Or if you don’t identify with we Weebles, what about Bozo the Bop bag? As a kid, Bozo was as tall as I was—at least I out grew him, height wise. I am thinking that Bozo just might be one of the ways to cope.

I recall a trip to Waco,Texas a few years back when we were coached to stop at an exit that had shops to buy kolanches on both sides of the interstate—the store on the opposite side was supposedly the best so we followed directions. 

Then there was Jesse Frank, the principal at Lipscomb Elementary here in Brentwood where both our girls attended. Jesse sat at the front door of the old school building greeting and hugging all the students as they walked in. Jesse is remembered fondly by all who knew him.

A few months after our second daughter was born I was being courted by The Lambs Club in NYC about a job. The ministry was located just off Times Square. Paul Moore was the head man wanting me to be the administrator.

Then this conjures up one’s spirituality and belief in the watch care of God.  We’ve been taught to pray for deliverance from evil—but that is not necessarily protection from it.  Kushner said it years ago, bad things do happen to good people.  Then some would just comment about being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, “Well, it was just their time!”

It was the second morning as we settled in with our coffee on the porch of the cafeteria.  Richard asked me how it was going so far and what I did work wise.  When I told him I was a therapist, with his friar Tuck chuckle and wide grin he said, “Oh, therapist get the most out of this!”. 

You know what I've always thought?" she asks in a tone of discovery, and not smiling at me but at a point beyond. "I've always thought a body would have to be sick and dying before they saw the Lord.

Although not technically clients, after speaking at a church one evening where the service was being broadcast on the radio, two cellmates from the jail downtown called and asked me to visit. I’d never done jail/prison visitation and did not care to start but after a few days I caved and went. One man was a preacher/murderer, the other a serial rapist.

Beyond the physical beauty of Vancouver, the multicultural aspect was very attractive—with multiple ethic groups we heard multiple languages spoken. I am weary of the fear and division in our country. The tolerance, or at least what appeared that way was refreshing (I know my internal romantic never sleeps).

I even now wonder where to idea of switching to psychology came from? Did God have anything to do with it? Was is destiny? Or was it just me trying to figure out my family, my life and life in general?

I gave her a puzzling look to which she said, “I want this lane because it’s out of the sun and I am burned” which obviously she was not.  She added, “that may sound a bit silly”.  I said nothing as I went to the opposite side of the pool thinking it is 6:30 in the morning even the far side of the pool is shaded.  I was thinking that’s a really lame excuse for just wanting it your way.

She sounds like a therapist in that I was always saying we all make better talkers than listeners.  I spent way more time coaching someone to talk less and listen more.  But there's not a one of us that in the fit of the moment has not spoken out of turn. 

They decided we’d go primitive camping, which means go out in middle of the woods and weeds, beat down the grass and pitch your tent.  Rugged man also thought  rappelling was a great way to bond.  I’m not quite as freaked about heights as Graham McTavish, but I’m close

The subtitles of aging in this culture get intermingled with the reasonable desire to remain healthy.  I’d often been told I didn’t look my age, a compliment well received but influence by the agism of the culture.  I’d even thought of graying my temples in my late 20s when I became the director of the non-profit because I looked too young.  Owning, even honoring our own journeys is a challenge.

Most of us have had the occasion on a flight where after initially introducing ourselves, the seat mate pops in their ear buds or grabs a book sending a clear message, I want no more conversation, no connection.

I was in my twenties when he challenged many of us to start running—to do ‘temple conditioning’ (our body being the temple of God, cheesy but hey).  He did a number of evaluations on each of us, the body fat calculation thing and such.  I bought the shoes, the shorts and tried it—running through east Nashville and Shelby Park.

How about the carbon tetrachloride in the gallon jugs in our garage that my father brought home from work.  When I used it to clean an oil spill, I felt so great breathing those fumes—wondering now how many brain cells I fried.  It’s now banned.

I’ve been so many places across the world and met so many people through books.  I’ve experienced life centuries ago and I’ve made great friends with the authors of my books—some of which I have actually met.  It’s surprising to some that I’ve done so, contacted writers, like somehow they don’t like to idea someone loves their book.

God is rather like my maternal grandmother who multiple times told me I was the favorite of her five grandsons.  Decades later when I was talking with my cousin Stuart, he said she told him the same thing.  My hunch is the other three heard the same.  Is it that unsettling that one can have multiple favorites?  When I’m standing in front of the Blue Bell ice cream freezer at Publix trying to decide, I have multiple favorites. 

In most theories of personality there is what is described as a ‘critical parent’.  Usually one of your parents but it can be someone else closely involved in your life. They are the one who rode you constantly, often with criticism and/or sarcasm telling you what you’ve done wrong at every turn.  Rarely if ever is there a positive word or affirmation crossing their lips.