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

*   *   *

DIY is Easier Spelled Than Done

In the middle of the night the toilet wouldn’t stop running. In the midst of a drought, this was doubly troubling.

Jiggling the handle in an effort to make the flap in the tank seal tightly failed, so I removed the back porcelain lid…

… and was awakened from my 3 a.m. grogginess by a squirt gun-like stream of cold water in my face.

Simulation of the problem…

The main thingamabob – closer inspection in the light of day would reveal it to technically be called an “anti-siphon fill valve” – was busted. I turned off the water supply valve and went back to sleep.

Before proceeding, I should mention that my DNA lacks DIY. This is apparently a common affliction for those with QWERTY genes. For example, the late, great Jack Smith, a general interest columnist I grew up reading, used to boast in print that his handyman talents around the house began and ended with replacing burned-out light bulbs.

I am more handy than that, albeit barely. If my wife argues with this contention it is because she has forgotten the time I put in a new garbage disposal.

Actually, if Mrs. Woody badmouths my handyman skills it might be because she does remember the garbage disposal that took me an entire weekend to install and, factoring in the cost of getting stitches to my hand, was far more expensive than hiring a plumber.

So, understandably, days passed before I finally attempted to tackle the broken toilet. I was mustering the courage. And making sure my healthcare premiums had been paid.

Inside the L.A. Coliseum-sized big-box improvement center, I eventually wandered upon the correct aisle only to be overwhelmed by all the choices. I felt like a new jogger walking into a running specialty store for the first time.

The next day, I returned to The Coliseum Depot armed with a picture of the broken siphon on my phone. I selected a “Made In USA” brand that looked similar, thus doing my part in making sure another American manufacturing job doesn’t go down the toilet.

Successfully opening the Rubik’s Cube-difficult plastic packaging without slicing a finger open made me considered the entire project a roaring success already. Knowing that the task ahead was still fraught with peril and challenge, however, I did something completely out of character: I read the enclosed directions, all 297 steps. (Confession: there were only eight steps – but each had three parts.)

Here is a recap of my one-hour task that would have taken a plumber about four minutes, tops:

— I ripped a patch of skin off my thumb unscrewing a stubborn mounting nut that I couldn’t reach with a wrench – happily my injury required only a Band-Aid, not sutures;

— a brief waterfall flooded the bathroom floor because I overlooked Step 1. c) “Flush to drain water from tank”;

— now soaking wet, and flummoxed by the three parts of Step 7 that involved marking the water level in the bowl with a pencil, I simply guessed at the ideal setting for the refill adjuster dial;

— I set a personal record with only three new parts unexplainably left over upon completion;

— the yoga-like contortions required in the tight quarters resulted in a tweaked back, meaning a visit to the chiropractor will negate my DIY savings from not hiring a plumber.

Still, all in all, the repair was well worth doing myself because hiring a plumber for a fix-it this easy would have been about as embarrassing as bringing in an electrician to change a light bulb. Even Jack Smith wouldn’t have done that.

Just don’t tell Mrs. Woody it wasn’t Juno rocket science. She bragged to her mom about my newfound DIY prowess and is now calling me “Bob Vila.”

She’s just pulling my chain, of course. I recently happened upon a fascinating TV show called “Barnwood Builders” and my smart-aleck much-better-half said to me, “Isn’t it a bit ironic for you to be watching the DIY Network?”

Ouch. My next middle-of-the-night project may be to leave the toilet seat up.

*  *  *

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

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

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

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

*   *   *

This, That and a Horserace

“This is delicious,” I told my daughter. “Where did you get the recipe?”

“It’s my own,” she answered. “I basically clean out the refrigerator. I call it ‘Kitchen Sink Soup” because I put everything in it but the kitchen sink.”

Today, I serve you a “Kitchen Sink Column” of notes, quotes and other stuff . . .

*

A shoutout of admiration to Brian FitzGerald, the longtime track-and-field coach and athletic director – and English teacher – who announced his retirement after 36 years at Rio Mesa High School.

Like many of the best coaches, FitzGerald always considered himself first and foremost a teacher – his “classroom” just happened to be a running track.

Because the lessons he taught his athletes, which included my own son in youth cross country, were about life even more than running, FitzGerald’s retirement made me think of the scene in “Dead Poets Society” when the prep-student played by Ethan Hawke stands atop his desk and salutes his departing teacher, played by Robin Williams, by quoting the title of a Walt Whitman poem: “O Captain! My Captain!” One by one, fellow students do the same.

FitzGerald’s students and athletes might change this heartfelt salute to, “O Coach! My Teacher!”

*

“You can’t lead people unless you love people, and you can’t save people unless you serve people.” – Tavis Smiley, in his commencement speech to DePauw University’s Class of 2016.

*

Add Smiley: “Today is not refundable. Make the most of it!”

*

I love the wisdom in this text conversation that my friend Pattie Braga shared, calling it: “Lessons from my daughter posted at 1 a.m. (4 a.m., my time).”

“Mom, I really need a milkshake”

“What?!? It’s too late to be eating. And pull up your shirt” (responding to an attached photo of her daughter with a milkshake).

“It’s never too late for a milkshake”

(Smiley face emoji) “Good night sweetie”

“Goodnight Mommy”

Lesson II: It’s also never too late to text your mom.

*

“Insanity,” Albert Einstein said, “is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Insanity is also doing nothing – about gun reform – over and over again and expecting different results.

*

Add guns. Here’s a wild thought: Since women were denied the right to vote until the 19th Amendment was added in 1920, and since men have a near monopoly as perpetrators of shooting crimes, how about revising the Constitution to allow only women the right to bear arms for the next 144 years?

*

Donald Trump using a teleprompter looks like he’s watching a tennis match in slow motion. Just saying.

*

Stunning and sad statistic: Fewer than half of U.S. children under age 5 are read to daily.

This summertime, let’s do better!

*

A few weeks past, I asked you readers to help choose a name for the thoroughbred racehorse that I have been given the opportunity to christen in my honor.

The ballots stampeded in, more than 100 in fact, and out of the gate it was neck and neck and neck between Streakin’ Woody, Runs On Guinness, and Masterpiece Day.

A few write-in votes were also cast, including: Horsey McHorseface from Amy Bruder; Be Quick from Paul Olmsted in reference to John Wooden’s maxim, “Be quick, but don’t hurry”; Streakin’ Day from Ginger White; Streakin’ Woody Runs On Guinness Creating A Masterpiece Day from Kym King; and Woody’s Masterpiece Guinness Streak from Diane Underhill.

As the count continued, Runs On Guinness ran out of steam and Masterpiece Day and Streakin’ Woody streaked to the front. They traded the lead a few times and here is the announcer’s call coming down the homestretch:

“Streakin’ Woody and Masterpiece Day. Masterpiece Day by a length, now two, now three. Masterpiece Day pulling away. Streakin’ Woody is falling off. Masterpiece Day by six lengths, now seven. It’s a masterful run and Masterpiece Day wins it!”

Masterpiece Day must now be officially approved by a governing board. I’m also still waiting to meet “my” horse. Stay tuned.

And have a masterpiece weekend.

*  *  *

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

Check 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”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

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

*   *   *

Birthday Gift is Unbridled Success

Weddings, it strikes me, are a lot like locusts – more accurately called 17-year periodical cicadas.

Except this genus is the 30-year periodic wave of matrimonial invitations.

The first wave for my wife and I struck after college when many of our friends tied the knot and now the second wave is rolling in as the adult children of these couples are exchanging vows – usually beautiful, heartfelt, poetic vows they write themselves, the young showoffs.

Anyway, the RSVP of a recent wedding invitation requested an interesting fact about each of us. For my much-better-half this was difficult because there are so many from which to choose – such as putting up for three decades with a knucklehead husband who suggested her fun fact should be that she is lousy at picking out birthday gifts for her husband.

Admittedly, this was a stupid thing for me to suggest. But, in my lame defense, it is true.

What is also true is that it is my own fault because a not-so-fun fact about me is that I am impossible to shop for. I refuse to make a list of gifts I would like nor do I drop subtle hints. Worse, I have been known to buy something for myself just days before my birthday – more than a few times causing my miffed wife to return what she bought me before I even open it.

Even when she is on the mark, I generally exchange it for a slightly different model, different color, different size.

“I love it! Thank you,” I will say, adding: “Did you keep the receipt?”

“Of course I did,” she replies, rolling her eyes but showing great restraint in not adding, “you ungrateful blockhead!”

Adding to the friction is that the interesting fact about me I suggested putting on the wedding RSVP is that one of my superpowers is giving great presents. I think outside the gift box; I listen for hints given so softly you need a stethoscope to hear them; and if all fails, I buy what they ask for.

Last weekend I celebrated my birthday – somewhere between how old I act (about 8) and how old my musical tastes, such as the Beetles’ song “When I’m Sixty-Four,” suggest I am. Usually my wife is stressed out for all of May because she has no clue what to give me besides a stink eye.

I don’t help matters by teasingly asking if I am going to like what she’s getting me. This year she was giddy with confidence.

“You are going to love it!” she said. “I tore up the receipt! And don’t bother guessing because you won’t come close.”

“Mom really came through,” both kids assured me. “You’re going to love it!”

They have all said this before and been wrong. This year they were wrong only in understatement. The long shot made it to the winner’s circle. My wife gave me a gift so thoughtful, terrific and outrageously unique that it makes my gift-giving superpowers seem like they have encountered Kryptonite.

My wife thought outside the box – and inside the barn. She got me a thoroughbred racehorse.

Actually, better than that. She got me the opportunity to name a racehorse in my honor. This is superior because I get a thoroughbred I can thoroughly call my own without having to pay for hay, housing and vet bills.

This is a big responsibility that I want to share with you dear readers. So I’m asking you to vote for one of three names. My win, place and show finalists are, in alphabetical order:

Masterpiece Day – paying homage to my favorite John Wooden maxim, “Make each day your masterpiece.”

Runs on Guinness – anyone who knows me knows I am a fan of “the good stuff.”

Streakin’ Woody – this is a nod to my running streak of 4,717 consecutive days as of today.

Please email your vote (or a write-in name) to me at woodywriter@gmail.com

After the ballots are counted, I think I will change my RSVP interesting fact to: “Named a thoroughbred racehorse (Fill-In-The-Winning-Name).

*  *  *

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

Check 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”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

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

*   *   *

Catching Good News by the Tail

Sometimes after you finish reading the newspaper you want to wash your hands – not just of newsprint, but of humanity.

One is reminded of former Supreme Court Chief Justice Earl Warren’s comment, “I always turn to the sports pages first, which records people’s accomplishments. The front page has nothing but man’s failures.”

Now, even the sports pages are filled with cheats and liars and scoundrels.

As an antidote, here are a few stories to lift the spirits.

*

“Van Gogh would’ve sold more than one painting,” noted Bill Watterson, creator of the classic comic strip Calvin and Hobbs that features a six-year-old boy and his stuffed toy tiger who is real in Calvin’s imagination, “if he’d put tigers in them.”

In recent years it has seemed the only tigers left will soon be those in paintings.

In 2010, the world’s population of tigers in the wild was officially estimated at 3,200 – and declining. Indeed, Cambodia this year declared its tiger population had gone extinct. Meanwhile, new figures put Vietnam’s tiger count at five and China’s at seven.

Now the good news. According to “Scientific American,” despite the impact of poachers, deforestation and development, wild tigers are beginning to claw their way back in numerous countries. The top three are Indonesia with 371 tigers, Russia has 433, and India has 2,226.

Overall, the latest estimate of wild tigers is now 3,890.

Better news to make Calvin and Hobbs both smile: This marks the first time in more than a century the wild tiger population worldwide has increased.

*

Speaking of Tigers, I saw an old Calvin and Hobbs comic strip posted on Facebook the other day that made me smile:

Panel one. Calvin tells his striped friend, as they look outside through a window: “In the short term, it would make me happy to go play outside.”

Panel two. Seated at a table with a pile of homework in front of him, Calvin continues: “In the long term, it would make me happier to do well at school and become successful.”

Panel three. Whizzing down a steep hill on a sled, with Hobbs holding on from behind, Calvin concludes: “But in the very long term, I know which will make better memories.”

*

In the novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” hero Atticus Finch tells his daughter, Scout: “You never really know a man till you walk a mile in his shoes.”

Outside a Waffle House in Indianapolis recently, a hero wearing a police uniform saw a man walking in shoes that were literally falling apart.

The homeless man was basically shoeless because size-17s are nearly impossible to find at a Goodwill shop.

The police officer, who has insisted on remaining anonymous, made it his mission to help. After air balls at Wal-Mart and sporting goods stores, he took a full-court heave and contacted the Indiana Pacers. It turns out NBA center Roy Hibbert wears size-17s.

Unfortunately, Hibbert left the Pacers for the Lakers. Fortunately, a pair of his shoes were found left behind.

According to a story in the Indy Star, the homeless man cried when he put on the white-yellow-and-blue high-tops; the officers cried; and the Waffle House employees cried.

I bet Atticus would have been happily teary-eyed, too.

*

One more story of giving. Sofia Andrade, a single mom in Massachusetts, recently won $200 on a lottery ticket. Later that day, as temperatures dropped below zero, she encountered a homeless man and bought him coffee and a meal – and, with her scratch-off winnings, three nights in a warm motel.

She also started a GoFundMe page that within 24 hours raised $5,000 for rent for Glenn Williams. Additional benefactors donated warm-weather clothing, food, and a barber gave him a free haircut.

“There’s a lot of good people in this world,” Williams told Boston’s ABC-TV affiliate WCVB. “I’m overwhelmed with all the help.”

*

Calvin and Hobbs again, this time the stuffed tiger tells the boy: “You know, there are times when it’s a sense of personal pride to not be human.”

Other times, our pride is restored.

*  *  *

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

Check 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”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

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

*   *   *

He is a roll model and inspiration

(This is Part 2 of a column that began last Saturday)

*

“Can I do this?” Alvin Matthews thought to himself, worry pumping through his veins, at the starting line of the 2016 Los Angeles Marathon.

A veteran of 20 previous marathons, including frigid treks at Antarctica and the North Pole, these were not normal pre-race jitters for the 44-year-old Ventura native.

Alvin Matthews at the 2016 L.A. Marathon

The reason for Alvin’s apprehension was because this was his first post-accident marathon. Two years ago, he fell three stories and suffered a “catastrophic” spinal cord injury that left him in a wheelchair with limited use of his arms and hands.

Reaching the L.A. Marathon starting line on Feb. 14 required a Herculean effort by Alvin. It also required a village of doctors and rehabilitation therapists, family members and friends, and Team NutriBullet members who bought him an $8,000 state-of-the-art three-wheeled recumbent handcycle.

Two more vital benefactors were Mike Pedersen, a 3:30 marathoner and member of the Ventura Running Tribe club, and Orange County tri-athlete Brain Dao. They volunteered to escort Alvin – and provide energy drinks and gels; apply moleskin on hand blisters; and much more – along the marathon course.

On the way to the staging area, Alvin rolled through a human “Tunnel of Love” comprised of nearly 100 well-wishers. “The outpouring of emotions was overwhelming,” Mike recalls. It proved a mere sprinkle compared to the emotional deluge in the 26.2 miles ahead.

At 6:32 a.m., the starting horn blared for the wheelchair and handcycle racers.

At Mile 4, on a steep uphill leading to the Walt Disney Concert Hall, the chain slipped off Alvin’s handcycle. As Mike and Brian fixed it, the able-bodied runners who had started 15 minutes behind now caught up.

For the remainder of the marathon, Alvin would be in heavy traffic – and wonderfully so. Instead of a hindrance, it was a blessing. Instead of glares for having to weave around Alvin, the runners offered cheers.

“Nobody ever got upset,” shares Mike. “People would all say, ‘You got this!’ ‘Good job, brother!’ ‘Way to go, man!’ I’m not talking tens of times, even hundreds of times, but easily a thousand voices of encouragement throughout the morning.”

Indeed, the sometimes-mean city streets became a “Tunnel of Love” comprised of runners and spectators, police officers and firemen, race officials and volunteers.

So appreciative was Alvin that he kept giving high-fives as thanks, even though this cost him momentum and required difficult effort to get his hands slipped back into the chest-high “pedals” each time.

“The support from everyone was amazing,” Alvin says, adding twice more for emphasis: “Amazing, amazing!

“Before race I was worried, ‘Can I do this?’ and didn’t want to let myself down. But as the race went on, I knew I couldn’t let down all these people who were supporting me.”

While the cheers warmed his heart, Alvin’s body temperature was at constant risk of overheating because paralysis has robbed his ability to sweat. Out of necessity, Mike and Brian doused him with water every mile until Mile 23 when a steady downhill to the finish line allowed the competitor in bib No. 307 to pull away from his two-man entourage.

Magically, wonderfully, unexpectedly, Alvin soon gained two new escorts when Chris Pryor and Roge Mueller sneaked onto the course pedaling beach cruisers. Together, the three boyhood friends rolled the final two miles and through the finish chute as the race clock read 5 hours, 34 minutes.

In a photo with the finisher’s medal proudly draped around his neck, a neck once shattered and the reason he is laying supine in a racing handcycle, Alvin’s smile is beatific. It is the joyous smile of a boy in a Matterhorn sled at Disneyland for the first time. A smile of triumph, not tragedy.

“My accident has brought me closer to my mom and my brother,” Alvin shares. “It has given me new friends. There is so much bad stuff in the world, but I’ve found there is also so much good. So many people have come out of the woodwork to help me, even strangers and anonymous angels.

“They have all helped me realize I still have a great life.”

*  *  *

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

Check 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”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

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

*   *   *

“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.

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.

*  *  *

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

Check 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”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

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

*   *   *

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.

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.”

*  *  *

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

Check 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”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

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

*   *   *

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.

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.

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

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