, to offer a toast to the newlyweds, here is what I am going to say:

“Dallas and Allyn, I wish you glorious sunrises, and warm afternoons, and evenings with Pacific Ocean sunsets as breathtaking as those that Ventura’s ‘Two Trees’ enjoy.

“Also, however, I wish you some challenging winds along your life journey together, and days of drought too, so that your roots will grow deep and strong and spread wide until they entwine and fuse.

“But mostly, of course, I wish you gentle rains and moonlit nights and warm sunshine – lots and lots of sunshine.”

*  *  *

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”

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Inglorious Treatment for Old Glory

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! 

*   *   *

Inglorious treatment for Old Glory

One of the first newspaper stories I wrote, in my first journalism job, in Twentynine Palms, in 1982, was an interview with an American veteran who was a POW during World War II.

I have long forgotten this hero’s name, and the yellowed clipping has also been lost to time, but one thing remains indelible in my mind’s eye: a small, faded and tattered U.S. flag he showed me.

The historic Star-Spangled Banner that inspired Francis Scott Key.

The historic Star-Spangled Banner that inspired Francis Scott Key.

This old “Old Glory” was nonetheless glorious. Only the size of a dinner place mat, no American flag has had a bigger impact on me. Even seeing the 30- by 34-foot “Star Spangled Banner” on display in the Smithsonian that inspired Francis Scott Key to pen his famous poem did not give me more goose bumps.

Here is why: the POW’s flag was made, in secret and at great risk if discovered, by American prisoners using thread and yarn and patches cut from their very own clothes.

At night, when deemed relatively safe to do so, this contraband of brothers displayed their homemade Star-Spangled Banner and recited the Pledge of Allegiance and sang our national anthem.

The forbidden flag lifted their spirits and gave them strength to endure, the POW told me through tears of remembrance.

So you can understand why in last week’s column I expressed my curmudgeonly disgust at seeing the American flag used as a beach towel and photo prop by sweaty U.S. athletes after winning medals at the Rio Olympics.

It turns out I am not alone. Numerous readers voiced their agreement in person and by email.

“No, you are not a curmudgeon,” wrote Elmer Barber. “My wife and I also witnessed the total disregard for our symbol of liberty at the Games.

“My wife and I have flown a flag on a pole in our front yard (weather permitting) on the east end for over 40 years. We see it every day, the misuse of our beautiful flag. The problem is most people have no idea what the proper use and care is when it comes to the American Flag. Maybe someone will print the proper care of the flag.”

While there is not room here for all 1,100 words of “Flag Etiquette” offered at usflag.org, the overriding protocol is that the U.S. flag should be treated with the utmost respect.

For example, “the flag should never be dipped to any person or thing” and “should be raised briskly and lowered slowly and ceremoniously.” It therefore stands to reason a wadded-up American flag should not be tossed from the stands to an Olympic medal-winner like dirty laundry towards a hamper.

Similarly, literally wrapping oneself in the stars-and-stripes while still sweaty from competition seems to break the spirit of this stated decorum: “The flag should not be used as part of a costume or athletic uniform.”

Certainly if you have ever seen white-gloved soldiers carefully handling the U.S. flag with solemnity at a veteran’s funeral, it is distressing to see the stars-and-stripes used as a towel – or worse.

“I almost blew a gasket when I saw our flag used to wipe a nose after a hard run,” Fred Nagelschmidt shared by email.

“Some of the old regard for the flag has been lost over the years,” added Nagelschmidt, who served in World War II and the Korean War. “From an early age in school, we learned about the first days of our country and what the settlers did to achieve independence.

“My father served our country in two conflicts – the Mexican border conflict chasing Pancho Villa and then in France during WWI in which he received two Purple Hearts. He was the son of immigrants and whenever the National Anthem was played on the radio we all stood at attention.”

Here’s an idea for how future U.S. Olympians can restore old-school respect for Old Glory even in their athletic glory: Photoshop an American flag backdrop into your celebratory pictures.

Better yet, simply wave a placemat-sized flag on a stick. As a POW once made clear to me, when it comes to patriotism, size doesn’t matter.

*  *  *

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”

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Speedy Keyboard Goes For Gold

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! 

*   *   *

Helping Hand is Better Than Rio Gold

Nobody asked me, but here goes anyway, Olympics edition . . .

*

 The avalanche of NBC promos and product advertisements leading up to the Rio Olympics, reminiscent of Christmas ads starting before Thanksgiving, combined with months of headlines about polluted water, unfinished venues and pole vault-high soaring street crime, had me dreading the 2016 Summer Games even before the Opening Ceremonies arrived.

But once the cauldron flame was lighted, my bah-humbug-hey-kids-get-off-my-lawn grumpiness disappeared as fast as wing-footed Usain Bolt can fly 100 meters.

*

1boltSpeaking of Bolt, he is so unworldly speedy he should have to race in tennis shoes instead of spikes just to make things interesting.

*

Maybe I really am a curmudgeon, but am I the only one who dislikes seeing the American flag used as a beach towel and photo prop by sweaty athletes after winning a medal?

Wouldn’t waving a small parade-like flag on a wooden stick suffice?

*

Speaking of patriotism, while I like how Bolt is a showman without being a showboat, I loved how the Jamacian superstar paused a TV interview he was doing in order to respectfully turn and stand at attention for the U.S. national anthem.

Only after “. . . home of the brave” did he graciously resume his interview.

*

Hey P&G executives, you didn’t ask me, but regarding your Olympic “Thank you, Mom” TV ads: What about the dads?

*

Katie Ledecky is the aquatic version of Secretariat.

Indeed, her victory by 11 seconds in the 800-meter freestyle final was reminiscent of Secretariat winning the 1973 Belmont Stakes by 31 lengths.

*

Add Ledecky. In interviews, Karismatic Katie comes across as even more charming than she is fast.

“Charming,” however, is not a word I would use to describe Team USA women’s soccer goalie Hope Solo, who called Sweden “a bunch of cowards” after the defending Olympic champion Americans were defeated in the quarterfinals.

*

Nobody asked me, but U.S. swimmer Ryan Lochte is an even uglier “Ugly American” than Solo.

*

If South Africa’s 74-year-old Ans Botha – her runners call her “Tannie” which means “auntie” in Afrikaans – can coach Wayde van Niekerk to a 400-meter gold-medal victory in world-record time, maybe it’s time for U.S. college male sports programs and even pro teams to give women some shots as head coaches.

*

The way she “sticks” her landings, charismatic gyroscopic gymnastic superstar Simone Biles must have Velcro on the soles of her feet.

*

Wheaties didn’t ask me, but I say put Simone on your cereal box.

Actually, two Simones – Biles and also Simone Manuel, who set an Olympic record while winning gold in the 100-meter freestyle to make history as the first African American female swimmer to win an Olympic medal in an individual event.

*

Prediction for 2021: a lot of kindergarten girls will be named Simone.

*

I think it’s a little sad when an athlete who is favored to win an event expresses relief rather than joy after capturing a gold medal.

*

Meanwhile, I love it when an underdog surprises even himself or herself by capturing a bronze medal and their exuberance does twisting flips and somersaults over most gold-medal celebrations.

*

Abbey D’Agostino of the United States (R) is assisted by Nikki Hamblin of New Zealand in the 5,000 meters.

Abbey D’Agostino of the U.S. is assisted by Nikki Hamblin of New Zealand after their collision in the 5,000 meters.

As great as the thrills of victory have been, my favorite moment from the Rio Olympics involved the agony of defeat.

With four laps remaining in the 5,000-meters, New Zealand’s Nikki Hamblin stumbled in a tight pack and crashed to the track. American Abbey D’Agostino, running right behind Hamblin, tripped and fell as well.

D’Agostino jumped up quickly, but instead of bolting back into the race – not yet realizing she was injured – she turned to help Hamblin get back up. This in itself was rare and heartwarming sportsmanship.

But what happened next made it an epic example of the Olympic spirit ideal. When D’Agostino’s right leg buckled as she tried to resume running and she collapsed to the track, the hero roles became reversed as Hamblin stopped to assist D’Agostino.

Their shared Olympic glory is as golden as any medal.

*  *  *

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”

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Boy’s and Girl’s Best Friend

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! 

*   *   *

Every Dog Has His Day . . . And Column

Editors note: Woody Woodburn is taking the day off. His 10-year-old boxer, Murray, who is named after Pulitzer Prize winner Jim Murray, is filling in.

*

Have you ever been so dog-tired you couldn’t even muster the energy to fetch a tennis ball? That’s how wiped out I am right now, so obviously I didn’t feel like writing this column for Wood-daddy – but he knows my weakness for dog biscuits, so here I am pawing away at his keyboard.

Murray, the guest columnist

Murray, the guest columnist

Why is my long tongue dragging, you ask? Because my two favorite people in the entire universe were just home to visit me, that’s why! No offense to Alpha Pops and Mama Lisa, but My Girl and My Boy make my heart race double-time and my tail wag faster than a Ringo Starr drumstick.

This is saying something because I adore Mama so much I am her constant shadow. Even if I’m snoozing in a warm sunlit spot, if she leaves the room I’ll jump up and follow her – except when My Girl and My Boy are home.

And for the past two weeks, My Girl was home for the first time in ages. I was so surprised to see her, I did my trademark “helicopter” greeting where I spin around and around and around while simultaneously bucking up and down and up like a bronco with a spur under its saddle. Simone Biles would be envious of my gold-medal floor routine.

At my age, I needed a short nap afterwards, but first I had to take My Girl for a long walk and show her the ol’ neighborhood again.

When I was a puppy, My Girl lived away at college. But two things really bonded us. First, she is the only one who lets me break the “Murray, get off the bed!” house rule.

Second, a few years ago I needed eye surgery and she took time off work and come home from the Bay Area to nurse me while the lovebirds were on an anniversary trip in Ireland. Since then we’ve been BFFs.

My Boy, however, has been my best friend from Day 1 when he picked me out and I slept on his lap during the long drive home. He was a high school freshman and every day after track and cross-country practice I would keep him company when he took an ice bath for his legs. I was so small back then I had to stand on my hind legs to see over the edge of the tub.

Now I’m 89-pounds – “all muscle and mischief!” My Boy likes to say – and we still gator-wrestle on the ground like two young pups. My joints are old now, but I’m forever young with him. He even pretends not to notice my muzzle has grown gray.

Murray holding watch for "My Boy" and "My Girl"

Murray holding watch for “My Boy” and “My Girl”

My Boy now lives in New York City, so I don’t get to see him very often, but we sometimes Skype. Some people won’t believe this, but I knew with a sixth sense he was coming to see me five minutes before he walked through the front door. I was so happy I almost flew to the ceiling doing my “helicopter.”

For four days – it seemed like 28 – my wagging tail didn’t rest because My Boy and My Girl were both home. It was nirvana, I tell you, doggie heaven.

So you can imagine my hangdog face when I saw them packing their suitcases. My melancholy was overpowering and the closing lyrics from the Beatles’ song “Two of Us” came to my mind, although for me it’s Three of Us: “You and I have memories / Longer than the road that stretches out ahead.”

I have been napping even more than usual since they left. And my dreams have been a long road of happy memories with My Boy and My Girl.

As I hold loyal sentry at the front window watching for my two best friends to return once more, I am comforted by a quote attributed to Dr. Seuss: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

I can’t wait until it happens again.

*  *  *

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”

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Lyrical Time at County Fair

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! 

*   *   *

Have a Lyrical Time at County Fair

When you think of a county fair, a menu of things pop to mind including cotton candy and deep-fried-chocolate-covered-bacon-wrapped concoctions as well as carousel rides and Carney games and a bird’s-eye view atop a Ferris wheel.

Too, surely, you think of music.

And so, with the 141st annual Ventura County Fair’s 12 days of magic in full swing through Aug. 14, I looked up lyrics about county fairs. I was surprised not only by how many songs touch on the subject, but how many are actually titled “County Fair.”1ferriswheel

To help get you in the mood, here is a small sampling. Strum a guitar and sing along . . .

*

From “County Fair” by Bruce Springsteen:

“Every year when summer comes around

“They stretch a banner ’cross the main street in town

“You can feel somethin’ happenin’ in the air

“Getting’ ready for the county fair

 

“County fair, county fair

“Everybody in town will be there

“So come on, hey, we’re goin’ down there

“Hey little girl with the long blond hair

“Come win your daddy one of them stuffed bears

“Baby down at the county fair”

 

Additional lyrics include:

“Well baby you know I just love the sound

“Of the pipe organ on the merry-go-round

“Now at the north end of the field, well they set up a stand

“And they got a little Rock ’N’ Roll band

“The people dancin’, yeah, out in the open air

“Just rockin’ down at the county fair”

*

From “Walk Me Down the Middle” by The Band Perry:

“Walk me down the middle of the county fair

“Walk me down the middle like you don’t care

“Walk me by the Ferris wheel and make sure she sees

“Let the whole world know you belong to me”

*

From “County Fair” by Chris Ledoux:

“I got a date with a girl, a perdy ranchers daughter,

“Green as her golden hair.

“Gonna pick her up at 8 after some soap and water.

“And we’re headin’ to the county fair.

“So I’m gonna take on the Ferris wheel.

“Way up in the sky, with the stars in her eyes,

“I’m gonna tell her just how I feel.

“Well, there’s a full moon in the western sky,

“And there’s magic in the air.

“Ain’t nothin’ I know of, can make you fall in love,

“Like a night at the county fair.”

*

From “County Fair” by John Mellencamp:

“Well the County Fair left quite a mess

“In the county yard

“Kids with eyes as big as dollars

“Rode all the rides”

*

From “County Fair” by Lonestar:

“Twenty bucks buys ten coupons

“Two ears of corn and one ride on

“The tilt-a-whirl with your favorite girl

“Keep on walkin’ down the midway

“Three-eyed goats and games to play

“ ‘Step right up,’ Carney says, ‘Try your luck’

“You can tell the sweet smell of summer in the air

“Whole town shuts down, everybody’s gonna be there

“Down at the county fair”

 

And:

“Judging pigs and judging pies

“Fighting for the first place prize

“There’s nothing bigger

“In small towns everywhere

“Than the county fair”

*

From “I Like it, I Love It” by The 2 Live Crew:

“Spent forty-eight dollars last night at the county fair

“I threw out my shoulder but I won her that teddy bear

“She’s got me saying sugar-pie, honey, darlin’, and dear

“I ain’t seen the Braves play a game all year”

*

Another teddy bear prize in “Odds and Ends” by Freda Payne:

“Odds and ends of love that used to be

“You’re gone, but the memories linger on

“An old teddy bear that’s lost its hair

“You won at the county fair”

*

From “Still Think About You” by William Clark Green:

“We were something special

“Pretty big deal

“Met you at the county fair

“Kissed you on the Ferris wheel”

*

You’ve still got eight days left to ride the rides, play some games, try to win a stuffed bear, listen to a rock ‘n’ roll band, and maybe sneak a kiss on the Ferris wheel at our “County Fair with Ocean Air.”

*  *  *

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”

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

We All Have Warrior’s Beauty Marks

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! 

*   *   *

7 Toenails in 50 Shades of Gray

“Scars are a warrior’s beauty marks,” author and philosopher Matshona Dhliwayo opined.

In a similar vein, dead toenails are the beauty marks of a marathon runner. And so, in honor of the 13th anniversary of my consecutive-day running streak (4,749 days and counting) I shared a photo of my bare feet on Facebook.

While a picture is said to be worth a thousand words, this one was worth 45,215 miles. It was not beautiful. Indeed, displaying seven toenails that are 50 shades of gray to black – and, yes, my shoes fit properly, but running nearly two trips around the earth takes a toll – was aptly described by one Facebook friend as “ugly.”1scars

Yet that was not the common comment. Rather, it was words echoing Dhliwayo’s viewpoint.

“Congrats on your 13-Year Streakiversary,” read one reply. “This is awesome. It shows how much your feet endure each and every dang mile!”

Another: “Inspirational feat and inspiration feet.”

And: “The toenails of a true runner! You wear them well!”

Sure, there were a few gentle gibes: “Your feet could get extra work on The Walking Dead; Those toes, yikes!; Great job, now go get a pedicure!”

But mostly the responses were of praise, like: “You’ve earned the right to be proud of awesome toenails!” and, “As a fellow runner, I see your toes as beautiful!”

These plaudits made me think that blemished toes should not be different from other parts of our appearance we see as somehow flawed – our nose that we might feel is crooked or too large; our hair that we feel is too curly or too gray or too sparse; or our crow’s feet and laugh lines that we think make us look too old.

There is truth in the saying that wrinkles show you have laughed, gray hair means you cared, and scars mean you lived. So why can’t more of us see real scars as beauty marks?

Why can’t we proudly embody the woman Nikki Rowe writes about with these words: “She wore her battle scars like wings, looking at her you would never know that once upon a time she forgot how to fly”?

Scars as wings, what a beautiful metaphor.

This imagery is easier, most surely, for a male since scars can be seen as manly. For example, I have near-matching 6- and 7-inch serpent-like scars on the inside of both arms near the elbow; a 3-inch scar across my Adam’s apple from disc-fusion surgery; two smaller scars at both ends of my lower lip from skin cancer excision; an indented dark scar the size of pencil eraser, between the bridge of my nose and my right eye, that I got at age 4 when I scratched open a mole that needed to be cauterized; and none have ever bothered me.

Many scars run deeper, however. I have a friend who, at age 8, was bitten on the lower lip so severely by a dog that she needed reconstructive surgery. Her parents later confessed to her that for a long while they feared the she might never marry because of the injury.

Her lip eventually healed, but an emotional scar remained. Because of the attack, the dog was put down. The boys who had owned the dog, and their friends, blamed the victim and bullied her for years afterward.

And yet her pain makes me think of this wisdom from the poet Rumi: “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” It seems to me, the Light – and a rare kindness and empathy – entered my friend in extra doses where the dog bit her.

Perhaps no greater Light have I seen than in a powerful black-and-white photographic exhibit I saw of women posing topless, proudly displaying their mastectomy scars. Their strength and courage, and beauty, was undeniable.

We would all do well to try to see our scars – and wrinkles, whitening and thinning hair, and all the other marks life leaves on us – through the poet’s eyes. To see them as our Light, as our wings, as our warrior beauty marks.

*  *  *

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”

 

Smorgasbord of Thoughts

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! 

*   *   *

Smorgasbord of This, That and The Other

From the comic strip Calvin & Hobbs, panel one. Hobbs: “Do you have an idea for your story yet?” Calvin: “No, I’m waiting for inspiration.”

Panel two. Calvin: “You can’t just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.”

Panel three. Hobbs: “What is that mood?” Calvin: “Last-minute panic.”

In a deadline panic, here goes . . .

*

I came across this the other day, “10 Things That Require Zero Talent”:

1. Being on time1preparequote

2. Work ethic

3. Effort

4. Body language

5. Energy

6. Attitude

7. Passion

8. Being coachable

9. Doing extra

10. Being prepared.

It is a terrific list, although it seems to me that these are all actually “talents” in themselves.

*

“Every child is an artist,” Picasso said. “The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

While I am less artistic than an elephant wielding a paintbrush in its trunk, I have managed to hold onto my inner child. Evidence of this is how my daughter remembered her hotel room number – 5512 – on a recent vacation.

“It was easy, Dad,” she explained. “Fifty-five is your age and 12 is how old you act.”

I took it as a compliment, intended or not, since I’m 56 and actually usually act about 8.

*

Some wisdom from another artist, Venturan Rima Muna, who offers this short list titled: “What I’ve Learned From Kindergarteners (about painting):

“1. Be generous. Use a lot of paint, use it frequently and reach for your favorite colors.

“2. Fill the page.

“3. Don’t worry about perfection. An artwork can be good and bad. There is no such thing as ‘perfect.’ ”

Near-perfect advice outside the studio as well as inside it.

*

Congratulations to Andria’s Seafood Restaurant and Market at the Ventura Harbor for being named on “The Top 10 Best Fish-and-Chips in America” list by Coastal Living Magazine.

The review included: “We love the fish-and-chips, especially the halibut, which arrives as five big, moist pieces. The views show off the harbor and mountains, but the star is on the platter in front of you.”

Another star is in the bowl in front of you when you order Andria’s renowned clam chowder.

*

“The price of anything,” Henry David Thoreau said, “is the amount of life you exchange for it.”

So choose wisely and passionately and, as Coach Wooden advised, make each day your masterpiece.

*

File this under “ill-chosen words.” After 64 people were shot, and four killed, over the July 4th weekend in Chicago, police superintendent Eddie Johnson said of the city’s gun violence: “There is no magic bullet that’s going to solve the whole thing.”

*

Thoreau again: “Write while the heat is in you.”

Wise advise not limited to writing.

*

Speaking of writing and heat, Melania Trump’s speechwriting talents bring to mind a saying from my mentor and predecessor in this space, the late and great Chuck Thomas, who liked to say, “Never write a bad column when you can steal a good one.”

Of course, unlike the third Mrs. Trump and whoever helped with her speech, Chuck gave attribution to the author of the words he borrowed.

In closing, in an effort to make this column better, let me steal these heartfelt words from Chuck who was looking through the prism of being divorced:

“While a happy marriage lasts, enjoy it to the fullest. Enjoy each day, each year, each decade. In our hectic lives, it’s so easy to take this happiness for granted. We’re so busy with jobs and kids, with careers and chicken pox, so preoccupied with mortgages and car repairs, that we don’t stop to smell the most beautiful flower of all – the happiness we’re sharing with someone we love.

“Don’t wait until today’s happiness is gone to make you appreciate what you’ve lost. Enjoy life to the fullest right now because today may be as close as you’ll ever get to ‘happily ever after.’ ”

Wise advice for all of us, married or not.

*  *  *

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”

Asking, Listening, Learning

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! 

*   *   *

Trying to Walk Around in Another’s Skin

Many years ago, perhaps two decades, a wise mentor made an observation that has resonated with me ever since. He shared that he had just seen something that warmed his heart and gave him hope for a post-racial America – a white boy, about age 8, riding double on a bike with his black friend.

“It was wonderful,” he said.

After a pause came the wisdom: “But then I realized what will really be wonderful is when the day comes that I – and everyone else – simply see two boys riding double.”1blackwhiteboys

That day, it was tragically hammered home yet again and again and again in recent days, has not yet arrived.

What is arriving, hopefully, is some education. Personally, among the things I learned from this string of senseless civilian and police deaths, is how naïve I am in understanding even to a small degree how rampant racism is – in small ways as well as headline ways – in 2016 America.

In the important novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Atticus advises his young daughter, Scout: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

Heeding this wisdom, I reached out to a few of my black friends in an attempt to be less naïve about my understanding of their points of view. Inadequately, but sincerely, I wanted to climb into their skin and imagine walking – and driving – around in it.

To be honest, I was worried about seeming ignorant or having my words ring hollow. My trepidation proved ill-founded. My questions were appreciated. The silence from most of their white friends regarding these issues, it turns out, is more saddening than saying the wrong thing.

The friends I reached out to are very successful professionals, and so at first I asked: “Have you ever been pulled over by the police for no reason?”

I quickly became enlightened that the better question, even for a physician or professor who is a black male, is: “How many times have you been stopped for no reason?”

Also, the real question is not “if” but “how often” are you met with cold stares of objectification when you go for a morning jog in your own gentrified neighborhood? Or to your local Starbucks? Or to the library with your young son?

How often are you shadowed by an employee when you go into a store in the mall? How often this, that, so many things that I, as a white male, never experience.

Something else I have not experienced is worrying about my son if he is ever pulled over by a police officer. However, for a handful of years I have worried about Peter – my son’s dear college classmate who I have become so close with he calls me “Pops” – if he is ever pulled over.

Correction: every time he is pulled over, even for a broken taillight that magically works when he gets home, which I now less naively know is the reality.

“Pops, your concern and love is a gift,” Peter, a technology consultant and founder of a nonprofit organization helping at-risk youth, texted me a few days ago when I reminded him to be safe – as has become my habit after each headline police shooting of a black man.

“I am friends with a couple of great cops,” Peter, who lives in Dallas, continued. “I have had to deal with cops pulling me over since I moved to this country (from Ghana) and haven’t really had problems. Today, I am more worried about what the cops are thinking I may do and how that heightens their anxiety when they approach a man my size who could be deadly at 6-foot-4 & 250 lbs even without a gun.”

Back to those two boys riding double on a bike. Twenty years later, this is what they make me think: now grown, if they are together – on a bike, in a car, on foot – they will still be seen as different.

This is not wonderful.

*  *  *

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”

Time Machine on Two Wheels

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! 

*   *   *

Summer Time Machine on Two Wheels

Summertime is a time machine. Just as hearing an old song can transport one’s thoughts back to his or her youth, so can summertime sights (barbecues, bikinis, bursting fireworks) and smells (sunscreen, chlorine, freshly mowed grass) make the calendar pages leap backwards.

Although summer has no monopoly on it, I recently saw a time-machine sight that is far more common during summertime than the other three seasons combined: a kid learning to ride a bicycle.1bikeridekid

This milestone typically plays out on a neighborhood sidewalk, quiet cul de sac, or empty parking lot. A father, or mother, holds the bike seat from behind to provide balance – and, at first, a little propulsion – while quick-stepping alongside as the child pedals.

To describe what universally happens next, I will share a specific scene I recently watched unfold. A young girl, maybe 6 and wearing a pink bike helmet that bobbled because it was too big, was on a bike that somehow seemed too small.

The dad kept the bike upright by holding the seat with one hand while the mom watched and cheered and took video. With each attempt, the tiny bike seemed to wobble a little less; the little feet pedaled more surely; and the girl’s frown of fright turned into a growing smile of happiness and confidence.

Also with each attempt, the dad’s stride quickened slightly; his grip on the bike seat grew less vise-like; and his smile, too, widened.

There were falls, of course, but no scraped knees because the father was wiser than I had been when I was in his shoes. He was teaching his daughter on a soccer field. What a brilliant way to minimize the fear of falling than to have soft grass to tumble on.

Grass, however, is more difficult to pedal on than pavement. This hindrance was overcome by doing the rides on a very slightly downhill section – the equivalent of the Wright Brothers always heading into the wind for extra lift at Kitty Hawk.

On one of the young girl’s attempts, as magically as when Orville was airborne for the very first time, she was suddenly defying gravity on two-wheels. At first, of course, she did not know that her dad’s hand was no longer helping her stay upright. And so the dad and mom felt the magic of the moment first.

Indeed, only when the daughter noticed her dad was no longer beside her did she realize she was flying solo. Shortly thereafter, the downhill turned flat and she ran out of steam and toppled over. By then she had traveled maybe 120 feet, as Orville did on his maiden flight, but each ride thereafter went further and longer until perhaps reaching the 852 feet that Wilbur achieved on that 1903 historical day.

The time machine sight of this girl’s personal Kitty Hawk sent me back to my own 1965 historical day. My two older Woodburn Brothers combined forces to teach me. I’m not sure their motivation was kindness so much as that if I learned to ride I would then need Doug’s hand-me-down bike; Doug would inherit Jim’s; and Jim would get a new one.

They took turns running alongside holding the seat to help me balance until – like the little girl above, and like you, and like your own children – after a while everything clicked and I was soaring solo. It is remarkable how something impossible can become second nature in an instant.

My brothers cheered me on as I rode off down the street and proceeded around the block. When I came back around they were both gone – Mom had called us inside for dinner and they had not waited for me.

Unfortunately, they had neglected to teach me how to use the coaster brakes. So around the block I went a second time, and a third, and still no one came out to help me stop without falling.

Falling, of course, is how I finally stopped. I came inside with a red badge of courage on my knee from the sidewalk. Goodness, that was a masterpiece summer day.

*  *  *

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”