tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41907835816292759562024-03-19T04:13:28.385-04:00The Modern VitruvianAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-17114837248685802262017-03-20T12:21:00.000-04:002017-03-20T12:21:57.423-04:00Pride of Lonership
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">“I’m</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> in the
grocery story now, Henry. Need anything while I’m here? . . . It isn’t any
trouble. I wouldn’t have offered, </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">otherwise. .</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
.You worry too much, old man. I’ll drop it off on my way home.” Dylan regretted
his choice of words immediately because it gave Henry the opportunity to remind
him that it wasn’t exactly on the way home.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“You’re right, Henry. You’re
almost a quarter mile off my direct route home – that’s half a mile round trip.
Not to mention that I’m going out of pocket to the tune of four dollars for
nearly five minutes before you </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">insist</span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
on reimbursing me for the milk. Oh, don’t forget the arduous journey I’m going
to have to make from the car to your door with it. Sometimes I think the price
of this friendship is too high. Maybe I need to get a different friend.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan listened to Henry chuckle on
the other end of the line. He was happy that his sarcasm was never lost on
Henry. “Hey, I gotta run.. I see Brother Whitman’s wife. Sarah, right? . . . We
suspended him last month. Maybe I can find out what’s going on. Have a Sherpa
ready for when I get there. Milk is </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">heavy</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">,
you know. . . Later.” He dismissed the call and slid his iPhone into his
jacket.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Sarah turned left at the end of
the aisle, so Dylan spun his cart around and made two quick rights so he could accidentally-on-purpose
bump into her in the next aisle. She seemed a little out of sorts as he
approached. Her hair was </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">disheveled</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> and
her hoodie was stained, probably having been dribbled on by one of the twins currently
sleeping peacefully in the front of her cart. Her face was pallid, and the
circles under her eyes seemed a little darker than he had remembered. </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She was gently adding baby food and diapers to
the cart, being careful not to wake the kids, as he called her name in a loud
whisper.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Oh, Dylan. H-h-</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">hey</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">,” she stammered, reddening slightly. She
fidgeted with the diapers, pushing them around the cart, paying a little too
much attention to where each bag lay. Dylan saw immediately that it was all an
effort to try and cover up the </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Last
Chance</span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> stickers on the meat and the </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Day-Old</span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
labels on many of the other goods that filled her cart. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“The kids are adorable. They’re
growing so fast,” he said quickly, hoping to alleviate some of the awkwardness
that his presence was </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">apparently</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> causing.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Yeah, it’s hard to believe
they’re already eight months old,” she said forcing </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">a feeble</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> smile.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Listen, I have been trying to get
in touch with Carl. He never paid his Lodge </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">dues,</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
and they suspended him last month. I know how much he loves Lodge. I can swing
by and get a check sometime. You know, save him the trip to Lodge.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She began twirling the string of
her hoodie around her finger. “</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> must
have just forgotten,” she said, avoiding </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan’s</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
eyes. “Don’t come over though. I mean, he’s been busy. He’s working like crazy
these days. I’ll let him know you asked, though.” The more she talked, the
tighter she twirled the drawstring, to the point that the end of her finger was
turning blue.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan stood silently for a beat. Carl was anything but forgetful.
Something was off, he was sure of that much. “That looks a little tight,” he
said, pointing at her finger.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Oops. Bad habit,” </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">she</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> replied.
Adding, “Well, I better get out of here before these two wake up and start
crying. I’ll tell Carl to call you.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“He better,” Dylan said as they both got on their way.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan finished his shopping and headed toward the check-out lines. The
cashier was nearly through with Sara’s order when Dylan began placing his items
on the belt a few lanes to her right. The layout was such that she had her back
to him and was unaware that he was nearby. He watched the twins shift slightly
and hoped for her sake that they could stay asleep for just a few more minutes.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Your card was declined,” he heard her cashier say, louder than necessary.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Can you try again,” she pleaded </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">sotto
voce</span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">. </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> could tell from her motions
that she was strangling her index finger again.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A few seconds later, the cashier confirmed that it was still declined.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Can I just give you cash for the baby food and diapers?” she asked
weakly. She rummaged in her purse and came out with a few crumpled bills and
coins which she thrust hurriedly to the cashier. She pushed the cart toward the
door, trying a little too hard to be slow and deliberate. She was nearly
running as the automatic doors parted and allowed her to escape to the parking
lot.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan was trying to make sense of it. Sure, twins must be expensive, but
Carl is a good salesman, and Sarah just said he was working a lot. They had a
modest house, two older cars, and nothing in their life screamed extravagance,
so </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">he</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> doubted they were over-extended. He
made a decision.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Excuse me,” he said to the cashier, “can you finish </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">ringing</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> this up and hold it to the side for a
few minutes? I have a couple of things I forgot. I’ll be right back.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He made his way over to Sarah’s cashier. She was unbagging all the
groceries that Sarah had left behind. “Can I get that cart from you?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“This? It’s all the stuff some lady just left behind. Didn’t have the
money for it. It’s mostly </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">death row</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan shot her a puzzled look.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“That’s what we call all the last chance stuff. If someone doesn’t buy
it, it’s off to the dumpster.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Clever. I’ll put it all back for you. You know, give it a pardon. I
don’t mind.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Suit yourself,” she said, pushing the cart toward him. “Dead ham
walking,” she deadpanned as he spun the cart around.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan made his second full circuit of the store that hour, swapping each
clearance item with </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">a fresh</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> replacement.
When he was finished swapping all the old for </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">new
– as </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">well as adding a few extras – he went back to where he and Sarah
had just talked and loaded the cart with diapers, formula, and baby wipes.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“A couple of things?” the cashier smirked when he returned. “It looks
like you forgot more than you remembered in the first order.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Something like that,” he smiled.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Not wanting to let the first warm day of the year go to waste, Henry was
busy clearing the winter debris from his tulip beds when Dylan pulled up. They
stood there in the crisp spring air as Dylan recounted what had just happened.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Beats me,” Henry said when the story was finished. “It always seemed
like he had his act together. Are you stopping over there now?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Yeah. I want to drop these groceries before Carl gets home. I know he’ll
give me grief. Actually, I’m hoping I can just put them on the porch and get
out unnoticed.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“You’re probably right. Most people would rather suffer silently and
alone rather than admit they could use </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">help</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">.
You know what I call that?” he asked. “</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Pride
of </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Lonership</span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">.” He waited a beat
before repeating it, beaming at his clever turn of phrase.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Nice one, I may use that,” Dylan responded.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Feel free. You’re one of a kind, you know that?” Henry said. “They say
your generation is self-absorbed. I sure don’t see it in you.” He began fishing
in his pocket for his wallet.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I had some pretty good role models, including the guy who is about to
try – unsuccessfully, I might add – to hand me twenty dollars for the four dollars’
worth of milk I just brought him.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry flushed a little as he put his hand back in his pocket. “I am </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">certain</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> that I have no idea what you’re talking
about. Now get out of here Mr. Know-it-all.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Fine. Love to Eva,” he said as he got back in his car.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Both of the Whitmans’ cars were in the driveway when Dylan pulled in. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Great, </span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">he thought, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">so much for anonymity.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It took him four trips to transfer all the groceries to the porch. He had
arranged them in a long sweeping arc, being careful to allow enough room for
the storm door to swing open. Before he could knock, Carl opened the door
wearing a baseball cap with the square and compasses on it. He was thin. Too
thin. His sunken cheeks and </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">ashen</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
complexion made him appear utterly defeated. He didn’t notice the bags of food
and baby supplies at Dylan’s feet.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I guess I shouldn’t be wearing this, huh?” he said, referring to the
baseball cap which he </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">snugged</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> down a
little tighter. Dylan could barely see his eyes. “Sarah told me she ran into
you. You may as well come in. I probably owe you an explanation.” He opened the
door and noticed the bounty laid out on the porch.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Yeah, there were a few things
that Sarah forgot. I figured I’d bring them by,” Dylan said with a laugh
intended to lighten the situation.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I don’t know what to say.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I don’t need you to </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">say</span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> anything. I need you to help me bring
this all in. It took me four trips,” Dylan answered.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Sarah appeared behind her husband.
“Dylan, you didn’t need to do this.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I know, but I lost the receipt so
you may as well take it,” he quipped.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Listen,” she said, looking at the
ground. “I . . . should have told you the truth today.” She started twisting
the drawstring of the hoodie around her finger again. “I just figured it was
Carl’s story to tell, not mine.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“No worries,” Dylan replied. “At all.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“How about if we get this stuff
into the kitchen, then you and Carl can come back out and talk. I can go play
with the kiddos and give you some privacy.” She picked up several bags and headed
to the kitchen.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Carl led Dylan back out to the
front porch and gestured him into one of the rocking chairs. He swallowed hard
and cleared his throat before beginning. “I, um . . .” He cleared his throat
again. “I lost my job. They decided they don’t need salesmen anymore. They’re
transitioning to internet sales.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“That stinks. I’m sure something
will come along quickly,” Dylan reassured him.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I thought that too – six months
ago.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Six months?! You haven’t worked
in six months? And you have eight-month-old twins? Why didn’t you say
something?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“What was I supposed to say?”
asked Carl. His chin was quivering. He drew a deep breath trying to compose
himself. “What? That I couldn’t provide for my family? That I was a terrible father
and husband?” Tears began to pool in the corners of his </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">eyes,</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> and he pulled his hat even lower. “I can’t do that.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Carl,” Dylan said. “We’ve known
each other since we were kids. We played volleyball together. We joined the
Masons together. You didn’t need to say any of those things. They aren’t true.
You just needed to say ‘help.’ Say that, and your friends and brothers would
have done whatever it took to get you through.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Former Brothers,” Carl corrected
him as he wiped a tear from his cheek.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Let me handle that. You’ll be
back in at Monday’s meeting.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I can’t take charity from the Lodge.
I’ll figure it out.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“There’s nothing to figure out.
And it’s not charity,” he said. Do you remember when we built the wheelchair
ramp for Brother Bowers? Or put the roof on Brother Frank’s widow’s house?”</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Of course. What’s your point?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczx7WIhqk9X5_amrmPRvqq3Nqz_OgYMU-qcLG0IVSe_a76r1xtJD6dlz7vO8olxNONo_RqxFpWF5KmXuA6DjWaA70nQeSbdQ2ldNAqA9X3WAzA5RT7A2oW_GiM9Cys5nP9ZpH2TGmhIM/s1600/hand-1925875_960_720.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczx7WIhqk9X5_amrmPRvqq3Nqz_OgYMU-qcLG0IVSe_a76r1xtJD6dlz7vO8olxNONo_RqxFpWF5KmXuA6DjWaA70nQeSbdQ2ldNAqA9X3WAzA5RT7A2oW_GiM9Cys5nP9ZpH2TGmhIM/s400/hand-1925875_960_720.png" width="400" /></a><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“We – you and I, and every other
Mason who has passed </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczx7WIhqk9X5_amrmPRvqq3Nqz_OgYMU-qcLG0IVSe_a76r1xtJD6dlz7vO8olxNONo_RqxFpWF5KmXuA6DjWaA70nQeSbdQ2ldNAqA9X3WAzA5RT7A2oW_GiM9Cys5nP9ZpH2TGmhIM/s1600/hand-1925875_960_720.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczx7WIhqk9X5_amrmPRvqq3Nqz_OgYMU-qcLG0IVSe_a76r1xtJD6dlz7vO8olxNONo_RqxFpWF5KmXuA6DjWaA70nQeSbdQ2ldNAqA9X3WAzA5RT7A2oW_GiM9Cys5nP9ZpH2TGmhIM/s1600/hand-1925875_960_720.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">through the Lodge – promised to help each other when
necessary. That’s what those projects were. But we can’t help if we don’t know
who needs it. There’s no dishonor in losing your job. It doesn’t make you less of
a man. It shouldn’t bring you shame. And you shouldn’t go it alone – a wise
friend called that </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Pride of </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Lonership</span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">. The Lodge always has its hand
extended to lift you when you fall. It’s up to </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">you</span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> to reach out and take it.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Sounds like something <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczx7WIhqk9X5_amrmPRvqq3Nqz_OgYMU-qcLG0IVSe_a76r1xtJD6dlz7vO8olxNONo_RqxFpWF5KmXuA6DjWaA70nQeSbdQ2ldNAqA9X3WAzA5RT7A2oW_GiM9Cys5nP9ZpH2TGmhIM/s1600/hand-1925875_960_720.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczx7WIhqk9X5_amrmPRvqq3Nqz_OgYMU-qcLG0IVSe_a76r1xtJD6dlz7vO8olxNONo_RqxFpWF5KmXuA6DjWaA70nQeSbdQ2ldNAqA9X3WAzA5RT7A2oW_GiM9Cys5nP9ZpH2TGmhIM/s1600/hand-1925875_960_720.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Henry would
say. Maybe he’s right. I probably am too proud. Stubborn even. I’ve hardly been
able to look at Sarah.” He started sobbing. “I wanted her to be proud of me,
you know. It’s my job to take care of </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">her,</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
and I’ve failed. I’ve been doing odd jobs – shoveling driveways, handyman work
– all winter long just to make a couple of bucks. What kind of husband am I?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Look at me,” Dylan ordered.
“You’re the best kind of </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">husband</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">, and the
best kind of </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">father</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> because you’re doing
everything you can. Sarah isn’t ashamed of you, </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">she
knows</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> this is temporary. She loves you. That’s why she protected you
earlier today.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“You’re too good to me, Dyl,” Carl
said. He blew out a long breath. “I . . . I need help – short-term help. What
do I do?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“You just did it. You asked,” </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">he</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> replied. “Make sure you have a shirt pressed
on Monday morning. I know I can get you something in my department. We’re
expanding and haven’t even advertised yet.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“How? I thought it was hard to get
in there.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“It can be. But I have lunch with
the CEO a couple of days a month. Just the two of us.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Seriously? How’d that happen?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Long story. The short version is
that I accidentally sat at </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">his</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> table on
my first day because I was nervous and he had the only friendly face in the
room. Now we eat together when it works out. Weird, huh?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“A little. I don’t know what to
say, Dylan.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Just say you’ll be ready to start
on Monday when I call you. And promise me that you’ll be back to Lodge Monday
night. Your brothers miss you.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Carl took off his hat and ran his
hands through his hair. He sat up straight, met Dylan’s eyes. “Thank </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">you. .</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> .</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Brother,</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">”
was all he could manage through the tears.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Not necessary,” he replied as he
rose to go. “Listen, there’s one more thing you can do for me,” he added.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Anything.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“One of those grocery bags has a
couple of juicy ribeyes and a bottle of wine in it. Grill those up for you and
Sarah tonight. Tell her you love her and that it’s going to be okay.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Carl engulfed him in a long, tight
hug before walking Dylan to his car.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“They say that pride comes before
the fall,” Carl said. “Mine came after the fall. I was too proud to get help. I
am an idiot.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">No,</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
you’re not. You’re human. Now go start the grill,” Dylan said before he drove
off.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Carl stood and watched as Dylan’s
car made its way back to the road. Sarah came out and took him by the hand.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Is everything okay?” she asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“It will be,” he said, taking her
in his arms. “It definitely will be.”</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-64351967776944124202016-12-02T22:36:00.000-05:002016-12-02T22:36:44.419-05:00The Election
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Dylan was speechless. He sat in the station of the Senior Warden,
unsure of whether he should scream, laugh, or try to wake himself from this
terrible dream. He glanced to his right and caught Henry’s eye. He seemed
shocked, too.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Fine</span></i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">, he thought. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">If the
Lodge wants to elect the Junior Warden ahead of me, they can have him. He sure
isn’t getting my help.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry could see the
disappointment on Dylan’s face. The tellers were still tidying up from the
ballot, so he took advantage of the distraction and approached Dylan.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Smile. Be gracious
and accept the Senior Warden’s chair again when the election continues,” he
whispered.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Are you kidding me?
I’m done. They can have him,” Dylan hissed back.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Trust me. Stay
where you are. The Lodge needs you, just not right now. Chin up. Be classy, and
we’ll talk after the meeting,” he concluded with a pat on the shoulder before
he returned to his chair.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">After the meeting,
Henry took a seat in the corner of the fellowship hall at what he considered a
safe distance from the rest of the brethren. When Dylan entered, Henry held two
cups of coffee in the air as a signal to join him, which Dylan did.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“If he thinks for
one second that I’m helping him, he’s lost his mind,” Dylan spat. “In fact, I’m
going to do everything I can to make it miserable for him. Did you hear him? A
Mardi Gras party? Yeah, right. Oh, and a night at the theater? Gimme a break.
He’s going to bankrupt the Lodge. And for what? No one is going to come.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry said nothing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Oh, I have so many
ideas,” he said, imitating the Worshipful Master elect. “I’m going to do this,
that, and the other. Ha!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry said nothing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“He wants to invite
the families of all the Past Masters. Are you kidding me? How are we paying for
that?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry said nothing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Yeah, and more
money to grow the charity fund. Dream on.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Remind you of
anyone?” Henry asked with his eyebrow raised.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“What? Who? Not me.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Yes, you. Let me
remind you how we met. You were that kid who wanted to change strawberry
night.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Yeah, but. . .”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Don’t interrupt me.
You wanted surf and turf,” Henry continued. “And what did I say?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“You objected.
Strenuously. You insisted that it was strawberry night. But that’s not the
same. I’m . . .”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Quiet. I haven’t
finished. You’re so quick to talk. I wish you were quicker to listen,” Henry
joked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He was used to
Henry’s snark - loved it, actually. Dylan rolled his eyes, but didn’t open his
mouth.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“You wanted surf and
turf. I grumbled, but I gave in. Do you know why? Don’t answer, that was rhetorical,”
he added quickly, smiling. “Because you were eager and I could see you believed
in it. Not only that, but we never know what will work until we try it. Your
surf and turf idea was one of the best. Eva still talks about that night, and
if I had been a stubborn fool and tried to undermine you, it never would have
happened. Understand?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan was silent.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“That was a real
question. You can talk now,” Henry said, taking another sip of his coffee.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I don’t think they
are quite the same, but I see your point,” Dylan admitted. “The bigger problem
for me is that I deserved to be Worshipful Master. It was my turn.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“There’s no such
thing as your turn, at least not in the sense of it being your God-given
right,” Henry said. “It’s your turn when you have the most votes, or no one
opposes you. I voted for you. I’m disappointed that you didn’t win. If I’m
honest though, I think you’re only going to get better the longer you’re
involved. Maybe this extra year as Senior Warden will make you an even stronger
Master.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Still, I did a lot
of work,” Dylan said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“You did. And none
of it will go to waste. Your plans will keep. They will get better if you pay
close attention to the things that work and the things that don’t this coming
year. Learn from his mistakes, but also learn from his successes. You want to
know my philosophy?” Henry asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Isn’t that what
you’ve been yammering at me for the last ten minutes?” Dylan quipped back with
a grin.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“No matter what your
current or past rank, your biggest achievement, or your strongest opinion
regarding the Fraternity, you owe your complete loyalty to those in charge.
Whether it’s the Master, District Deputy, the Grand Master, or the
Commander-in-Chief, your duty as a Mason is to help make his vision a success.
You don’t have to like everything, you don’t have to understand everything, but
it’s your responsibility to carry it out to the best of your ability.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Cathedrals had one
set of plans,” he continued. Dylan could see that Henry was on his soapbox and
knew better than to interrupt. He also sensed he was learning something
profound. “One set. Not a set for the laborers to gripe about, another for the
quarrymen to debate, and yet another for the artificers to question. Chartres
would look more like something from an Escher print if that were the case. One
set of plans - drawn by the Master and followed by all. That’s how Masons
should work.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan was
speechless. He knew Henry was right. He just stared at Henry and the fire in
his eyes.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“That’s it,” Henry
said. “Here endeth the sermon.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I never thought of
it that way. And your one hundred percent right. I’ll be right back,” Dylan
said. “I’m going to go offer to head up the Mardi Gras committee.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry simply smiled.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-33637565814727357212016-08-29T12:58:00.000-04:002016-08-29T15:14:23.037-04:00Citius, Altius, Fortius<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The 2016 Olympics have just concluded.
Stories of triumph, of overcoming great adversity, of facing down seemingly
insurmountable odds are still fresh in your memory. So too, unfortunately, are be the stories of tragedy, of near misses, of heartbreak, and of greatness not
achieved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzqIQIpyzCcmipDRPaWnhP9qMAZ8vnmT44AcetEsCuhguwAljcDFkKmHVfrKLyCZNrB4NdSO-q9CcFaOIoueRRSSOswKiUkNBPURClNrQQdIUtaIBSexyfl0qHWJdzIMNE02Yr1r4Hhc/s1600/OlympicSquareandCompass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzqIQIpyzCcmipDRPaWnhP9qMAZ8vnmT44AcetEsCuhguwAljcDFkKmHVfrKLyCZNrB4NdSO-q9CcFaOIoueRRSSOswKiUkNBPURClNrQQdIUtaIBSexyfl0qHWJdzIMNE02Yr1r4Hhc/s400/OlympicSquareandCompass.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As I watched the opening ceremonies and the first few days
of competition, I began to wonder what our Fraternity would be like if we took
it as seriously as Olympians take their respective sports.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For starters, the title of this piece – <i>Citius, Altius, Fortius</i> – is the Olympic motto. Translated from the
Latin, it means Faster, Higher, Stronger. While that doesn’t specifically apply
to us, we could steal from their superlative script and go with something that
applies more directly. I’m too close to my deadline to translate it into Latin,
but I would suggest something in the way of Wiser, Stronger, More Beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You’re probably asking yourself, <i>Aren’t those just the three pillars of Freemasonry that he stole?</i>
If you did indeed just ask yourself that question, first, stop talking to
yourself before people start wondering if you’re all there. Secondly, good
catch. Those are the three pillars, but I didn’t steal them. They’re Masonic
and this is a Masonic essay. There was no real need to come up with something
catchy, shiny, and new when a perfectly good thing was right there for me to
use. And in the final analysis, is there really anything that is truly new?
Despite all of our protestations that “we’ve never done it like that before,”
you can be nearly certain that somewhere, someone has done it <i>precisely</i> that way before. But I
digress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Back to our potential motto. To stand out among peers, an
athlete must constantly strive to improve – trimming seconds, adding feet,
improving dexterity. They would constantly reach for faster, higher, and
stronger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If Masons were Olympians, we would not just seek to get
through all the degrees. We would push ourselves until we could do them to near
perfection. We wouldn’t be content with just the words in the Degrees either.
We would be compelled to look deeper and apply them to ourselves. We would make
ourselves <u>wiser</u>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We wouldn’t offer boring (or worse yet, not offer any)
programs at our meetings and grumble about poor attendance. We would work hard
to give our brothers a reason to come out and support the Lodge. Fine meals and
interesting programs will nearly always yield high attendance. Nor would we ever
suspend our brothers without making personal contact with them. We would make
personal contact to let them know we care and we are there to help them. We
would make ourselves <u>stronger</u>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Olympic Masons wouldn’t be content to watch their buildings
crumble around them either. They wouldn’t wring their hands as they tried to
figure out why the Lodge can’t thrive, much less survive, on the paltry fifty
dollars in dues that they pay each year. They would recognize that the sacred
space that is the Lodge room deserves adornments and enhancements from time to
time. They would understand that the physical appearance of the Lodge not only
attracts members to the doors, but makes them want to come back. If we apply a
little bit of creativity and solicited the help of the membership, every Lodge
could be made into a space that people would want to come to. We would make
ourselves <u>more beautiful</u>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">An enriching Lodge experience is the right and privilege of
every Mason. If we each set a goal of constant personal improvement, and we
hold each other accountable, that experience is within our reach. It will take
effort, time, and sacrifice, but that will pay off when the Master and Wardens
ascend their podiums and look out over a beautiful room filled with the wisest
men who know in their hearts what it means to be a Brother. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-50417061356201491562016-05-25T07:56:00.001-04:002016-05-25T07:56:47.375-04:00Mind the Gap<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnR_xug3jCSZDhFxcoSCxu3LvaIZ_DDtP5wze1MvuaXUbzhBFc4_vaNDLa-16h4R7LgsMAAs5c6jUhk1tT3P5GzOTXhaVLoxYAulPb7g_rsF0CwtanSSKBn9jRljKzEhvNKbgciZ6NMeg/s1600/mind_the_gap_logo_by_rrward.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnR_xug3jCSZDhFxcoSCxu3LvaIZ_DDtP5wze1MvuaXUbzhBFc4_vaNDLa-16h4R7LgsMAAs5c6jUhk1tT3P5GzOTXhaVLoxYAulPb7g_rsF0CwtanSSKBn9jRljKzEhvNKbgciZ6NMeg/s320/mind_the_gap_logo_by_rrward.png" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The phrase Mind the Gap or some derivation of it is in use
on light rail and subway systems throughout the world. It serves as a quick and
concise reminder to travelers that they should heed the space between the train
platform and the railcar they are entering or leaving. Hence, if one fails to
pay attention to where he is going, or forgets to mind the gap, bad things
could happen.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For too long, Freemasonry has forgotten to mind a gap of its
own – the generation gap. We like to
think of Freemasonry as this timeless, changeless, transcendent institution.
While that may be so of her core values and fundamental lessons, it certainly
cannot be said of her meetings and social functions. Just as the Freemasonry of
the 1700s bears little resemblance to our present practice, so too will the
Freemasonry of tomorrow wear a face much different from the one we see today. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So what, precisely, is required to mind the gap? How do we
connect with – and then keep – today’s young men? First we must examine how and
why they came to have an interest in Freemasonry. Next, we need to ask what it
is they hope to get from membership? Then we have one more step. No, that step
is not to look at them and sternly inform them that this is the way we have
always done it and this is the way we will always continue to do it. The last
step is to adapt our sometimes pathologically inflexible Lodges to the wants
and needs of the men we wish to attract. Let me say that again. We must adapt
our sometimes pathologically inflexible Lodges to the wants and needs of the
men we wish to attract. Heresy, right? But what about strawberry night? We’ve
done that for 50 years and it used to be crowded. Sure, it used to be. Is it
now? If not, it should at least be considered for the chopping block.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Whence come the young? If you’re over 50, there’s a good
chance that you were attracted to Freemasonry because you knew and admired a
man who was a Mason. Maybe it was your father, your boss, someone from your church,
or a well-known member of your community. You knew very little about what to
expect from the ceremonies, and you knew even less about what any of our
symbols meant. All of the men (or at least the majority of them) were men you
respected. You joined because you wanted to be like (or at least keep company
with) the men you respected.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mind the Gap, Brethren!</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Today’s young man knows more about Freemasonry before he
joins than some of our current members. He has gained knowledge of the ritual,
symbolism and history of the Craft, as well as those of other esoteric bodies
via the internet. He has seen television shows and movies that (usually)
portray us as shapers of history. While he may know a few Masons, they probably
were not his reason for joining. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He comes to us not from other Masons, not from his father’s
insistence that he join, and not out of admiration of people that he knows and
admires. He is attracted to the mystique of this institution that has worked
behind the scenes in the birth of nations and battles for freedom, and captivated
the minds of the great thinkers of the past. Freemasonry holds for him the key
to unlocking his own inner philosopher or freedom fighter.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, what come they here to do? </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Again, if you are part of the over 50 crowd, you might have
joined because many of your work colleagues belonged. Perhaps you thought of it
as an excellent networking opportunity. You may have been motivated by the idea
that they were visible in the community at a time when community meant a whole
lot more than the three street, all cul-de-sac subdivision that you lived in.
Your Masonry involved marching in parades, attending church services as a
Lodge, working with large and thriving youth groups, organizing community
festivals and the like. But those things don’t really exist anymore – certainly
not in the way they did years ago. They are relics of a time when most families
had one car, bought their meat from the butcher, their bread from the bakery
and tacitly accepted the sad fact that they couldn’t buy fresh asparagus at
Christmas time.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mind the gap, Brethren!</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVLsUwU_tX_ACF7hBobJ6rHWJwQ8Y4c06yToq7p_VTavEdFqXOzRt2qjDkVWmvMlzNs3RaIh0sSueLA6QB2KluHKEizbM3oqLqjtcNk2b_nsUosuhAaYg2e0g-vAmZwH9Vcc97jSLIpA/s1600/15836296662_a5dbca6ec0_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVLsUwU_tX_ACF7hBobJ6rHWJwQ8Y4c06yToq7p_VTavEdFqXOzRt2qjDkVWmvMlzNs3RaIh0sSueLA6QB2KluHKEizbM3oqLqjtcNk2b_nsUosuhAaYg2e0g-vAmZwH9Vcc97jSLIpA/s400/15836296662_a5dbca6ec0_b.jpg" width="400" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">While the young man who is seeking admission today might not
mind marching in a parade, that isn’t why he sought us out. His primary focus will
never be flipping pancakes or peddling raffle tickets. Don’t misunderstand me.
Those things aren’t bad. Working behind the scenes at the community breakfast
gives him a chance to know his Brothers better, and selling tickets makes him
feel he has a vested interest in the Lodge’s future. If that’s all you give him,
though, he will soon be one of the few who “get his Degrees and never return,”
and you will be left scratching your head.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Today’s young man joined to gain insight into the meaning of
his life, to perfect the better side of his nature, and to give back to his
fellow travelers. Do we give that to them? Do we listen to what they want, or
do we tell them that they should want what we offer?Here Are we even willing to
change to keep them?</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I refuse to believe that Benjamin Franklin, Voltaire or
Mozart rushed home from a busy day of diplomacy, philosophizing or composing,
changed into a fresh ruffled shirt and knickers so they could to get to Lodge
to hear the reading of the minutes, pay the bills and learn about income tax
preparation, retirement planning or fly fishing.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In an age where most young men know each other only by
avatars and screen names, and the closest thing they get to human interaction
is a poke or a retweet, we have a tremendous opportunity. We can take them by
the hand (literally), raise them up and say, “See. There is something bigger
and more important than yourself and the tiny virtual universe contained in
your iPhone,” or we can stubbornly cling to the Freemasonry of the past and
wring our hands as they walk out the door, disillusioned and unfulfilled.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So what do we do? Start by asking what would Lodge need to
be like to convince your child or grandchild to join? What would we need to
give them in the Lodge to make them miss their child’s soccer practice or a
night at home? I suspect it would be something Masonic – something they
couldn’t get anywhere else. It could be something as simple as having an open discussion
about the ancient charges. Spend fifteen minutes dissecting exactly what it is
we are charged to do in the opening, closing, or the degrees. You could
download one of the Grand Master’s PowerPoints, show a quality YouTube video on
Masonry, or engage a speaker.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Next, we need to educate them. I’m talking now of Masonic
education. In order to make young men into Masons, we need to teach them
Masonry. Encourage them to use the education portal. You can even use it with
them. We have the Master Builder program for new Masons, and now we have the
Master Pillar program for the more seasoned among us.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lastly, we need to value them. By that, I do not mean that
we approach them following their Master Mason’s Degree and ask them if they
want to be Junior Warden next year. We simply need to get the new members
involved – to make them feel valued and necessary. And we need to do it in a
way that works for them. If they are excited about floor work, make a spot. If
they want to try a fundraiser that you’ve never done, let them chair it. Play
on their strengths, their interests, and their abilities. If you do that,
they’ll come back because they have purpose. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We don’t exist in a vacuum. As timeless as our teachings may
be, we need to adapt them to the actual time we are in. The Lodges that do that
the best will succeed. The ones that do not will struggle. The future isn’t
bleak, Modern Vitruvians, it is just different.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mind the Gap!</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-19711972808032774612015-11-23T21:09:00.000-05:002015-11-23T21:09:57.202-05:00The Unexpected Gift<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>t was still dark when the alarm went off, and it took me a few minutes to orient myself. Getting up at 5 am on Christmas Eve wasn’t my first choice, but I knew it was the right thing to do. Henry had been relegated to full-time caregiver since Eva’s Thanksgiving Day surgery, and I thought that he would appreciate someone clearing the three to six inches of snow that had been forecast overnight. He would definitely appreciate it, but as was his custom, he would complain that I had better things to do than shovel an old man’s driveway on Christmas Eve.<br /> I threw the covers off and quickly pulled on my thermal underwear and some thick wool socks before I glanced out the window to see how much snow we had actually gotten. I’ve never trusted the weathermen. I figured a forecast of three to six could mean anything between nothing and a foot. I’d love a job where I could be that wrong and still be paid.<br /> It was difficult to gauge precisely from my 6th-floor apartment, but it appeared that we had gotten closer to a foot. From here, the cars appeared as larger, whiter, and more bulbous versions of themselves. The snow that clung to them in every direction told me two things. First, that it would be heavy and wet. Secondly, that the extra money I laid out every month leasing an indoor parking space was well spent.<br /> Despite the bad road conditions, I arrived in front of Henry’s house before the sun was above the horizon. The snow was still falling in fat flakes nearly the size of golf balls, and in the predawn light, the entire landscape seemed to be painted in shades of blue-gray.<br /> I had expected to be the first one out with a shovel in hand, but I was wrong. The brittle scraping of metal against concrete, muffled by the deep snow, echoed from several houses on the street. Early risers with places to be on Christmas Eve, I figured. There was even someone clearing Mrs. Roman’s walkway.<br /> Marie Roman was Henry’s next door neighbor. She was in her mid-nineties and had been a widow for about a decade or so. Her sons both lived out of town, so she would occasionally ask Henry to help her out with little tasks around the house, which he did without complaint. In exchange, she would deliver homemade grape leaves, baklava, or pita bread. “The food of my people,” she would tell him. It was during one of these deliveries that I first met her earlier in the year.<br /> “Dylan, this is Mrs. Roman,” Henry said to me after he had relieved her of a large tray of food.<br /> “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Roman. I’m Dylan,” I replied, offering my hand.<br /> “Oh my, this is Dylan? What a handsome young man. Henry has told me all about you,” she said, completely ignoring my hand and opting instead for a big hug. “Please, call me Marie,” she added.<br /> “As you wish, Mrs. Roman.”<br /> “Stop it, you! It’s Marie, or I won’t answer.” She punctuated it by putting her hands on her hips and turning her nose into the air.<br /> “As you wish, Marie.” She reminded me a lot of my own grandmother, and I liked her instantly. In fact, after that brief encounter, I felt like I had known her for years.<br /> I waved at the figure on her front stoop. He was dressed in bulky overalls, a thick, knit cap pulled down over his eyebrows, and a scarf pulled up to meet it. I assumed it was either one of her sons, visiting for Christmas or a landscaper that she paid to do the work. He returned my wave and went right back to work on the walkway.<br /> Following his lead, I picked up my own shovel and began the daunting task of clearing Henry’s driveway. To take my mind off of the work, I entered into a secret race with the mystery man at Marie’s house. He had a distinct advantage in that her one-car garage faced the street, and as such, the driveway was short and narrow. Henry, on the other hand, had a corner lot, with a long, wide driveway that ran nearly the depth of the property.<br /> I pushed through the thick snow, occasionally comparing my progress with that of the bundled-up man at Marie’s. I noticed that he was going considerably slower than me. It had to be her son, I finally decided, as a landscaper would have been faster, and likely would have used a plow, or at the very least, a snow blower.<br /> I had two passes left to complete Henry’s driveway. My opponent had just finished Mrs. Roman’s driveway, and thrust his shovel into the snow bank in triumph. It’s probably more likely that he simply finished his task and set the shovel down since only I knew we were racing, but it certainly felt like a taunt. I returned, defeated, to the last of my job. My back was toward Mrs. Roman’s so I was startled when I heard the gibe from behind me. “Is that all the faster you can go?” What was even more surprising was that it was Henry.<br /> “What the. . .Why are you out here? This snow is way too heavy for you, and besides, shouldn’t you be taking care of Eva?’<br /> The wet snow fell away from the wool scarf as he pulled it down to reply. “Eva’s fine inside. I think she gets a little tired of me doting on her, so I figured, I’d clear Marie’s driveway to give her a break.”<br /> “But Henry, you’re 83! You shouldn’t be out here shoveling your own driveway, much less someone else’s.”<br /> “I didn’t shovel my own, you did,” he quipped.<br /> “You know what I mean.”<br /> “I do, but Marie’s ninety-something. I’m certainly not going to let her go out there and do it herself. You know me better than that.”</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I had no comeback. I certainly did know him better than that. As if she had waited for the lull in the conversation, Marie opened the front door and shouted to us. “You two boys must be exhausted and freezing. Come inside for a minute. I made you some hot chocolate.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Henry looked at me. “You go ahead. I’m going to run in and let Eva know where we are going so she doesn’t worry. I’m right behind you.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I shook myself clear of as much snow as possible before I went inside. I was greeted by the aroma of hot chocolate, and some sort of dessert either still in, or fresh from the oven. Exactly what dessert it might be was being masked by the vague scent of mothballs. A patchwork of carpet runners led the way through the high traffic areas of the house. I wondered at first if she had just laid the there to protect the floors from me, but the wear patterns made it evident that they were a permanent part of the décor. It was quiet except for the slow march of the Regulator clock keeping time on the living room wall.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“Let’s go sit in the kitchen,” she said, leading me toward the back of the house. “I just baked some nut horns as well. I hope you’re hungry.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“Do you think I’d be foolish enough to turn down anything you made by hand.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She handed me a large mug of hot chocolate. The steam rose from it in waves, and the two big marshmallows on top had already began to melt. I cupped my hands around the mug in an effort to get my circulation to return.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“I can’t thank you enough for clearing my driveway. My boys wouldn’t have been able to do it,” she said. “They’re getting up there.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I laughed out loud without meaning to. “I’d love to take credit, Marie, but Henry did every inch of it.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“I’m going to kill him. He knows better than that!”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“No argument here,” I said. “I pretty much told him the same thing just before you invited us in.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“I want to give you this,” she said, sliding a beautifully wrapped package across the table.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“What is it,” I asked.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“It’s a gift, silly.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“I know that,” I said. “But I told you I wasn’t the one who did your driveway. I can’t accept it. You should give it to Henry.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“It’s not Henry’s gift. It’s yours. Please, just open it.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“Okay, but I didn’t get you anything.” I unwrapped the package to find an exquisite china pedestal bowl. I know next to nothing about china, but I could tell it was a fine piece – delicate and rimmed with gold.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“It’s Lenox,” she said. “It’s actually a fruit bowl – I think they’re called compotes or something like that – but my husband used to keep it in his armoire and lay his rings and watch in it at night. I want you to have it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“It’s gorgeous, Marie. I really don’t deserve it. I wasn’t expecting anything.” I figured it was useless to remind her again that I wasn’t even the one that did the shoveling, so I didn’t.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“I know you weren’t expecting anything. Sometimes, unexpected gifts are the best kind.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“I suppose that’s true,” I said. She was truly a delightful woman to be around. “Since you’re giving me something so sentimental, do you mind if I ask you about your husband?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“He’s one of my favorite subjects. What would you like to know, dear?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>She proceeded to tell me about how they met. It was during the war. He had stayed home on a medical deferment. It was love at first sight – for both of them. She told me about her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. They were her world, and it came through both in her words and in her eyes as she talked of them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“I can’t believe he’s been gone for almost fifteen years. I miss him every single day,” she said. I detected a little quiver in her voice as I reached for another cookie. “I don’t want to get all philosophical, but why is God keeping me around?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“These nut horns,” I answered quickly, trying to lighten the mood a little.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“I’m glad you like them, but I’m serious, Dylan. The kids are grown. Heck, their kids are grown. There’s nothing I can do except be a burden. Why is God keeping me alive instead of letting me go be with my husband? I’m a nobody. I swear that I’m only here because I’m so insignificant that even God forgot about me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>I was caught off guard. How was I supposed to respond to that? I didn’t know her all that well. In fact, this was the first one-on-one conversation we had ever had. But as I said, she was the kind of person you felt you knew intimately after five minutes together. “Well, Marie, I think God wants us to be happy, so he puts sweet, kind, joyful people in our paths all the time. You’re one of those people. Henry and Eva swear they’ve never seen you in a bad mood. And you make me smile every time I see your face. Maybe that’s why God keeps you around. To be a joy to others.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“I don’t know if I buy that, but thank you for cheering up an old lady.” She smiled a wrinkled smile, and she was beautiful. “You ought to run along. You have better things to do on Christmas Eve than talk to me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“If there’s something better than this, I haven’t experienced it yet, my dear,” I said as we both rose from the table. She hugged me for a long time – a deep grandma hug – before she let me leave.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“Thank you so much for the gift,” I said. “I know just where I’m going to put it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“Thank you, Dylan.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>Henry was just about to knock on her door as I opened it to leave. He apologized to Marie for being so long and asked for a rain check. As we walked to my car, I told him about our talk and showed him the bowl. “She is one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met. I just don’t understand why she gave me such an expensive gift,” I concluded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“Maybe she feels like she’s repaying you for an even more expensive gift,” to which I gave him a puzzled look. “You’re a smart guy. Figure it out.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“Challenge accepted,” I replied. “Give Eva my love, and tell her I’ll stop and see you both after church tomorrow.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“Will do,” he said, hugging me. “Merry Christmas, Dylan. Oh, and thanks for shoveling. It was a huge help,” he added with a wink.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>On the morning of December 27th, Henry called me with the news that Marie had passed away. Henry had found her in her bed. He had gone over to check on her when her son couldn’t reach her on the telephone. I was silent as he told the story. I hardly knew her, but I felt the pain of her loss as if she were someone who had been a part of my life for a long time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“When you get a chance, I want you to come over,” Henry said. “I have something I need to show you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“What is it? Can I stop by after work?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“That’d be fine. I’ll just show you when you get here.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>I made the drive from my office thinking about Marie – her white, wispy hair, the wrinkles that added so much character to her olive skin. I wondered what it would have been like to live through the Depression, World War II, and all of life’s hardships and still manage to smile every day. What a lady.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>When I got to Henry’s, he poured us each a glass of scotch before sliding a small, leather-bound book across the table. The thick, brown cover was embossed with a rose, and the year 2015. A pink ribbon protruded from the pages near the back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>As I reached for it, Henry asked, “Have you figured it out?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>It took me a second to figure out what he was asking. “You mean what Marie was repaying me for?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“Yes, that.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“Well, she loves you and Eva. I think that she was thanking me for helping you.” My voice involuntarily trailed up at the end, making it more of a question than a statement. Henry waited silently for me to continue so I did. “Maybe she was thanking me for spending some time with her too. I know we didn’t talk long, but it was a good conversation.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>“Not bad. You’re on the right track. Maybe you’re wiser than I give you credit for,” he teased, using his head to gesture me toward the book. “Read it from the ribbon until the end.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>Her penmanship was exquisite – round, flowing cursive written with a fountain pen. Her last three entries were as follows:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>December 24th</i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I</i><i style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">t looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas! I can’t believe the snow we got – almost a foot. But I woke up to a clean driveway thanks to Henry! How sweet. I also had the most enjoyable conversation with Henry’s friend, Dylan. What a wonderful young man. I gave him John’s jewelry bowl today. It was hard to part with it, but he deserved it. He’s so kind. Just like John. We talked for a long time (maybe longer than I should have kept him on Christmas Eve) and he wasn’t in a hurry to go. He talked to me – not with me or at me, but actually to me. He made me feel like I mattered for the first time in a long time and he said I bring people joy. That conversation was an early Christmas gift. I am blessed.</i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i></i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">December 25th</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;">Christmas was wonderful! Both of the kids and even some of the grandkids were here for dinner. They showered this old woman with gifts. I got a lovely sweater set, new perfume, and best of all, they cleaned up after dinner. I love my family. I wish they could have stayed longer. Henry, Eva, and Dylan stopped by to wish me a Merry Christmas. Too sweet.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>December 26th</i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>I’m in bed early tonight. I wasn’t feeling well – probably the excitement of the holiday. I keep thinking about what Dylan said, and how he made me feel. I feel awful for saying it, but it was honestly the best gift I got this year. After all these years, he made me see that I actually might matter. Tomorrow, I’m going to write him and tell him so. I need to thank him for giving this woman such an unexpected gift.</i></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />With tears in my eyes, I closed the book. Sometimes unexpected gifts are the best kind, I thought. Requiescat in Pace, Marie.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-72630360739964798462015-09-10T11:30:00.001-04:002015-09-14T13:00:18.594-04:00We Are What We Like<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwq4Ghj1ZrWaFVp0BlDsXejRzpnHrZKPNHuMgzspZd2hi5LHtg7DOhC4Wj6W6KHiKyUk5co2gvCbjX0mJQExzUOAvgS9gUNDuJRk-A0c0_BaLJRnCA_cukeG2nd0-ieSWzFLI2dQihw4c/s1600/likebutton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwq4Ghj1ZrWaFVp0BlDsXejRzpnHrZKPNHuMgzspZd2hi5LHtg7DOhC4Wj6W6KHiKyUk5co2gvCbjX0mJQExzUOAvgS9gUNDuJRk-A0c0_BaLJRnCA_cukeG2nd0-ieSWzFLI2dQihw4c/s200/likebutton.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span> good friend and Brother recently sent me a private text
telling me that he had an issue with a post that I had shared that day on
Facebook. He explained very civilly why he didn’t like the post and how he
thought it might reflect badly on us as Masons. While I didn’t agree with him,
I removed it out of respect. The exchange got me thinking about how much our
social media behavior directly impacts how we are perceived by others.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whether we like it or not, social media is here to stay. It
has woven itself, one very colorful thread at a time, into the fabric of our
daily lives. As a nation, we feel compelled to share pictures of ourselves, our
children, our pets, and our meals. We are eager to post stories about
coworkers, dining experiences, and those crazy misadventures that landed us in
the emergency room. While I don’t care that much about <i>every</i> nap, donut, at-bat, concert, ice cream cone, or theme park
trip that little Stevie enjoyed (there is such a thing as sharing too much), I
do enjoy the occasional glimpse into my friends’ lives that Facebook affords.
And if it gets to be too much, I can generally just scroll past until something
interesting catches my eye.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The problems begin to arise when incorrect information is
disseminated as fact. Morgan Freeman still isn’t dead (thankfully); Mars will
not look as big as the moon next week (or ever), and Augusts which have five
Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays occur way more frequently than every 827 years.
Sites trying to pawn themselves off as legitimate news sources lure us in with
click bait (“He took a plastic spoon, some sugar-free gum, and a roll of
chicken wire. . . I can’t believe what he did next,” or “[Politician] is in hot
water for sure. . .You’ll never guess what he/she said”) designed to get you to
their site and generate ad revenue. Far
too many people are now using Facebook, Twitter, and other sites as their
primary (read <i>only</i>) source of news,
and it becomes very easy to read that story and share it with your friends,
their friends, and the whole world without even ascertaining whether it has any
truth to it. And before you ask, no, your favorite shampoo will not give you a
rash that looks suspiciously like a lotus flower pod Photoshopped onto a
shoulder, so don’t click the share button.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While the above examples can be annoying, they are generally
innocuous. The real trouble comes from the hate-filled political and social
posts that have dominated my (and probably your) news feed of late. Cecil the
Lion, Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner, Confederate flags are dominating my news feed
today, but by the time this goes to print they will have been replaced by a new
division du jour. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pictures and posts that pit one class of people against
another, eschew a religion, or put down others for their political views have
no legitimate purpose, and we as Masons should think twice about liking or
sharing anything that divisive. I have two friends and Brothers (both of whom
read this column) who I have removed from my news feed because of the vitriol
they spread through social media. One of them hates Republicans, the other
hates Democrats. I hate seeing that kind of broad brush approach to anything,
so it was a one-way ticket to Blockville for them both. Yes, I will miss
updates on some of their Lodge events and the more thoughtful posts that they
write, but I no longer want to sift through so much hate-filled chaff to get to
the occasional grain of wheat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So how can we, as Masons, decide what to share and what to
scroll past as we peruse our News Feeds? I’m glad you asked, but I was going to
tell you anyway. First, you can follow my example and block those who
habitually post those things. Unfriending your uncle may cause a family feud,
but he will never know if you simply blocked his rants from your news feed. I
recommend using this option liberally. You’ll love your new and more positive news feed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even after we have blocked the worst offenders, there will
still be posts that make our like and share fingers a little twitchy. Before we give
in to the impulse, we should FACT check it. Use the handy acronym F-A-C-T to take
the guesswork out of whether to give a thumb up, a share or just to pass it by.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First, is it FEASIBLE? The odds that Facebook is going to
start charging fees are about the same that the email you keep getting is from
a real Nigerian prince who wants to give you money. If, on its face, an idea or
proposition seems unlikely, it is. Scroll on by. Remember, there is no such
thing as a free iPad. And if we fail one time out of 285,000 to pass on something
legitimate, the world will go on spinning. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Next, is it ABHORRENT? Does the picture or post demean,
humiliate, or degrade a person, a group, a religion, or a belief? Is it filled
with vile points of view or abusive language? Is the sentiment of the post so
disgusting that you would be embarrassed to share it with your grandmother?
Then don’t share it with your Facebook friends.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now ask yourself if what you are viewing is CHIC? Sure, it’s
trendy to comment on the Duggars, Kardashians, or Honey Boo-Boo, but sometimes
discretion can be the better part of Facebooking. When you get right down to
it, each of us has an opinion on <i>everything</i>.
However, having a social media account puts us under absolutely no obligation
to share it. Sometimes it’s okay to let our friends wonder about our stance on
proper football inflation – it builds mystique.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last, is it TRUE? If Winston Churchill, Julius Caeser, or
Deepak Chopra didn’t <i>actually</i> say it,
then we should feel no obligation to share it. <i>But how can I tell?, </i>you ask. Go to Google and search it, check
snopes.com, or even examine the source material. If it’s untrue, step away from
the like button.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Remember, social media is forever. Some of what we share
today will be available until the end of time, so we must take care to make
sure that what is on our timeline is an accurate representation of who we are
and what we believe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The goal of this
column isn’t to scare you or shame you into closing your account or never sharing
another post – Facebook and Twitter can be fun, informative, and entertaining
after all. Rather, it is to help you
make informed decisions. Remember, Modern Vitruvians, we are what we like.
That’s a FACT.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-90183958821021381352015-05-27T15:00:00.004-04:002015-05-27T15:00:55.642-04:00Calls of Duty: Part Three<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dylan
stood in the doorway speechless. He wasn’t even certain that the person
standing in front of him actually was his father. In fact, he was sure it <i>wasn’t</i> him. His real father was at the
family cabin in the mountains more than three hours away, seated at a long oak
table, surrounded by the rest of the family. He was probably, right this second,
doing what he did every Thanksgiving for as long as Dylan could remember –
holding a turkey leg in each hand, shaking them above his head, proclaiming,
“It’s good to be the king.” So who was this man standing in Henry’s doorway?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Why
are you . . . What are you doing in Henry’s house,” Dylan asked, still
struggling to make sense of the scene before him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Well,
you rushed out this morning before I could tell you Happy Thanksgiving, and
that didn’t seem right. So I got to thinking, maybe I’d bring you a little care
package so that at least you could have some of your mom’s turkey and stuffing.
Get in here,” his father commanded, taking him by the arm. “It’s freezing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“But
how did you get in? What about mom and the rest of them? You didn’t need . . .”
He stopped, his mind still racing to process it all. Glancing back at Henry, he
asked, “You knew?” It was both a question and an accusation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Henry
flashed a broad smile. “Yeah, I knew. Meet Don, my friend from church.” He
mimed air quotes for the last three words. “I think you usually call him Dad.” His
eyes turned toward Don, “Thanks for letting the dog out,” he added with a wink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“But
this was the big family weekend. You really just up and left? They’re going to
be <i>so</i> mad. I’ll never hear the end of
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Please quit worrying, son. No one is going to
be mad,” Don said as he led them into the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder
at Henry. “I’m so glad that Eva is going to be okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“How
do you know that,” Dylan asked. “She was still in surgery when you called.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Henry
sent me a text before the two of you left the hospital. How about getting us
some drinks, Dyl? Iced tea for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Wow.
Eva is going to be okay <i>and</i> Henry sent
a text. Truly a day of miracles,” Dylan said, taking three glasses from the cabinet
above the sink. The strong smell of turkey and stuffing reminded him that he
hadn’t eaten a thing since he had left the cabin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That’s
two and it’s not even dinner time yet. The night’s still young,” Henry said. He
waited until Dylan turned toward the freezer to fill the glasses with ice
before shooting a furtive wink to Don.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“The
turkey won’t be done for a few minutes, but we can start on the salad now. Take
this into the dining room,” Don said, handing Dylan the largest bowl of salad
he had ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Seriously,
Dad? There are restaurants that don’t go through this much romaine in a night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Salad
travels well, and your brothers didn’t save you much turkey.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I
can smell it, so I know they left <i>some</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Just
go put it on the table.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dylan
paused for a second to formulate a plan for opening the French doors that
separated the dining room from the kitchen without upsetting the salad. He was
trying to come up with another smart comment about the salad as he pushed down
on the door lever with his elbow. He felt the latch release from the strike
plate, and as he pushed the door open, the lights came on. Seated around the
table was the rest of his family. He looked at each of them without saying a
word. His brothers, sisters, and their spouses all wore wry smiles, proud of
their subterfuge. As he met each set of eyes, his heart grew more full. He
struggled to keep his composure until finally he saw his mother standing just away
from the table, her hand still on the light switch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Happy
Thanksgiving, son,” she said as she wiped a tear from her cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Great
waves of emotion overtook him, and Dylan felt as if he would lose his legs at
any moment. “I. . . I think I should sit down,” he stammered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Here
you go, little bro,” his brother said, rising to offer his seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For
the next several minutes, Dylan listened with astonishment as they took turns
telling the story of how they ended up there, gathered around Henry and Eva’s table.
His mother explained that, right after he left, she went and woke his father to
tell him what happened. “You know your father, alpha male extraordinaire. Well,
within five minutes, he had the whole group out of bed and gathered around the
kitchen table.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Yeah,
thanks, Dyl. You know how I love five a.m. You were right that you’ll never
hear the end of it,” his brother interjected with a wink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Shush,
Jeremy. Be nice to your brother. He’s had a long day,” his mother said. Henry
walked in to listen. He stood behind Dylan’s chair and placed his hands on his
shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“So
has Jeremy, Mom,” said Amanda. “It was his first sunrise. Such a big boy now,”
she teased, pinching Jeremy’s cheek. Amanda, as the oldest of the siblings, was
the family’s self-anointed sarcasm queen. She used the interruption as an
opportunity to take over the storytelling duties.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“So,”
she sighed. “Dad made this big deal about how you were his favorite, and we
should all drop everything we were doing, pack up the car and follow you down
here.” She punctuated it all with an exaggerated eye roll, not wanting to miss
an opportunity to tease her little brother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That’s
not true, Amanda. We love you all equally,” his mom interjected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“They
just love me <i>more</i> equally,” Dylan retorted,
scrunching up his nose at Amanda. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
fact that he could make that joke indicated to Dylan that his shock was finally
giving way to a sort of tentative joy. He tried hard to give his full attention
as his family took turns telling the rest of the story, but it proved difficult.
He marveled as he watched Amanda comfort Henry. Her arm stroked his shoulder
softly as he talked to her. He had never seen the compassionate side of Amanda
before, and he liked what he saw – glimpses of his own mother in her mannerisms
and tenderness. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he was pretty sure Henry
was recounting how he had found Eva this morning. <i>Was that really just this morning</i>, he asked himself. To him, it
seemed like weeks ago. He thought about how lucky he was to have such families.<i> Such a family</i>, he corrected himself. He
realized that this selfless act on the part of his parents and siblings meant
that Henry and Eva were indeed family, and not just to him. As he glanced
around the table at the people that mean the most to him in the world, he
experienced a fullness that he had never felt before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
story was all but wrapped up as his dad appeared in the doorway to announce
that dinner was just about ready. Despite all of his inner distractions, he had
managed to pick up a few details. First, that the decision to take the dinner
on the road was unanimous, despite Jeremy’s protestations to the contrary.
Also, that he was on clean up since he had shirked all of his other duties. <i>Fair enough</i>, he thought, even though he
was pretty sure it was said tongue-in-cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Without
further direction, the siblings and their spouses lined up single file, Dylan
at the rear, and proceeded toward the kitchen, each, doubtlessly, to return
with a serving bowl overflowing with food. <i>We
must look like ants</i>, Dylan thought to himself. Henry and Dylan’s mom
remained in the corner of the dining room, talking softly. As he approached,
Henry intentionally increased his volume to draw Dylan in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You
have a very special boy, Marlene. I honestly don’t know what I would have done
if Dylan hadn’t come down,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“He
made me an incredibly proud mother today,” she replied, pulling him in close
and lifting herself onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“So
you <i>do</i> love me more,” Dylan said,
uncomfortable with the compliment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I’m
serious, Dylan. From the moment Henry
called, you knew the right thing to do, and you never shied away from doing it,
even though it was hard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“It
was no big deal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Nonsense,”
Henry interjected. “The easy thing to do would have been to stay at the cabin
with your family and let this old man fend for himself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I’m
really not that special. I barely had the courage to tell my mom what I wanted
to do this morning. Ask her.” He blushed a little remembering his lack of
courage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That’s
so far from the truth, Dyl. You didn’t struggle with telling me. You were
searching for a way to make me<i> feel </i>the
right thing as deeply as you do, and that’s not always easy for my analytical
mind. Your father wants to tell you more, so I’ll stop. I don’t want to steal
his thunder. I’m – we’re – just so proud of you . . .” She fanned her eyes
vigorously to prevent her mascara from running. “Let’s go help in the kitchen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
turkey had been reduced to little more than a pile of bones, the plates were
cleaned and the wine glasses were nearly empty. The din of the conversation was
even dying down as the tryptophan did its work. Capitalizing on this rare
silence, Dylan’s dad lifted his knife from his plate and gently tapped it
against the bowl of his wine glass to get everyone’s attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Before
we have dessert, I want to say a few things,” he began. “First, we are all
thankful beyond words that Eva’s surgery went well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“God
is good,” Henry agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Today
turned out very different from how I had envisioned it when I headed to bed
last night,” Don continued. “Just before I turned off the light, I looked at Marlene
and said, ‘We have so much to be grateful for, and they’re all right here under
one roof.’ Didn’t I, honey?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Marlene
flashed a closed-mouth grin and nodded in affirmation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Well,
it turns out that I couldn’t have been more wrong. We had family a hundred
miles away – a family that needed us,” he fought hard to keep his composure,
“and one that we needed as well. We never would have known this family if it
wasn’t for a young man with one of the biggest hearts and greatest capacities
for compassion that I have ever known.” Despite his best efforts, a tear ran
down first one, then the other of Don’s cheeks, but he wiped them and
continued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Dylan,
I’m incredibly proud of what you did today. And you may think that we packed
the food and ourselves into the cars and drove down here just to see you, but
that’s not the whole story. You showed us – all of us – that there are always
things more important than just ourselves to consider. You knew where you
should be, and you decided to go there without hesitation. Your selflessness
inspired us to do the same.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dylan
bit his lower lip hard to avoid sobbing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Your
mother and I,” Don continued, “we’re analytical by nature. We look at every
situation as a problem to be scrutinized and solved. We try to distill it into
costs, benefits, and outcomes. But you – you see people and their pain, their
joy, their need. You see their spirit, Dyl. You see people for who they are at
their core, and you make decisions based on how you can best nurture their
souls. And Henry, his friendship with you has made that blossom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I
was a little skeptical when Dylan first joined the Masons. All I ever knew were
the conspiracy theories, secret society nonsense and what the internet told me
about how evil they were, but now I know that none of that is accurate. They’re
just good people trying to do good things. You have helped him to grow in ways
I never could have. Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
words just hung in the room. No one wanted to break the silence. Henry finally
did. “Well,” he started, but quickly thought better. He desperately wanted to
say that Dylan has done so much for him as well – that it was not a one-way
street – but his emotions were so raw from the stress of the day that he knew
he would never get the sentence out of his mouth without a complete breakdown.
“You and Marlene raised a good one – five good ones from what I’ve seen today.
I’d be proud to call all of you my family.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Dylan,
you better get Henry back to the hospital. I’m guessing you’ll be allowed to
see Eva soon,” Marlene said. “How about if I put a plate together for the
surgeon? Just to say thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Henry
smiled. “You sound just like Eva.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I’ll
drive,” Don said. “You two have been working on no sleep, plus the ride over
will give me a chance to find out where you Masons stash the gold.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
three of them piled into the car, Dylan insisting on the back seat. As they
left the driveway and he looked over his shoulder at his mother waving from the
porch, Dylan said his second silent prayer of Thanksgiving that day. In the
morning, as he had pulled away from the cabin, he had given thanks for <i>having</i> these two families. Now he
thanked God that he was a <i>part</i> of
them. He knew, in that place of deep,
sure knowing that each of us has, that today marked the beginning of a new
family, bound by blood and obligation equally. He certainly had a lot to be
thankful for. Two of them, his dad and his Brother, were in the seat in front
of him<i>. Maybe my Brother and my Brother
someday</i>, he thought to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dylan
smiled.</span><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-27004995990623862722015-02-07T16:51:00.000-05:002015-02-07T16:51:47.530-05:00Calls of Duty: Part Two<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"I'm not sure what
you mean. What could we possibly need to talk about," Dylan asked in the
most innocent voice he could muster. He was unsure how much his mom had heard
and wasn't prepared to make any unnecessary admissions just yet. "Can't a
guy just get up early and enjoy the sunrise?" He never thought when he
went to bed a few short hours ago that Thanksgiving day would start like this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;">His mother cocked her
head to the side and stared at him with one eye. She reminded him of the parrot
he had as a child. It was as if she was trying to decide whether to take a
peanut from him or bite his finger. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;">"How old are
you," she asked.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;">"Twenty-three."
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;">"So how long have I
known you?"</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;">"Twenty-three years, I suppose." She still had her head
cocked, and in spite of the possible danger to his fingers, he reached for his
coffee. “Why are you asking?” He made his best attempt at what the family
called the<i> boo-boo face</i>. Whether he
was conscious of it from that early on or not, from about the time he was able
to walk, Dylan could melt his mother’s heart simply by going doe-eyed and
pouty. It drove his siblings crazy, but it was his gift, and by the age of
twenty-three, he had honed it to an art.
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This time, it wasn’t
working. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Dylan, do you
remember when you were five and you came to me holding the two halves of the
Royal Doulton figurine that the cat had knocked down?" He felt his cheeks
warm when she mimed air quotes at the end of the sentence. "Well, I knew
it wasn't the cat then, and it isn't the sunrise now. Moms just know. What’s
wrong with Henry?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“It’s not Henry, it’s
Eva, and he’s not sure yet. They’re taking her to the hospital now. Her heart
stopped.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“And he asked you to
come?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It shocked him that she
heard that much of his conversation. To himself, he cursed the paper-thin walls
of the cabin and his mother’s bat-like hearing simultaneously. “He did, and I thought
that if I left right after Thanksgiving dinner. . .” He trailed off, stirring
his coffee to avoid eye contact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Dyl, this is the first
Thanksgiving that the whole family has been together.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I know mom, but. . .”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Let me finish, honey.”
She picked up from where she left off. “This is the first Thanksgiving that the
whole family has been together, but I know how close the two of you are. I
can’t even pretend to understand the depth of the bond that you share as
Masons, but I see glimmers of it in so much that you do since you joined; how
you comport yourself; your desire to <i>be</i>
more; the way you genuinely care for everyone around you. Your soul has
expanded, son, and I could not be more proud of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dylan’s eyes pooled with
tears. He pulled her in close and hugged her tight. “I don’t know what to do
mom,” he sobbed. “I don’t want to disappoint the family.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Henry is your family,
too. He needs you there.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I’ll wait until
everyone is up, so I can say goodbye. Dad’s gonna be mad.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You just go, and let me
handle your father. He understands more than you give him credit for,” she
said, taking a large travel mug from the knotty pine cabinet above the coffee
maker. “He may be a little disappointed, but he’ll understand. Now go.” She
screwed the lid on tightly and handed it to him. “Go,” she added for emphasis.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The tires crunched on
the gravel as he drove from the cabin. Through tears, he watched it shrink in
the rearview mirror, silhouetted by the rising sun. He said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for
his family, for both of his families.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was late morning as
he walked in to the Emergency Entrance of the hospital, and it was busier than
he expected for Thanksgiving morning. The Macy’s Parade played on the flat
screen television that hung in the corner of the waiting area. A boy no older
than four, his hand wrapped in a now ruined bath towel, turned from the
floating balloons that had been keeping his attention to watch Dylan approach
the triage desk. Following her son’s eyes, the boy’s mother glanced up as well
as she ran her fingers through his blonde hair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I’m here to see Eva
Ranier,” he said to the nurse in the pink scrubs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Family,” she asked as
she typed the name into the computer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Yes. Family.” He didn’t
love lying, but he knew it would both save precious time as well as avoid an
argument (one that he knew he would eventually win). Besides, Henry <i>was</i> family, there was no doubt about
that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Curtain four,” she said, gesturing violently
behind her with her head. He assumed that her willingness to put her neck in
such danger meant that curtain four was all the way in the corner. “The doctor
is in there now. Go on back.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As he approached, he heard
fragments of conversations – stitches, flu, surgery – through the other curtains
as he passed. <i>They’re about as thick as
the walls of the cabin</i>, he thought to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He approached Eva’s
curtain and listened. “We’ll take her up to surgery in a few minutes. She’s not
out of the woods yet, but we’ll do everything we can, Mr. Ranier. You calling
911 saved her life.” Through the gap, he watched Henry stroke Eva’s frail hand.
The pale skin was almost translucent, and it bunched easily as his thumb rode
up toward her wrist. A cluster of wires rose out of the top of her blue
hospital gown and disappeared behind the bed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He wasn’t sure of the
protocol for entering a curtained-off area, so he simply said, “Knock, knock,”
softly as he pulled the curtain back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Henry sprang to his feet
with the speed of a man thirty years younger and engulfed him in a hug.
“Dylan,” he exclaimed, a little too loud. Softer, he continued. “I can’t
believe you came, son. I told you to stay with your folks. We ruined
Thanksgiving.” The hug was so firm, it was difficult for him to breathe, but
Dylan embraced him back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You didn’t ruin
anything. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Henry released him but
kept his hands on Dylan’s shoulders. “You’re here,” he said, smiling through
tears. “You’re actually here.” Henry pulled him in again and slapped him hard
on the back, sobbing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“How is she,” Dylan
asked, mostly to the doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“She had a severe MI – a
heart attack. The next few hours will tell us a lot, but we have a great
surgical team standing by. I’m heading up to scrub in for her open heart
surgery now.” Two orderlies opened the curtain and unlocked the wheels on her
bed. “Why don’t we all ride the elevator together. That’ll give you a few more
minutes with her before we take her into the OR.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The doctor brought Dylan
up to speed on the situation as they were lifted toward the surgical floor. The
ding that counted off floors seemed to sound in syncopation with the heart rate
monitor at the foot of Eva’s bed. As the doors slid open, Henry kissed Eva on
the forehead and whispered something in her ear. The doctor waited until he was
finished, then waved them out first, pointing to the waiting area to the right.
He and the bed carrying the love of Henry’s life turned left toward a set of broad
doors on which were stenciled the words, <i>AUTHORIZED
PERSONNEL ONLY</i>. Before he could get too far, Henry caught hold of his long,
white lab coat. “Doc, she’s my sun and my moon. Bring her back to me. Please.”
On the word <i>please</i>, he broke down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“We will, Mr. Ranier.
I’ll come see you the minute we’re finished,” His eyes flashed with confidence
as he turned and disappeared through the wide doors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Over the next hours,
Dylan distracted Henry as best he could. He caught him up on the family. He
told him about work, and he listened as Henry told him about the first time he
met Eva. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dylan tried several
times to coax him to the cafeteria, but he refused to leave the waiting room in
case the doctor came. Every invitation to eat was met with an apology for
making Dylan leave his family.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Quiet, old man,” Dylan
smiled. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I have an idea. Maybe you can help
me with the Third Degree lecture?” He already had a pretty good handle on it,
but knew from experience that they could easily pass an hour or more once they
got started. Halfway through the lecture, Dylan was interrupted by the ring of
Henry’s cell phone. He took the opportunity to check his own phone. Not even
two o’clock yet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“This is Henry . . .
She’s in surgery now . . . Please don’t go to that trouble, I’ve already messed
up enough people’s holiday . . . I don’t even know when I’ll be able to get
home . . . If you insist . . . You’re too kind – runs in the family obviously .
. . You know where the house is. There’s a key under the potted mums on the
front porch. Are you sure you want to do that? It seems like a lot of trouble .
. . God bless you.” Henry flipped his phone closed and wiped a tear from his
eye.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Who was that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Oh, no one. No one you
know, I mean. Just a lady from church who wanted to let the dog out.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You seemed to fight her
pretty hard over something so simple.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Really? You appeared to
listen terribly intently to a conversation that you weren’t a part of,” he
retorted, winking a little at Dylan. “Now where were we?” It was the first time
Henry had smiled all day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was after six when
the doctor came in. He walked up to them with all the poise he had when they
last saw him, and they knew before he said a word that she was going to be
fine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You have a very strong
wife, Mr. Ranier. She’s going to be okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Can we see her?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“They’re closing now,
then she’ll go into the recovery room, so not for a few more hours. Go get
something to eat, and be back around nine. I’ll take you to see her myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That’ll never happen,”
Dylan said. “I couldn’t get him to leave these chairs since she went in.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Nonsense, kid. We
should eat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“But don’t you want . .
.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I need to shower and
get some of Eva’s things for when she wakes up. I can’t give you the full meal,
but I have sliced turkey in the deli drawer of the icebox, and we have a lot to
be thankful for. Get your coat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dylan thought it was odd
when Henry had him stop at the end of the driveway. For as long as they had
been friends, he never saw Henry use the front door. Henry tossed Dylan the key
as he fumbled for his knapsack in the back seat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Head on in, my bag
spilled.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Dylan walked up the
steps of the front porch and moved the key toward the lock. The door opened on
its own as he did. He expected to see the stranger from church who had called
earlier, but standing on the other side of the threshold was someone far more
familiar. “Dad?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Happy Thanksgiving, Son.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To be continued . . .</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-79864783491916586152014-11-05T09:05:00.000-05:002015-02-07T16:46:40.061-05:00Calls of Duty: Part One<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The ring of the phone was so soft, and his sleep so deep, that Dylan
had managed to work the sound of it into his dream. In his dream, he was back
in high school. He had just managed to coax Faith O'Donnell to his locker under
the guise of showing her his new letterman jacket. He was proud of his
letterman jacket with the thick embroidered volleyball on the sleeve, CAPTAIN
in big block letters just below it. He was proud of it to be sure, but the truth
is that he would have said just about anything to get her to have a one on one
conversation with him, even stand in his general vicinity, for that matter.
Right now Faith was so close to him that he could smell her strawberry lip
gloss. He was astonished by how much more beautiful she was at this distance.
He showed her the jacket and watched her smile widen. He added with pride that
he had just won an academic scholarship, and that college was definitely going
to happen. Dream Dylan was doing incredibly well – Faith was suitably
impressed, hanging on his every word.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> He watched her run her
fingers over the stitching of his name, tracing the cursive letters, her shiny
pink fingernail tracing each letter. “You are so amazing, Dylan.” He raised an
eyebrow. She continued, “I mean, you’re an incredible athlete, you’re smart,
you volunteer, you play the piano.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “And guitar,” he added
quickly, so as not to interrupt her flattery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “And, you’re not so bad
looking.” She felt her cheeks start to warm – getting hotter with every word – but
she continued, “You’re sort of the perfect guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Dylan felt like he was
floating. Her litany of compliments gave him enough nerve to finally ask her
out. He drew a deep, calming breath to try and steady the quiver he knew he
would have in his voice. “Faith, would you like to go to the homecoming dance with
me?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Before she could
answer, the third period bell rang.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> And rang.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> And rang. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Faith began to vaporize
before his eyes as the school bell gradually morphed into the pestering ring of
his phone. He begrudgingly left Faith behind, standing at the locker and about
to say yes (he hoped). With any luck, he thought, they would meet again soon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Dylan glanced at the
clock, 3:25am. He answered the phone without even looking to see who it was. He
knew that a call at this hour would probably not be good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “I don’t know what to
do, Dylan. . . she’s my world. . .she can’t go yet. . . I love her so much. . .”
Henry’s voice was barely recognizable through the sobs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Henry? What? Wait.
Slow down. What happened?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> He spoke in fragments,
the long pauses where he was obviously trying, with little success, to gain
composure. “It’s my Eva. . . she got out of bed. . . complained she didn’t feel
well. . .they say her heart stopped. . .what if she dies, Dylan?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Without even realizing
it, Dylan rotated the brass switch on the hurricane lamp that sat on his night
table. The mechanical click reverberated off of the old knotty pine walls with
such force that he was certain he woke the whole house. He threw off the covers
and began to dress himself as Henry shared more details of what had happened to
Eva. For Henry, just saying it out loud was cathartic, and he calmed a little
with each sentence. As of yet, no one had given Henry an official diagnosis,
but it was clear that they were incredibly lucky that Henry insisted on calling
911.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “She’s going to be
okay, Henry. I know it. Is Junior there with you,” Dylan asked, squeezing the
phone to his ear with his shoulder as he wiggled himself into his jeans. The
old wooden floors moaned loudly under his shifting weight. <i>This cabin only has one volume – thunderous</i>, he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “You’re the first one
I called. I knew you’d know what to do. Can you come over to the hospital?
They’re getting ready to take her there now.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Dylan hesitated. He realized
Henry had forgotten about the family reunion. This week was the first in three
years that the whole family was able to get together in the same place at the
same time, and it was usually Dylan’s schedule that was the problem. He recalled the tense phone call with his
parents earlier in the summer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> <i>“I can’t get vacation right now, mom. We’re in the middle of a huge
project.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><i><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “But,
Dylan, you’re the only one who can’t do it. Please come, Dyl,” she begged.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><i><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> He
heard his father in the background, “Is he coming?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><i><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The
sound became muffled as his parents began their own conversation as if he
weren’t there – sidebars, Dylan called them. He pictured the scene as he
listened: His mom held the phone against her chest in one hand, the other
(barely) covering the receiver as she yelled into the family room to his dad,
who was firmly rooted in his recliner for the evening.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><i><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “He
says he can’t get vacation. Some big project,” she began.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="CharAttribute0"><i><span style="line-height: 130%;"> “What
does that mean, can’t get vacation? It’s his vacation. He just needs to </span></i></span><span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;">take<i> it,” his father insisted. Dylan wished it were that simple.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><i><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Dylan,”
the phone unmuffled now, “it’s your father. Listen, your mother is in tears.
She’s been planning this for a year. Please do what you can to make this
happen, okay son?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Dylan’s slight pause
was enough to make Henry recall that he was out of town. “Wait. This is your
reunion week, isn’t it? Never mind. You stay right there with your family. I’ll
call Junior; he can be here in an hour. I’ll be okay.” Dylan could hear the disappointment
in his voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Henry, listen, maybe
I can get there in a couple of days. It would kill my mom if I left now.” The
words felt like acid pouring from his mouth. He could hear them stinging his
friend, but he couldn’t even imagine telling his mother he had to go. “Do you
have a ride to the hospital?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “You best stay there,
then. As it turns out, half of the Lodge is working night shift, and they’ve
all offered me a ride. Seems I’ll have my pick of squad cars to follow the
ambulance. I better go.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “I wish I could be
there, Henry,” he apologized. “You and Eva are practically family to me. You’re
both in my prayers. Please call me as soon as you know something.” Dylan hung
up and stared at his phone. He was in an impossible situation, and he hated it.
Henry was as much a part of his family as his actual blood relatives. There was
no way of explaining that to his parents, though. They would just stare at him
blankly as he tried to put the depth of a fraternal bond into words that made
sense to them. <i>He has his own children to
handle it,</i> they would say. It wouldn’t matter to them that Dylan was the
first one he called.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> He pulled the lace
curtain back and glanced out his bedroom window. In the gloaming, he saw the
grass, needle-like with frost. The sun was still below the horizon but had
already begun to paint the bottoms of the impossibly high cirrus clouds with a
hundred shades of gold and orange. There
was no way he was getting back to sleep at this point, so he decided to go make
some coffee, <i>to feed his inner caff-fiend</i>,
as he liked to say. He desperately needed to come up with a way to at least
broach the subject with his parents so that he could, at the very least, leave
a day early without a whole lot of grief. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> He crept down the
well-worn stairs of the cabin shoeless, placing his feet at the extreme edges
of the treads so they would be less likely to squeak. Even the slightest noises
carried through here as if the house were wired for sound and he had
microphones on his feet. He was desperate not to wake anyone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> His plan, when he
reached the bottom, was to switch on the pot and retire to the porch to watch
the sun continually re-imagine the palette of the sky. There, alone, he hoped an
answer might come to him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> He imagined the scent
of coffee as he reached the main floor and headed toward the kitchen. <i>I drink way too much of this stuff if I can
smell it before it brews</i>, he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> He rounded the corner
toward the kitchen and saw first one, then a second cup of coffee sitting on
the long oak table, the steam rising and curling from both. He looked up from
the mugs to see his mother’s silhouette framed perfectly in the soft yellow
light of the open refrigerator.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “What are you doing
up,” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> She closed the door
and turned toward him. He wasn’t sure how to read the look on her face, it
seemed both happy and sad. He noticed her eyes glistening, a little wetter than
usual. She gestured for him to sit and he obeyed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “I heard you on the
phone, and I thought maybe we should talk.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To be continued. . . </span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sooner or later, we will each face a situation
like the one you just read. In today’s world, time is our most precious
commodity, and (somewhat ironically), the one with the most demands on it.
Dylan’s mom sees her son being swept into his own life. Dylan feels the pull of
loyalty to two families – biological and fraternal. And Henry is facing the
uncertainty of his wife’s illness in her later years, and perhaps by extension,
his own mortality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How will they handle it? We each have our own
hierarchy of importantcies. The pressing need of one person may be the last
thing on earth another would want to do. Successful interaction with others
often relies on our ability to view any given situation from atop the other’s
hierarchical pyramid. Remember, Modern Vitruvians, that we are judged not only
by who we <i>are</i>, but by who we are <i>in the presence of others</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the next issue, we will see how it all goes
for Dylan and his loved ones. Until then, think about how well you handle
situations where you have competing loyalties. Do you attempt to force your
will, or do you compromise? Does one desire always take precedence or can you
rearrange your hierarchy to accommodate difficult circumstances? What would you
do in Dylan’s situation? His mom’s? Henry’s? <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 130%; margin-right: -16.7pt; tab-stops: .5in;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What do you think will happen next? Weigh in, share your own story, or ask questions in the Comments section below.</span></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-67064732229710498612014-09-05T10:19:00.000-04:002014-09-05T10:20:55.546-04:00The Last Mason<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">T</span>he room was unusually quiet for a stated meeting, and the candles threw
enough light to illuminate the area immediately surrounding the altar, but not
much else. He knew something wasn’t right as he ascended the stairs in the East
to begin the meeting. He rapped the gavel as if to command even more silence
from the already still room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Brother Pursuivant, close the outer door.” Nothing. Not a creaking chair, not the
rustling of tuxedo fabric. Nothing. He strained his eyes in an effort to cut
into the darkness. No one was there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wait. Where is everybody?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Do I have the meeting night wrong?
No, today is the second Tuesday. Well, where is everybody, then?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can’t remember a time that our
little Lodge had even five empty seats, and now there’s no one. What on earth could have happened?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, I know a few of them got
angry that we spent a little bit of our Reserve fund fixing up the Lodge. What
did they expect? The building is 75 years old and has never had a single
renovation. I swear that they would have complained about getting rid of gas
lights in favor of electric had they been around for that debate. Aren’t we
supposed to be about more than that?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What about Brother Bob and all the
guys that work down at the factory? They should be here, too. Ah, I remember
now. One left after the merger because he didn’t like the name and number we
chose, and instead of leaving quietly, he took a bunch with him. I always
thought our good works should have mattered more than the name we gave the
Lodge.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let’s see. Who else? There were some
who left because we gave too much of our money away to charity, and some who
left because we gave too little. I’ll never figure that out. Oh, I can’t forget
about the two young men, still in college, who left after an older member
scolded them in open Lodge because they were wearing wrinkled suits. Who can
blame them for not coming back?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The five dollar dues increase took
a few out with it. Imagine that. Someone didn’t see the value in paying five
more dollars per year to belong to Lodge. Maybe we never showed them the value
of what they had. Maybe our dinners could have been more than subs and chips,
and we probably should have let the ladies come as guests of the Lodge.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We have so much money in the bank.
We could have given our Brothers something special. We could have made Lodge a
place they wanted to be. We could have helped the community, our youth groups,
each other with all that we have. Instead,
we hoarded it like misers, squeezing every nickel until Jefferson cried – and
for what?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m the Last Mason. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have a beautiful building, fine
regalia, and all the money I’ll ever need, yet I’ve never felt so poor. Without
people, the Lodge is just a building. Without the mystic ties of Freemasonry,
we are just a random gathering of men – no different than a crowd at a bus
stop. Why, then, did we let the petty eclipse the significant? Why did the
trivial trump the vital? Why? Why? Why?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He woke gasping for air. He turned on the light, picked his phone up off
of the nightstand and pressed the home key. Tuesday the 10<sup>th</sup>,
3:57am. The meeting was still more than 15 hours away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“That was quite a nightmare,” his wife said. “Are you okay?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He told her about the dream in as much detail as he could. When he
finished, he just shook his head. “It was awful. I’ve seen most of those
problems to a small degree in our Lodge, but I never pictured any of them
leading to the end of Masonry. I’d feel empty if I played a part in something
that terrible.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You need to tell them tonight,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“About the dream? I don’t know. What good would it do?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Just tell them. You only need to change a couple of hearts to make a
difference.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Maybe you’re right,” he said. He
kissed her softly on the cheek, rolled over and switched off the light. “You
always are.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I know. Now go to sleep.”</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-62633938994653664642014-05-16T08:32:00.003-04:002014-05-16T08:42:11.876-04:00Whispers on the Wind<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Henry checked his watch as he was opening the door to the Lodge. 12:05. He hated to be late, even if it were just a few minutes. Sure, it was only a practice, but he prided himself on the efficiency of his rehearsals. They started and ended when they were supposed to, and he worked hard to keep everyone on task while they were there. He knew that the younger guys were scheduled more tightly than he had been when progressing through the chairs, and as a consequence he tried to be respectful of their time, even if it meant giving a gentle scolding to the Brethren who arrived after the appointed hour. <br /> He truly couldn’t figure out how today’s men manage to do all that they do. He watched in wonder a few weeks earlier as Dylan showed him that he could pay his electric bill, book a hotel for his upcoming business trip, and download the newest Dan Brown book, all right from his phone. He even laughed when Dylan tapped the phone with an overly-grand showman’s flair, proclaiming, “And to top it off, I just ordered us a pizza. It will be here by the time practice is over,” adding with a wink, “I hope you like pepperoni, old man.” <br /> The rocky start to their friendship was barely a memory. Now the two of them met at least a couple of days a week to go over ritual, talk about Dylan’s upcoming year as Worshipful Master, or just to talk. Their favorite meeting place, weather permitting, was the lake on the campus of the tech company where Dylan worked. They typically walked the half-mile circuit around the lake twice, Dylan echoing lines of ritual as Henry fed them to him. After the walk, they would find an open bench and talk until Dylan had to get back to work. <br /> Henry was proud of the man and leader that Dylan was becoming, and today he was delighted to be greeted by Dylan’s easy laugh echoing from the Lodge room as he walked into the building. These are good kids, he thought to himself as he hung his jacket. But as the laughter subsided and the conversation continued, his delight faded.<br /> “I didn’t even know you could get a suit with lapels that wide,” someone said, the whole group laughing in reply.<br /> Another quickly retorted, “His suit is easily twenty years older than Dylan.” Another chorus of laughter.<br /> “I was going to ask him to join the line, but I’m afraid he’d show up in a powder blue tux.” More laughter.<br /> Henry knew immediately that they were talking about Roger, their newest Entered Apprentice. How ironic, Henry thought, that all these men who were here to practice for the conferral of Roger’s Fellowcraft degree were instead gossiping about him.<br /> The attention then turned to another Brother, and the attacks were just as mean spirited.<br /> Henry was furious, but he quickly composed himself and entered the Lodge room. “My being late doesn’t give you the right to sit around and gossip. Pair up and go over your individual parts. Dylan and I are going for a walk. I want to go over it with him one last time before we start.”<br /> Dylan rose to leave. The shortness of Henry’s tone told him a lesson was coming.<br /> “Grab your coat. It’s chilly,” Henry said.<br /> In more ways than one, Dylan thought.<br /> Dylan was pulling on his down vest as they left the Lodge and headed to the walking trail that abutted the Lodge property. The strong wind made Dylan thankful that he heeded Henry’s advice. “Don’t you want yours?” he asked Henry.<br /> “I’ll be fine. Too bad you couldn’t afford one with sleeves,” Henry mumbled as he bent and picked a stick up from off the trail.<br /> Dylan wanted to laugh at the comment, but knew he shouldn’t. “That’s the style these days,” was all he could muster.<br /> Henry dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a penknife. He whittled in silence for what to Dylan seemed like an eternity.<br /> “We’re not out here to go over ritual, are we?” Dylan asked.<br /> Henry looked at Dylan with a raised eyebrow and whittled another minute before he spoke. “What do you know about your Brother, Roger?”<br /> “I don’t know. He seems nice enough, I guess,” he said. “Obviously not a sharp dresser,” he added, simultaneously trying to lighten the mood and to get Henry to his point. Dylan was being tortured on purpose, and a big part of him knew he deserved it. <br /> They walked without a word. “It’s not that big of a deal. I won’t do it again,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.<br /> Dylan took the profession of Masonry seriously, and in his heart, he saw this as an opportunity for personal growth. The words of the Closing Charge echoed in his head: You have promised to remind him in the most tender manner of his failings, and aid in his reformation. He wasn’t sure how tender Henry would be, but he knew with absolute certainty that he would be a better man at the end of this walk.<br /> “Brother Roger joined the Marines after we were attacked on September 11th. For two years, he put himself in harm’s way for you and me. While he was serving his country in Afghanistan and Iraq, his parents were killed when their house caught on fire while they slept. He came home and spent the last six years working two jobs to put his younger siblings through college. Once they finished, he was able to cut back to 60 hours each week, and he began taking classes himself. He wants to get a business degree.<br /> “He told me he joined the Masons for two reasons. First, he thought they could teach him to be a better man.” Henry chuckled. “Think about that. Two combat tours. Six years working without rest to take care of his little brother and sister, and he still thinks we can make him better.”<br /> Dylan felt terrible. He looked over at Henry. The wind was whipping his white hair and beard so fiercely that, for a moment, he reminded him of Charlton Heston as Moses.<br /> “You said he joined for two reasons. What was the second?” he asked his mentor. He already felt so terrible that he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.<br /> They walked to the crest of the hill and stopped. From the top of the trail, they could see for miles. Henry stood silently and whittled. The wind buffeted them from behind and carried the shavings several feet away before letting them fall to the ground. Finally, he answered. “The second reason,” he said, “was that he wanted to remember what is what like to have a family again.”<br /> Dylan’s eyes welled up with tears. How could he have been so insensitive?<br /> Another strong gust caused Henry to shiver. “Probably should have brought my coat. Can I borrow yours?” Dylan nodded and handed his vest over to Henry.<br /> Henry took it from him, but instead of putting it on, he plunged his penknife into the nylon shell and cut a long gash from top to bottom. He shook it violently over his head, and the sky in front of them filled with tufts of goose down, swirling in eddies high into the air. Soon the sky before them was as white. It looked for all the world like they were in the middle of a blizzard.<br /> “What are you doing,” Dylan yelled, “that’s my coat!”<br /> “It’s not that big of a deal,” Henry said. “We’ll just go get the down and put it back in the vest. It’ll be as good as new.”<br /> “You’re out of your mind. It’s gone, and we’ll never get it back. Heck, some of it is still fifty feet over our heads,” Dylan said, point up into the sun.<br /> “Isn’t that what you said about your gossip earlier? No big deal? Well, just like these feathers are riding the wind and can never be returned to the vest, every unkind word or belittling remark, once uttered, can never really be gathered back into your mouth. They are there forever, and they damage, even if only slightly, your Brother’s name, reputation, or worse yet, his sense of self worth.”<br /> They stood for a long time without a word. Dylan could still see feathers riding the breeze. He thought about all the times he had been unkind to others, even if he was only trying to be funny. He thought about Brother Roger and tried to imagine what it would be like to have that kind of responsibility at such a young age. He couldn’t take back what he said, but he knew he would never act that way again.<br /> Henry put his arm around Dylan. “What do I owe you for the coat, kid,” he asked, a large grin consuming his whole face.<br /> “Not nearly what I owe you for the lesson, old man. Let’s get back to the Lodge. I want to make sure Roger gets my best Degree. He deserves it.”<br /> “And that’s what he’ll get from you. You’re his Brother, after all.”</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-2229970470913893102014-02-10T13:56:00.000-05:002014-02-10T14:05:42.272-05:00Of Redwoods and Blue Lodges<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOW1xKtsbzGFj8-SkrbVq_jksNam5RofIKvBK_IYD88w_FWJMZLF4LjGltIPpZ1H8GD6DLIMbLpZUj0bE_TUfx0bo2n3G3rmdj0tOAWWFIpgADkFoqmXVSFMyV2VixdZLvIebXZjToK7s/s1600/tree-4890_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOW1xKtsbzGFj8-SkrbVq_jksNam5RofIKvBK_IYD88w_FWJMZLF4LjGltIPpZ1H8GD6DLIMbLpZUj0bE_TUfx0bo2n3G3rmdj0tOAWWFIpgADkFoqmXVSFMyV2VixdZLvIebXZjToK7s/s1600/tree-4890_1920.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: #783f04;">“The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It's not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.”</span> </span> ― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span>o what’s the difference between a Freemason and a Giant Sequoia? <br /> <br />I hope you weren’t waiting for a punch line; that wasn’t a riddle. It turns out that the answer is, “A lot less than you might think.”<br /><br />In coastal California where the conditions are right, the Giant Sequoia tree can typically grow to be over 200 feet tall, with several having been documented at well over three hundred feet. Amazingly, a tree of this height typically would have root system that does not penetrate much deeper than eight feet. So how does a tree that is more than a football field high manage to survive the strong coastal winds with such a shallow root system? They do something very interesting. Instead of a deep taproot anchoring them to the ground, they send shallow roots more than a hundred feet outward. In a redwood forest, the trees are closer together than that, so that when one examines closely, he will find the roots of several trees interlocked with one another. You see, they do not rely on their individuality, but their interconnectedness, to give them strength. <br /><br />While Masonry is in many ways a truly individual journey, a Mason, just like the Sequoia, needs to rely on his Brothers for strength. That strength can come in many forms. Depending on where each man finds himself in his Masonic pilgrimage, it can be defined as the patience of a mentor with a frustrated student, the encouragement of a Master to his Officers, the Charity of the Lodge to a Brother in need, or the strong grip of a friend helping us back to our feet after we have stumbled. <br /><br />You see, for Masonry to thrive, there must exist a willingness for one to receive support as well as the ability for another to give it. In practice, it requires you to be both penitent and confessor as the situation dictates. Too often, we feel as though we are the first, last and only man to be battling the demon before us. In truth, at any given Masonic function, there are probably several people who have struggled with a similar situation, be it work, family, illness or anything else that could befall a man today. Being part of a strong community necessitates giving freely of your strengths to your Brothers and supplementing your weaknesses with their assistance thereby growing as a group.<br /><br />Sequoias are often found growing in distinctly shaped groups; either in a line, or a circular pattern called a cathedral. The trees growing in a line come from a parent tree that has fallen down. Those branches that are pointing upward after the parent has fallen will actually begin to root and become trees in their own right, each one becoming separate and distinct from the original tree that fell. In the same way, we introduce good and upright men to Freemasonry with the hope that when we leave this earthly home, they will stay behind. And if their thoughts are focused heavenward (meaning we have taught them well), they too will grow to become the leaders of our Lodges and keep this great Fraternity alive.<br /><br />The trees growing in a circular pattern, or cathedral, are trees that have sprung up from the roots of a fallen tree. Though the body of the parent tree is gone, the roots see to it that the community carries on by sending up saplings. As these saplings begin to root, they are able to weave themselves quickly into the already intricate root system of the parent plant, giving themselves immediate support to grow straight and true. In the same way, Masons, as we labor, provide support for future generations by leaving behind a strong foundation. If each of us is true to our calling, we will leave behind a strong foundation upon which each successive generation can build.<br /><br />Another interesting adaptation of the Sequoia is its ability to take in water through its leaves. You see, these trees can grow nearly anywhere, but the area of coastal California where they thrive has a peculiar type of climate. In areas without regularly occurring fog, the tree’s height is limited to the distance it can push water vertically from the root system toward the upper leaves, but the near constant morning fogs of that region allow the upper leaves to supply their own water by pulling it from the heavy air, thereby allowing the trees there to grow to heights unattainable in any other place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So it is with Masonry. It is possible to go through life without thinking about whence we came or whither we travel, and often that is exactly what we see in the world. However, the man who stops and ponders those questions, the man who realizes he comes from something greater than himself and has a duty to his Creator to be the best man he can be – that man begins to use the upper leaves of his intellect to not just survive but to thrive. Just like the roots supplying water, we bring some light and knowledge to our new members, but it is not until those men begin to use their own intellect, discerning life’s important truths for themselves, that they truly grow to their fullest potential as men worthy of the name Freemason. <br /><br />So, Modern Vitruvian, is your root system spread out far enough? If not, strive to give more support to your Lodge and Valley. Have you done enough to introduce worthy men to this Fraternity? If not, resolve to, for we are never more than a generation from extinction. Make sure you are helping to build the strong foundation for the future – leaving behind a cathedral in which other worthy men can dwell. Lastly, remember always that we are here by the grace of the Great Architect of the Universe and to Him we will each someday return; that our time here is to be used shaping the ashlar of our lives. Each action we take either helps or hurts that process. Promise yourself that if you are the only Mason someone knows, that person will look up to you as he would a Sequoia – as a giant among men, towering over a forest of mediocrity below.<br /><br /> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-16006624457638883952013-12-02T11:18:00.000-05:002013-12-02T11:18:41.046-05:00As Plain as the Nos on our Faces<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It was Dylan’s first day at his new job. You remember Dylan. He was the young man who had some trouble with the old Past Master at his Lodge. (<a href="http://themodernvitruvian.blogspot.com/2013/05/perspectives.html" target="_blank"><em>The Modern Vitruvian</em>, "Perspectives," June, 2013</a>). He was so excited to be here. He had dreamed of landing a job like this from the day he started college. <br /><br />This place was <em>the</em> place to work. He had heard stories of how incredible it was there. They had a relaxed dress code, an onsite gym, childcare (not that he needed that yet), and the cafeteria – well, that was legendary. More like a four star restaurant from what he had heard, and the executive chef had been hired away from one of the city’s top restaurants.<br /><br />He arrived early that morning and began walking across the campus to his building. <em>This really <u>is</u> like a college campus</em>, he thought. He marveled at working for a company this big. There were people everywhere. Business was clearly being conducted by the four people huddled around a laptop on one of the benches by the duck pond. It was even obvious that that the group of runners that passed him was actually in the midst of a strategy session. <em>I’m going to love it here</em>.<br /><br />He arrived at his office and Sharon showed him to his desk. It was Sharon who had interviewed and hired Dylan. She was Department Manager, whatever that meant, and so far, the only person Dylan knew by name. As she escorted him through the open workspace she cleared her throat. Satisfied that she had everyone’s attention, she said, “Everyone, this is Dylan. He’s the newest member of the team.” He was greeted with an assortment of waves, smiles and hellos, but soon, everyone turned his attention back to his work.<br /><br />“Here we are,” Sharon said. “Make yourself comfortable. You can take lunch whenever you’d like. The cafeteria is in Building Four. They’ll have veal piccatta today. It’s amazing.” She flashed a smiled as she turned on her heel, and Dylan took his seat.<br /><br />The morning passed rather quickly, and Dylan’s stomach informed him that it was time to eat. He asked a few of his new office mates if they wanted to join him, but they had other plans. He made his way to Building Four and followed his nose to the cafeteria. Dark oak paneling, crystal glasses, and waitstaff in bowties really did make this feel like a four star experience. The only things that seemed odd to Dylan were that the long tables were covered in linen tablecloths, and that he could sit anywhere he wanted. Well, that, and the fact that he was carrying a tray of veal piccatta, mushroom risotto, and sugar snap peas instead of the requisite club sandwich and chips.<br /><br />He scanned the room looking for a place to sit. Nearly everyone was massed in groups, laughing and talking. One or two looked up at him for a second before returning to their conversations, but most paid no attention to Dylan as he wandered around, anxious to dig in to his meal. Finally, he spotted a table at the far end that was empty. <em>Well, I guess I’m eating alone until I make some friends here.</em>As he was hurrying to claim the empty table, he saw a man who was sitting alone. The man smiled at Dylan as he passed. The smile was so genuine that it made Dylan forget about the empty table at the far end of the room and stop short. “Mind if I join you,” Dylan asked.<br /><br />“Please do. I’m Marcus,” the man said, offering his hand. As Dylan took his seat, he sensed nearly every eye had turned his way. As ridiculous as it seemed, all those people who wouldn’t even look up earlier were now focused on him. <em>Only my imagination</em>, he told himself.<br /><br />“I haven’t seen you here before. What do you do,” Marcus asked.<br /><br />“Design and Marketing Department. It’s my first day. You?”<br /><br />“This and that,” Marcus said. “I’m the president.”<br /><br />Dylan felt his face flush. He suddenly realized why everyone had been watching him so closely. “Marcus? Like Marcus Christensen? I. . .I’m really sorry I bothered you. I had no idea.” Dylan knew who Marcus Christensen was. Everyone did. He was a legend - one of the youngest men ever to make the Forbes 500. Dylan got up to move. He was mortified.<br /><br />“Stay, please. I could use the company. I almost always eat alone. Everyone is afraid to sit with me.”<br /><br />Dylan stayed, and had one of the most enjoyable conversations he could remember. Marcus was a great guy – down to earth, easy to talk to. When he finally rose to leave, Marcus asked, “So what was it that made you join me?”<br /><br />“Well. When I looked around the room, everyone seemed so shut off. Their body language, their faces, everything about them said no. You made eye contact. You smiled.” He paused before adding, “I guess they had <em>NO</em> faces and you had a <em>YES</em> face.”<br /><br />“Thanks,” Marcus said. “Same time tomorrow?”<br /><br />“Sure thing,” Dylan replied, certain that it wasn’t really a question.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">--------------------------------<br /><br />As Modern Vitruvians, we’ve all been in a situation like that. The fact is that we have probably played all of those parts at one time or another. We’ve been the outsider, the welcoming stranger, and truthfully, we have also been the one wearing the NO face.<br /><br />The next time you’re at Lodge, there will probably be someone new there. What will you do? Will you be caught up in a conversation with a few of the Officers? Maybe, but you can open the circle and allow the new Brother in. While you’re having dessert after the next meeting at the Valley, will you smile at the unfamiliar Brother, or will you let him walk by without acknowledging him, your indifference as plain as the <em>NO</em> on your face?<br /><br />I already know what you’ll do. You’re a Modern Vitruvian. You’ll be warm and welcoming. You will treat him the way you would want to be treated.<br /><br />I’ll see you at the Valley. I’ll be sure to be wearing my best <em>YES</em> face.<br /><br /> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-77439966527059762462013-10-12T15:06:00.000-04:002013-10-12T15:06:57.969-04:00Deep and Lasting Impressions<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We'll be washed and buried one day, my girl,<br />And the time we were given will be left for the world. . .<br />So let the memories be good for those who stay.<br />Mumford and Sons, “<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KCg_QEHtkY" target="_blank">Winter Winds</a>”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In today’s electronically connected world where even
instant gratification can seem to take forever, it is sometimes difficult to
think of one’s legacy as more than his Facebook wall or Twitter feed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I am honest with myself, I want to believe
that I am far more than the photo of the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?fbid=10150118600863993&set=a.116146733992.112247.501948992&type=3&theater" target="_blank">shrimp and grits</a> I posted from my trip
to Myrtle Beach (they were spectacular), or a clever hashtag (#cleverhashtag).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This month’s issue of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Rite News</i> features an article on the Gettysburg Address written
by Brother Todd Ballenger <a href="http://valleyofpittsburgh.org/kcfinder/upload/file/rn_oct_2013.pdf" target="_blank">(“272,” p. 11)</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To be clear, the Gettysburg Address was written by Abraham Lincoln,
while the article “272” was written by Brother Ballenger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is excellent (I’m speaking of the article
this time). In fact, if you haven’t already done so, read it now. I will wait .
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</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I told you it was excellent.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Brother Ballenger tells us that Lincoln’s words
reinterpreted the Constitution and made freedom everyone’s responsibility. “The
world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never
forget what they did here.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The brave
men who fought at Gettysburg were not doing it for glory – both sides were
fighting for a cause they deeply believed in – but our liberty is their legacy.
One need only drive through the shadows of the stone monuments in the park, or
the cemetery where the address was delivered, to be reminded of how much we owe
to those who have served our country.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Nelson Henderson said, “The true meaning of life is
to plant trees under whose shade you do not expect to sit.” Dubai’s Burj
Khalifa, currently the tallest structure in the world, took ten years to
complete. Contrast that with the Gothic cathedrals that our operative
counterparts built. Notre Dame took nearly 90 years from start to finish! Think
about that for a moment. The men who worked on the foundation probably never
saw the structure rise more than a few feet off the ground. It was common to
have several generations of a family work on the same project, each seeing it
in a drastically different form than the others.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Gutzon Borglum dedicated the last 14 years of his
life to the shaping the rough granite of Mount Rushmore into the faces of four
of our greatest Presidents. (Look at that, Lincoln, statues and stonemasons all
coming together in one story. Oh, Borglum was a Freemason as well! You’re
welcome.) He lived long enough to see the faces completed, and on his death his
son, Lincoln, continued to work on the project. Originally, the presidents were
to be carved to the waist, but funding was shut off and the project finalized
with just the busts. Borglum, too, left good memories for those who stayed
behind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So, you say your cathedral building skills are a bit
rusty and you can’t find a large piece of exposed granite you can (legally)
carve a likeness into? Fear not, modern Vitruvian -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>there are plenty of ways for you to leave a
deep and lasting impression.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Start by being a good man, one that others would be
proud to call friend. Let the working tools help you. Be a man of character
(plumb), treat everyone justly (square), and control your own behavior (compasses).<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Next, get involved, either with your Blue Lodge or
your Scottish Rite Valley. I assure you that there is a place for you here
whatever your talent or interest might be. (If you don’t believe me, write me
at </span><a href="mailto:pittmason@yahoo.com"><span class="Hyperlink1"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="color: #1e1e1e; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">pittmason@yahoo.com</span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> and I will help you
find it.) We are all keepers of Freemasonry’s sacred fire and as such, we have
a duty to help her thrive for those yet to come. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You don’t need to be a soldier, sculptor, or
stonemason to leave your own deep and lasting impression. Be a man, a Mason,
and a mentor and you will have done your part. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The time we were given will be left for the world. . . Let the memories
be good for those who stay.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-11950514287096766572013-05-23T14:35:00.001-04:002013-05-23T14:35:57.373-04:00Perspectives<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoQuote" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances, but
rather a person with a certain set of attitudes. ~ Hugh Downs</span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan was excited to have finally joined Lodge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">His fascination with the Masons began when he was in junior
high school and saw the movie, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">National
Treasure</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dylan never believed that
he would someday guard an enormous stash of gold, but still there was something
about the square and compasses, the feeling of belonging to a true family, and
the antiquity of the order that beckoned him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He wasn’t put off by the myriad of websites that said Masons controlled
the media, faked the moon landing, knew the secrets of Area 51, or unknowingly
worshipped the Devil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the idea
that you could unknowingly worship the Devil made him laugh every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He pictured unsuspecting men in their homes
praying before they went to bed, while outside on the roof, evil Masons in
their aprons hijacked the prayers as they rose to God and carted them off to
the Devil.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan was raised six months ago, and with few exceptions,
Masonry was what he expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He learned
his work and attended the practices and meetings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every chance he got, he told the guys about
his ideas for making the meetings cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He suggested having a really nice meal – surf and turf – before the
meeting in June, since they were inviting the ladies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry, one of the old Past Masters just laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s
strawberry night</i>, he thought to himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One other time, Dylan asked if they could act out one of the Masonic
plays he came across in an old book in their Lodge library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s not a library kid, that’s a
bookshelf, and this isn’t a theater, it’s a Lodge,” Henry said. And with that
the debate was closed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan had no idea why Henry was like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry reminded him of an old school teacher
who kept punishing kids for even the smallest violation of the rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here it seemed, though, that those rules were
a secret known only to Henry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dylan was
frustrated. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Would it kill us to have
dinner </i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">and </span></u>strawberries?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do I even bother with this bunch of old
guys if they’re happy just doing the same old tired things year after
year?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can just as easily stay at home
if I want to feel ignored.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry was a Warrant Member of the Lodge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the second man to serve as its
Worshipful Master.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He remembered the
years in the 60s and 70s when so many men joined that the Lodge could barely keep
up with the work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back then, they had so
many active members that it took twelve years to become Worshipful Master.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When Henry’s son turned twenty one, he handed Henry a
petition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry signed it eagerly, his
eyes pooling with the proud tears of a father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The most fulfilling moment of his life by far, though, was when he made
his son a Master Mason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That excitement
was short-lived, however, as his son didn’t make the Lodge a priority.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry joined after the war to keep sharing in
the kind of Brotherhood he felt while he fought in Europe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Junior didn’t care about that, and he
preferred spending the little free time he had with his bowling league.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Henry was bitter, and that bitterness only deepened over the
years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, he had good friends who
were Masons, but a lot of them were dead now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lodge wasn’t as well attended and membership was way down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now this new kid wanted to get rid of
strawberry night and replace it with a dinner that was going to bankrupt the
Lodge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Plays?</i> he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What is that about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s wrong with having the game
commissioner come in and talk about deer hunting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That always brought the guys out in the good
old days.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The irony of the story is that Dylan and Henry, with their
almost diametrically opposite views, are more similar than they appear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their attitudes are shaped by their
experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dylan is the youngest of
five.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His brothers and sisters excel at
everything they put their minds to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To
the disappointment of his father, Dylan is more of a dreamer, and spends most
of his time dreaming in the shade of his siblings’ achievements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lodge is supposed to be a place where he is an
equal, and Henry’s snide comments make him feel anything but.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And though Henry will not admit it, he is heartbroken
that his only son does not see in the Fraternity what he sees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His son’s departure coincided with the
beginning of the Lodge’s long and slow decline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Henry, though only subconsciously, marries the two into one problem.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dylan sees Henry as a disappointed father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry sees Dylan as an ungrateful son.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Too often, our attitudes get in the way of good
friendships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">If you have been in Lodge more than a couple of years, you
know that guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He may be a Henry that is
so set in his ways that nothing new is worth considering, or he’s a Dylan, and
wants to turn everything on its ear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>More likely than not, he is some shade of grey between those two
extremes, but our own predispositions force him into one of those two
categories.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As Modern Vitruvians, what are we to do when faced with
those behaviors?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">First, we should strive to come to a better understanding of
the men we call our Brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meeting on
the level is more than forgetting class, rank or station when we are in
Lodge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It requires us to try to see the
world through the eyes of those with whom we interact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to walk a mile in their shoes, not as
an offensive tactic where we put on their shoes, run over rocky terrain, and
then mock them for not keeping up, but rather as a sympathetic act where we
seek to walk the peaks and valleys just as they have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Acting on the square means that we should
extend grace in abundance, knowing that we, too, may be in need of it at some
point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve recently realized that
trying to see things from another’s perspective has often helped me to change
my own attitudes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More and more I’ve
been trying to see (or seek) the good in everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is true that each of us in our turn
requires varying amounts of seeking before the seeing can take place, but it’s
always there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nYQfV5OLCBeM7NiTb95cWuuvwN_5AjPzQr4KDZIbqIx6dN66uGNi0Az2-RMVMvxAlkiwI3tUylr6zVo_kJtNWtlT0S7pHeCaMhoq6UzWJVe64f4WqnIrUXHogIOjSr762eta9f7wM_0/s1600/zengarden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nYQfV5OLCBeM7NiTb95cWuuvwN_5AjPzQr4KDZIbqIx6dN66uGNi0Az2-RMVMvxAlkiwI3tUylr6zVo_kJtNWtlT0S7pHeCaMhoq6UzWJVe64f4WqnIrUXHogIOjSr762eta9f7wM_0/s320/zengarden.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Secondly, we need to become more aware of our own attitudes.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The words we speak (or fail to speak)
and our tone of voice are obvious indicators of how we feel about someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Posture, facial expressions, body language
and general demeanor are more subtle, but easily discernible indicators of our
feelings too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes changing
someone’s attitude toward you is as easy as changing your own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you had a lousy day, remind yourself of
how fortunate you are to be spending time with your Brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you drive to Lodge exhausted and
world-weary, make an effort to feel the energy of the group and let it heal
your soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will be surprised at how
much a positive mind-set can change you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Attitude is everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Attitude
is the difference between cleaning the litter box and raking the Zen garden. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So you’re probably wondering about Dylan and Henry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re going to be okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are reading this column right now – just
like you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next time they come
together it will be with a new understanding – both of themselves and of each
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dylan will ask Henry to help him
plan some of his programs which he will gladly do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry will begin to see Dylan as the son that
loves Lodge as much as he does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
Henry is going to bring his wife to Lodge for surf and turf (and strawberries,
of course).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They will have one of the
most enjoyable night’s that either can remember, and will be sure to tell Dylan
just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dylan will be grateful for
the affirmation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As Modern Vitruvians, you will meet a Dylan or a Henry at
some point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you do, try to see the
world as they do, rather than through the narrow keyhole of your own
experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And remember to be
positive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise you that next time I
see you in Lodge I will smile, even if I had a lousy day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will smile because, in spite of whatever
life was giving me earlier, I am about to be blessed with the good fortune of
spending time in a place of peace with you, my Brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I shall close now, for I have other duties which call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to get the scoop, er, I mean
rake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cat is subtly reminding me
that my Zen garden needs attention.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-81984064255497525792013-02-14T16:36:00.000-05:002013-02-15T12:09:17.931-05:00Staying for Dessert<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><blockquote class="tr_bq">
“We’re meant to lose the people we love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How else would we know how important they are
to us?” ~ Mrs. Maple in <em>The Curious Case of Benjamin Button</em><br />
</blockquote>
</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The observant reader of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Modern Vitruvian</i>, and I would like to think there is no other kind, will
note that this is the second consecutive column with a quote from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Curious Case of Benjamin Button</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can assure you that I have already ejected
that DVD from the player and will give it a rest for the foreseeable
future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If the truth be told, I would have preferred never to have
had the occasion to use the above epigraph, but the month of January has seen
the passing of three men for whom Masonry was a way of life, and without whom,
Masonry will not be the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The deaths
of Illustrious Brothers Kielman and Faub of this Valley, and Bill Davenport, an
active instructor and Past Master in my District have left me unsettled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knew each of these men – my Brothers – to an extent, but
not very deeply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had the chance to
spend time with each of them within the last few weeks of their lives, and I
keep wondering what I would have done differently had I known that our last
conversation would be our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">final</i>
conversation. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One thing I know about myself is that I am obsessive about
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am constantly looking at my
watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I am trying to heed
my own advice and take more time to appreciate <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Space Between</i>, I must fight to put the clock and the next task
out of mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So had I been told that this was the last
conversation, would I have given in when they insisted that I stay for
dessert?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talked a little longer even
though I knew that I’d be exhausted the following morning? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I
have asked them something deep?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was
their proudest moment?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their biggest
regret?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I have been brave enough
to answer those questions if they had asked me?</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dessert?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s already 10:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I don’t leave now, it’ll be after midnight
before I get to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have an early day
tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I’ll just go home
tonight and do dessert when the meeting is shorter or my schedule is lighter.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I think about these Brothers and the countless others that
I have known and loved and who are no longer with me, their faces appear to me
just as real as if they were here in the room, and I long for one last
conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To some I would say, “You know, we didn’t always agree on
how to do things, but I always respected you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The ways you challenged me made me grow as a man and a Mason.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I might thank others for their advice (solicited or
otherwise) on how to play a role, deliver a line more effectively or gesture in
a way that brings a character to life on the Scottish Rite stage.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To another, I might get comfortable in my chair and ask,
“How was your granddaughter’s recital,” knowing fully that his eyes would begin
to sparkle as he recounted her every graceful move in the five-year old’s
ballet class as only a proud grandfather could.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps the conversation I would most like to have is with
my grandfather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pap,” I would start,
“We never had the chance to sit in Lodge together, but I can never thank you
enough for being the kind of man that made me want to join an organization you
belonged to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope I have made you
proud.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those are conversations I can never have. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But surely there must be some lesson to be
learned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is the mission of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Modern Vitruvian</i> after all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next time you are in Lodge, look around at the faces
that are there with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there a
Brother with whom you should make amends?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Are you carrying around baggage from an old disagreement?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did someone in the room change your life in a
profound way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is he the reason you are a
Mason?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did he give you words of
encouragement when you were about to quit?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I suspect that there is a face that comes to mind for each of those
scenarios.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now ask yourself what you would do if tonight’s conversation
was the last you would have with that Brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Would you sit next to him instead of across the Lodge?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you try to heal the wound?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you thank him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell him that he is important to you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you look him in the eye and tell him
that your life is better because he is in it?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Remember that “See you tomorrow” isn’t a legally binding
contract, so do not leave unsaid those words that could heal, empower, uplift,
encourage or comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Maple doesn’t
have to be right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t need to lose
the people we love to know how important they are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just imagine your Lodge – your life – without
them in it and let them know they matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And when the meeting is over, put away your watch. . .</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And stay for dessert.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Note: I know that death and regret can be intensely
personal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat at this computer, eyes
full of tears, as I wrote this story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you feel called, please </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">share your stories: memories of your friends and loved ones who made a difference for
you, conversations you should have had or the ones you did have and are thankful
that you did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you would prefer that
they remain anonymous, send them to me at <a href="mailto:pittmason@yahoo.com">pittmason@yahoo.com</a> with that request and I will publish
them without your personal information.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-66793136077105383092012-11-20T00:16:00.000-05:002012-11-20T00:20:05.199-05:00The Space Between<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><blockquote class="tr_bq">
“The space between the tears we cry is the laughter keeps us
coming back for more.” – Dave Matthews</blockquote>
</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you are anything like me, and most of you probably are,
keeping your calendar straight can be one of the most daunting tasks you face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us are or have been involved in more
than one Masonic body at any given time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Each of those organizations has practices, meetings, social events and
duties all of which take up space on the calendar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On top of that, there is your work, family
events and social activities outside of Masonry (I hear they exist).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add to that the parties, shopping, concerts
and travel required by the upcoming holiday season and your calendar may run
out of space.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I recently found myself on the way home from a Masonic
meeting I had thoroughly enjoyed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
presentation was thought-provoking, the ensuing conversation was spirited and
the fellowship that followed were precisely the reasons I became a Mason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I left there uplifted, challenged and proud
to be a member of this great Fraternity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Instead of enjoying that, instead of living in that rare
moment where what I wanted and what I got were the same thing, I got in the car
and cued up my iPhone to play the lines I was rehearsing for another
event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Lodge building was still
visible in my rearview mirror, and I had already moved on to the next event in
the calendar.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In today’s world, we are too quick to focus on what’s
next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do we have to do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do we have to buy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where do we have to be?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our Masonic meetings are an all-too-brief
respite from the chaos of the world without, but they are only part of the
picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to use what we learn
there to focus on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Space Between</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is the perfect place to give you the OED definition of
space, but I won't.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My reasons are twofold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, there are 168 separate and distinct
definitions listed and that is just if you use it as a noun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listing all of those would take up entirely
too much . . . space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secondly, doing
that seems too scholarly, which flies in the face of the mission of this
column.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Space
Between</i> important?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m glad you
asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Firstofallthespacebetweenwordsmakessentencesmucheasiertounderstand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, space in the form of punctuation such
as commas and dashes – let’s not forget dashes – helps to add emphasis or change
the meaning of a sentence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Night, the
space between our days, is where we rest and refresh ourselves in preparation
for tackling the next events on the calendar.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why then do we not enjoy the space between our meetings as a
time to really practice being a Freemason?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead, we rush home or hurry to the next appointment not really
cognizant of the fact that an opportunity may have slipped by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you left the meeting early and didn’t stay
for refreshment and fellowship, you may have missed the chance to form or
strengthen a bond with someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
do what I did and immediately dive into the next task that lay before you, you
would – as I did – squander an opportunity for personal growth and
transformation by not allowing what you learned to have an adequate time to
take root.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Space Between</i>
is where you live your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s where
you grow; where you can impact others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s where the magic happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
the “laughter [that] keeps us coming back for more.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What you learn in Lodge is what prepares you
to make the most of life outside of it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter">
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0">
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0">
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1">
</v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas></v:stroke></span></v:shapetype><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A
Modern Vitruvian needs to use Masonry’s lessons to govern how he acts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The working tools of the Blue Lodge teach you
how to use your time, talents, and treasure, and the moral lessons of the
Scottish Rite Degrees assist you in making the right decisions in your
interactions with others.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Between now and the next issue of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Rite News</i>, I ask you to pay close attention to what you do and
how you act in<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> The Space Between</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t miss opportunities to show the world
why Masonry matters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t drive off cavalierly
and forget what you learned moments before. I encourage you to share your
stories on what you’ve done or plan to do with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Space Between</i> on the blog at themodernvitruvian.blogspot.com.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have a smart phone, you may scan the
QR code to the right and it will take you there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of my favorite movie quotations comes from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>where Benjamin states, “Our lives are defined
by opportunities, even the ones we miss.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Every second of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Space Between</i>
brings with it the opportunity to implement the beautiful lessons that Masonry
has taught you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interactions with
others, moments of reflection and self-evaluation, and alone-time with your God
all offer chances to make the most of the life we are given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strive never to miss the opportunities you
get in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Space Between</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will be a better man and Mason for it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is my hope that the space between the top of the page and
this sentence has given you something to inspire, challenge and make you better
fit to face the world as a Modern Vitruvian.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4190783581629275956.post-36583171969561681302012-09-28T18:30:00.004-04:002015-05-29T10:09:07.464-04:00Read This Column!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Welcome to The Modern Vitruvian, a new regular column in The
Valley of Pittsburgh’s <em>The Rite News </em>as well as the blog you are currently reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since you read that sentence, I can only
assume that the title hasn’t scared you away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s a good thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because you have done me the honor of reading this far, I
will once, and once only, do the following: give a blessedly brief biography
(avoiding all awkward alliteration) of this column’s namesake, explain why I
chose to attach his name to it, and detail what I hope to bring you, my beloved
Scottish Rite Brothers in each and every issue of this fine award-winning
publication (and at random times in between issues via the blog, but I’ll
explain that later).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Marcus Vitruvius Pollio was born c. 80-70BCE and was… </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You know what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None
of that matters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The basic idea was
this, Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, or Vitruvius as his close friends no doubt
called him, was a very early author of books on architecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one of them, he described the geometric
proportions of the ideal man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later
another guy, Leonardo da Vinci – I’m certain his friends called him Lenny –
drew the very famous, albeit immodest, picture of the ideal man seen below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That work is known, quite creatively, as
Vitruvian Man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promised brief and I hope I delivered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCnZ3CC1saLCYNLP1709aIONo0jDLAYImCPBrBtF0Wjz8bdAYzRJ8Z3yo3C1SD7_gkmnf_3-50Tz4Uy4LgnfGCDx8fB3L0KDfzkx7xyAOIFulUALxjMTOsWMMZVmOKiMyhrpoVqucTNI/s1600/Da_Vinci_Vitruve_Luc_Viatour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCnZ3CC1saLCYNLP1709aIONo0jDLAYImCPBrBtF0Wjz8bdAYzRJ8Z3yo3C1SD7_gkmnf_3-50Tz4Uy4LgnfGCDx8fB3L0KDfzkx7xyAOIFulUALxjMTOsWMMZVmOKiMyhrpoVqucTNI/s640/Da_Vinci_Vitruve_Luc_Viatour.jpg" width="468" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next up: Why did I decide to call this column “The Modern
Vitruvian?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Freemasonry has so many scholarly publications which
reference our history (or histories since we really have no definitive, singular answer to that question),
our ritual, and the beautiful symbols of the Craft as well as biographies of
our famous and infamous Brethren. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
we have too little of (in my opinion anyhow), are pieces which challenge us as
21<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup> Century (Modern) Masons to seek things in our daily lives that
have hidden Masonic lessons in them and ways to apply our teachings to them to
become more ideal (Vitruvian) men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
short, I’m looking to find the Masonic in the mundane.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That is the premise and mission – at least for now – of “The
Modern Vitruvian.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can you
help?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m glad you asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This column will also appear as a blog at www.themodernvitruvian.blogspot.com.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you do not know what a blog is, that’s
okay, I’ll explain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically, a blog –
short for web log – is like a journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
column will be posted on the internet and will be interactive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If what I write here reminds you of a similar
story, moves you to share or has you so worked up because I’ve missed the point
entirely, you may go to the blog and post your own thoughts for the world to read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hope is that we see some wonderful
discussions there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time will tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When posting, remember the old adage “It’s
okay to be disagreeable, just don’t disagree.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Do I have that backward?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you are too shy to write on the blog, you may always write
me privately to share thoughts, musings or ideas for upcoming columns.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you like what you have read so far, please consider
subscribing and/or (preferrably and) and sharing with your friends. The more readers we have, the
better the discussions will be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a
bonus for those who do subscribe, there will be occasional columns exclusive to
the blog as subjects and stories present themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 120%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Marcel Proust said “The real voyage of discovery
consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”<span style="color: #454545; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 120%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>I look forward to journeying through
today’s landscape with you my Brother’s seeing with new eyes – those of a
Modern Vitruvian.<span style="color: #454545; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 120%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Join the discussion now. . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ApMcDi_5WgfCQ-i-tSgs0hcujrqhytJPzuG8XBf0eNbvOxjskTL2fVf2yqE5er-CNh9fL_JVShf8gm7zfUr1GlZvK6yNf3Au8WFp6Rs023iH9lTj34SECenmLwZ_9HuGOXrxv5wyC8U/s1600/AASRColor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ApMcDi_5WgfCQ-i-tSgs0hcujrqhytJPzuG8XBf0eNbvOxjskTL2fVf2yqE5er-CNh9fL_JVShf8gm7zfUr1GlZvK6yNf3Au8WFp6Rs023iH9lTj34SECenmLwZ_9HuGOXrxv5wyC8U/s200/AASRColor.jpg" width="133" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">P.J. Roup, 32</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> is Junior Warden of The Gourgas Lodge of Perfection, Valley of
Pittsburgh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to The Modern
Vitruvian, he owns The Point Within the Circle
(www.district54.blogspot.com).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can
be reached at <a href="mailto:pittmason@yahoo.com">pittmason@yahoo.com</a>.</span></i></span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01735791249290866897noreply@blogger.com2