Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘inspirational’ Category

Straight shots in the distance

Posted in Biker's Eulogy, inspirational, life lessons, Memorials, people, tagged , , , , , , , on January 26, 2010| 2 Comments »

I got the call for kickstands up a little sooner than the rest.

I’m ridin on ahead…I’ll meet you all up the road.

Off in the distance, you’ll hear the twins report.

And you’ll wonder who’s off ridin…

It’s me.

I got a new patch today…like you’ve never seen before,

hand sewn by an angel just outside of heaven’s door.

I let ‘er idle and had a cold one with Peter right there at the gates…

He told me “son you’re gonna love this ride…all your brothers here heard you got
the call…Kickstand up  biker brother, they’re waitin just around the bend…”

They’re the spirit of the Patriot Guard,

The wipe of your brow after a real close call.

I’m with ‘em now, lookin’ out for you,

for when you next hear the highway beckon you…

I’m the straight shots you’ll hear up over the next rise,

a tail light you’ll never quite catch up to…

I’m the angel next to you when you take to the left and pass a long tandem.

Raise your glasses,

get off your asses.

Kickstands up all…

You take my smile with you…

But I’ve ridden on ahead.

I’m getting the place ready for a ride one day when you get the call…

But don’t hurry on my account. You’ll get your patch soon enough.

There’s a great group up here…and it’s always warm…

No matter where we ride, it’s always ahead of the storm.

And ever so often we’ll gather up around that bend…

and say “kickstands up all…the ride’s just startin’,

and Peter’s welcoming an old friend.”

Note:      In biker speak:

“straight shots” are exhaust pipes with no muffler.

“twins report” is the sound from twin exhaust pipes

“a patch” goes on a cyclist’s leather vest

“kickstands up” means that if a group is meeting for a ride, the time the group starts the
ride. (If scheduled to start at 10 a.m., the kickstands go up at 10 a.m. and the ride starts).

Read Full Post »

Flags

Posted in inspirational, life lessons, military tributes, nostalgia, Patriotic, people, Uncategorized, tagged , , , on January 10, 2010| 1 Comment »

I recently drove to Walla Walla, Washington, from my home some sixty miles away, to visit with my oldest friend, an eighty seven year old Chaplain at the Veteran’s Affairs Facility. We became friends this year while I was filling a six-month contract to deploy new computer equipment in the offices and medical facilities on the campus there.

Over a six-month period, beginning in early spring, I drove the stretch of two lane blacktop between the gap at the Wallula Junction and through the winding hills along Washington State Highway 12. This stretch of road is about thirty miles long, cutting a picturesque path through rolling hills and rocky outcroppings along the way.

This is historic country, settled long ago…explored by the likes of Lewis and Clark. The land is used for winter wheat, vineyards, cattle-grazing, horse pasture, and some row crops. Many dozens of old family farming operations mark the divisions of ground with fence lines. Some are new and painted while others are simply weathered post and rusted wire.

This is Americana in the West, the sort of setting described in a Louis L’Amour novel. Today, blacktop leads to gravel roads, streams lead to small rivers…America at its finest in a quiet evolving painting through the four seasons.

This road is kissed, sometimes beaten down by swirling winds that seem to come from several directions at once. I drove the road beginning in early spring, when there is little vegetation on perennial trees, few objects provided in nature to indicate the presence of a wind at all. Driving this piece of history some days became a bit of an adventure, when the prevailing winds were invisible to the eye while I drove. I often had to stop and open a door to see if either I had a low tire or if, in fact, the wind had cropped up from the Columbia River Gorge coming from the direction of Portland, Oregon to the west and out of the Blue Mountains nearby.

The ridges along this road are marked by many dozens, hundreds in fact, of huge windmills to generate power for the regional grid. But on a very windy day, the mills are shut down as the speed of the turning blades can’t be moderated after a certain point. So I might be driving in a gale with no real indication of wind at all, other than the adverse effect it may have on the handling of my lightweight car.

Over the course of weeks in early spring, as I drove this road, my writer’s mind had plenty of scenery to take in, many tales to extract from the farms and old buildings in towns with names such as Touchet, and Lowden. Wooden grain elevators and long ago abandoned buildings– that once housed stores, shops to repair tractor and plow, dry goods, a post office and bus stops– mark the way.

There was one thing sorely absent on the horizons, in yards of homes, businesses, shops…anywhere that patriotic souls reside, work, and gather along this historic stretch of western heartland…Flags. Visible from the highway I am able to count maybe a dozen good old American Stars and Stripes being displayed to mark pride and support of a nation at war for a decade now.

Solitary sentry in the wind…

This road leads to a campus that consists of buildings that existed since the late 1800’s as a military support facility. Fort Walla Walla is also in the vicinity…And now the facility cares for and counsels members of the military from every era beginning with World War II.  Americana is at its finest here…with little display of our country’s symbol to be found on the main road leading up to it.

While looking out over the countryside for indicators to help me gauge the wind as I drove, I was compelled to feel in fact that winds of change have led many of our citizens to inexplicably fold and store away the flags that once marked community far and wide, during times of both war and peace…Peace being earned during times of war…and sacrifices being made by so many to wage war and to preserve peace.

Since 9-11 occurred in 2001, our country has been involved in military operations abroad, attempting to root out the perpetrators of terror and discontent both here and at its source…Hundreds of thousands of military personnel have been shipped out, and into harm’s way, for the better part of ten years now.

I cannot understand why the flag has vanished from sight. I have no clue if folks are less patriotic, scared of our enemies, unhappy with the current political climate, or just too busy to remember to raise the flag…no matter I guess. So I drive with no traditional indicator of the speed and direction of winds outside my car, and the winds of change leave me wondering at the direction and speed of the state of our community and union here.

There are several irrigation pivots used to water various crops along this road. I see each pivot has an American flag mounted atop of it. This is a nice sight for a couple miles near the crest of a stretch of road known as Nine Mile Hill. About a half dozen of these circles are marked by the flag, and I am sure that along with a farmer’s patriotic stance, there is an operational reason for the flags being strategically placed there. It’s nice to see them displayed at the sight of a western extension of the American bread basket.

Nine Mile Hill irrigation circle…

Along this road, I met a recently retired U.S Marine. He was about ten years younger than my fifty years. He’d spent twenty years of his youth serving our country. In those two decades, I imagine he’s been called upon to serve in the first Gulf War, and perhaps the current involvements in Iraq and Afghanistan, to live away from family, and from friends–other than his brothers and sisters in arms. I can guess he’s been deployed to lands where foreign tongues and traditions prevail. I would further venture that a lot of the places and people he gladly protected and defended could have cared little, or not at all, of his sacrifice in their land so far from his home. Still, for twenty years he served, stood in harm’s way for strangers both here at home and abroad. That is after all, what American military members do in this world…

This handsome young Marine had a family too–a dedicated wife and two children, both a daughter and a son. In the midst of his time serving our country, he was busy also living the American dream…All the while, he selflessly stood ready to preserve our right to the American dream…and the dream to provide some semblance of peace, civility and a human dignity in any number of inhospitable places around the globe. That is what our Marines do…what young fathers, sons, husbands, brothers, nephew…and their female counterparts do in this great patriotic country. And today, all are volunteers from day one.

How did I meet this recently retired Marine, along this stretch of road in the middle of a historic piece of America here in the Pacific Northwest?

He and his family were stranded on the side of the road. They were within sight of several of those American flags atop the irrigation circle pivots. It was 107 degrees outside. I was sweating in my car even with the air conditioning laboring on high settings. There was no breeze, no clouds…Just the unrelenting sun. Even the buzzards were grumpy on this day…

I could see, for quite a distance, the back of a somewhat tired Ford Explorer with its hood up. I could see a couple hay stacks several yards off the side of the road. I could see two children in what shade a stack could provide…sitting atop a couple of stray bales off to the side, perhaps set there by dad. I could see a man and a woman several feet away from the kids, between the hay and the stricken car. I could see their frustration, the effect of the late afternoon heat and the fact they had no doubt been out there at the crest of Nine Mile Hill for quite some unforgiving time.

What I saw was a family, stranded in 100+ plus degree heat, many miles from shelter, water, help, safety…I had no clue if they had help on the way, if they were suffering from heat related issues, or of any other issues that might need tending to, in the middle of nowhere, on a God forsaken day. I couldn’t pull over directly because of the speed of my car and the quantity of traffic in the area, so I drove to a safe spot a little way up the road. I turned the car around and drove back to them. When I emerged from my much cooler car and into the heat, I waited to jog across the three lanes of highway there. I could see the tired look of gratefulness and frustrated resignation on the faces of the couple as they walked to greet me near their slumbered Explorer…I inquired into their condition, if they had water, a cell phone. I asked if they had help on the way…how long they had been waiting there stranded. We three adults peered under the hood of the car, discussing the state of repair, the symptoms of disrepair…the usual conversation when a family is stranded with a dead vehicle on a hot day.

I noticed then that the father/husband figure there in front of me wore a ball cap with markings to signify he was a retired Marine. I asked about his service. He replied, “recently retired…put in my twenty…” I shook his hand and thanked him for serving. I acknowledged the sacrifice he, his wife, and young family had obviously made while he served.

For a moment, I discussed the irony of his willingness to serve anywhere and any time since he was barely out of high school…for two decades. He discussed the fact that no less than a hundred and fifty cars had passed by this stranded family, without as much as slowing down. He did say I was the lone soul outside a State Patrolman to stop…but he quickly added the officer was “paid to stop”.

I was shocked and in utter disgust at the scenario I was a part of. I can’t imagine what excuse anyone would have to ignore what was obviously a family of four suffering on a hot day in the midst of little else other than haystacks, a few irrigation circles in the distance…with American flags at rest on a breezeless day…and miles of little else.

I mentioned the irony of his career and his service and his willingness to defend, to the death, total strangers in strange lands, at virtually any time, under any conditions…yet there he, and that beautiful young family, sat in the middle of his homeland, among those he fought to protect for all of his adult life.

The same country that sacrifices life and limb for sometimes unappreciative strangers, appears to be either afraid to stop and help a family today, or uncaring enough to not bother to step out into the heat, or even stop and crack a window to simply inquire as to the state of well being, safety, thirst, and rescue, of a man and wife and their two young children.

I thought about a lot of things in a few minute’s time…about the last six months of travel up and down this stretch of road. I felt my heart get heavy as I walked across the road to my car. Then I turned around and returned to the couple. I shook his hand again and apologized for the state of his country despite his twenty years to preserve our freedom here.

And before I turned away and walked away for the last time…I engraved the scene and moment into my heart and slightly saddened mind…and added a parting thought to the young couple’s memory of the day…I said, (and I said it in good humor) “In case you’re wondering about who stopped to help you in the middle of the heartland of Western America today…always remember…it was a Canadian…”

Matthew L Landsman

Read Full Post »

A rose is always a rose

Posted in inspirational, people, seasons, Uncategorized on January 10, 2010| Leave a Comment »

In the dead of winter, even ‘neath frigid snow and the dark of the
early arriving night, a rose is still a rose. Though it may appear
lifeless, but a stem, thorns, and ravaged leaf…there lives on in the
ground a slumbered root…fed by the fallen petals of fading autumn,
later…the dripping icicle, and the mere promise of spring.

frozen rose 2

It is hard to fathom an end to an endless night…relief from the need
for constant tending of the fire…for support on the icy slope. Life is
cruel for extended moments in the hard throes of January and the month
afterward…a desolate landscape of hues of grays and mottled whites…Not
a fertile ground conducive to optimism and hope…But even then…a rose is
still a rose.

frozen rose 3

As I did last winter, and the one before…I leaned hard on a dried
blossom from the blossoms of summer…I recalled the first hint of yellow
green leaves straining against the still chilled days of March…the
swell of buds on the tips of infant branch in search of yet feeble rays
of sun…But hope made it’s shy debut along with the signs on the bush
awakening there…

frozen rose1

And so once more I lie wait of a sign of the re-emergence of the rose
in you…of the spring that lies beneath a mantle of snow…and a
sprinkling of the frozen rain…Hope springs eternal in the faithful, the
love filled…the keepers of memories, of laughter and smiles…of promises
and heartfelt wishes…for an early spring…for the hint of green…for the
rose to mark the return of all I have had to only imagine since the
first frost so long ago…MLL

Read Full Post »

Thoughts on my friend Terry.

Posted in Eulogy for a Fisherman, fishing eulogy poem, inspirational, life lessons, Memorials, people, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on November 15, 2009| 4 Comments »

I have always called him Little Terry. It is a term of endearment. Terry came to be a part of my life over 21 years ago. I was young, he was younger. I think we came to be friends quickly…He was dynamic, full of world-changing ideas. He was filled with a soul that defied his few years among us, yet youthful and brimming with wide eyed wonder all at once. He was an honorary big guy in a not-so-large body.

Terry was a fisherman.  He loved the search…the ritual of the chess game between him, the waters, the winds, the weather, the light, the currents, and of course, the fish.

Not long after our meeting, Terry found himself having to prove himself a worthy adversary, not unlike the fish he tried so hard to lure, hook, and draw from the depths beyond the bank or the bow. I witnessed him facing adversity of health, of career, of human frailty, of potentially spirit-sapping misfortune…Terry used these rough patches as incentive to fight against the metaphoric hook and line that seemed to be attempting to reel and steal him away from a good life, a productive life, a normal life… and at times, away from life itself.

But Terry, being a fisherman himself, was well aware of the tactics of the adversary that threatened his own life journey. At times, it seems he had been caught unaware and was nearly hooked and dragged from this world. But as a fighter of the good fight, he always managed to break free, to cheat his moment of fate time and again. Terry fished, and learned from it and grew wiser and wilier through it all.

I felt Terry looked up to me. I used to think I mentored him, set an example, encouraged and incited hope in him. He admired my stature, longed to be my height…to tote the loads I could muster at our place of work. I used to think he wanted to be more like me.

But in truth, Terry taught ME about toughness, about strength, about perseverance, and about overcoming long odds. He taught me about a lot of things after I got to know him. He rarely had two breaks in a row, yet even in the midst of rough times, he rarely missed a beat when it came to friendship. I learned resilience and was inspired profoundly by his will. I soon became an admirer of his, and ours became a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

I have heard it said that if you feed a man a meal, you feed him for a day. But if you teach him to fish, you can help him to feed himself for a lifetime. Terry was my friend, and he was a teacher in his own right. Terry’s life taught me that life is like fishing…that it is at times heartbreaking, tough, and often leaves a soul hungry and empty-handed. But he also taught me that there is always another day, another spot that holds promise…that there is reason why it is called “fishing” and not “catching.”

It took me all these years to understand he had, in fact, been mentoring me all along. He showed me that a fish could care less if its opponent was taller, stronger, or any other number of self-appreciating traits. He taught me that one needs patience, desire, fair breezes, and a willingness to find that simple joy is in the fishing itself, even when there is little or no catching going on.

To be sure, there have been many occasions when Terry has been caught himself, and perhaps battered, but never outfoxed and landed. He was as much a wily old fish as he was crafty old fisherman.

Terry did finally get beat at his own game, but he did so while planning his next day of fishing. John Lennon said that “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” I find myself needing to amend that thought with another…while you’re busy making your plans, the Good Lord may be making his own plans for you. In which case, should God’s plans come to fruition, the conclusion of life may be what happens. Evidently, the Lord needed a fishing buddy, so he called on Terry to cast a line out with him.

There was much more to Terry than fishing, but then there is also much to be learned from the simple act of casting a line over water and sending a seeking hook into the depths. Every day we cast out our intentions and aspirations over the water, and every day the life beyond this one is casting out its own, in search of all of us…luckily, we usually elude the bait and tackle for the better part of ten decades…although some simply can’t evade the inevitable but for a short while.

To sit and remember the good old days, one has to have once lived them. And we should be thankful always…even for what was in the past, or has simply been taken away in an untimely fashion. To have been blessed with a gift even if only briefly, is still a blessing…even when it is viewed in retrospect.

I think that Terry might have felt the following regarding his life:

I have fished the very river that has heard my confessions, absorbed my tears, nourished my body, and quenched my thirst for water and for life. The river has become a part of me, and one day soon I hope to become a part of the river itself. I will take parts of you with me to the river I love so. I will see all of you again somewhere down the road. In the meanwhile, I will fondly peer out along the banks of that river and hope to feel you there. I hope you feel my spirit too…

With the last of my breath having left me, the sum of my treasure will be entombed in my stilled heart, and assembled there at my resting place. I hope the assembly is large, and glad to have known me. I hope the bounty of their personal treasure is swelled with my contribution, and that they too see the value is in the life we live and not piled about your properties.

If there is a twinge of an empty feeling that finds you when a cool breeze sends a chill, or when a line in a movie sends you to a desolate place inside, it is just Terry paying you a momentary visit.

Terry has joined with those already gone on ahead of him. He will see the rest of you at the grandest reunion of all. You’ll find him fishing…wearing a baseball cap and vest…nursing a can of something cold, with a pinch of something behind his lip…and a bucket of pan-sized small mouth to fry up for you later on. His hands will be filled with rod and reel, his face will wear a smile…and his heart will be at peace there by the shore of that river. Be happy for him…

As for me, I’m going down to the bank of that river, I’m gonna cast my line out over the swells, and hope for lot of fishing, and regardless of whether I get a bite or not…I will be glad and thankful to simply be convening with the spirit of Terry while he sits next to me there, healthy again, and whole once more…casting out his own line…not just to pass the time, but to make the passing of time a gift, and a lesson on how life ought to be lived…patient, thoughtfully, and with eager anticipation of the nibble or strike at the hook.

Terry is off fishing, he’ll be fine.

Thank you Terry for teaching me to fish and, in turn, how to live life.

Vía con dios my friend.

Read Full Post »

Some thoughts not just for the holidays, but to live by every day…

Posted in Holidays, inspirational, life lessons, people, Uncategorized on November 15, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Please do your very best stay in touch
with each other. Give heartier handshakes, let conversations linger.
Have an extra coffee or two with your loved ones after those too rare
family meals. Let there be an added half hour of goodbye loitering when
two or more of you gather. Hug tighter; be generous with your gifts
of time, with your love too. I am told that you’ll never see a hearse
towing a U-Haul trailer to a funeral, so sacrifice a few dollars earned
thru too many hours working away from family and friends. The only things
you take with you are memories; the biggest things you leave behind
are your legacy, your love and smiles, and the echo of your laughter.
Make sure they are bountiful and always fresh and recently replenished.

Please take good care of yourself, take
one more walk and have one less drink or cigarette. I need all of you,
and we all seem to need more of each other more than ever before. I
Hope we can love one another more deeply, be sincere in our greetings
and farewells.  I pray that Christmas and other faith filled days can
see a return to their roots – and linger past the designated days.
If someone crosses your mind; find them, call them. There are reasons
for those thoughts and memories returning to us. Follow through. You
can never make up for time lost once someone has gone on ahead. And
always part on glad terms, just in case that parting with another ends
up the last that either you or the other is left to live on with. Go
on by leaving folks with a hearty hug, rather than a scowl and a grudge. 

Matthew Landsman

Autumn 2007

Read Full Post »

July 28th 2007

Posted in inspirational, nostalgia, Uncategorized on November 15, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Let me take you back a little over thirty
years ago, to a warm nite on the tenth of June in the year of our Lord
of 1977.  We had gathered for one last time in that well used auditorium…for
an extended moment of celebration, of reflection…for a collective
embrace between nearly a hundred graduates, and our relieved (and in
some cases; amazed) families and friends gathered there. At the time
this was the culmination of our most awesome moments to date. At the
time I had no clue that night would end up influencing my person for
the balance of my life. I only knew I wanted to speak well for the lot
of you, to choose words reflective of the occasion, that the rest of
you could relate to and embrace for that night and hopefully; for all
time.

No pressure whatsoever for my first ever
speech and meaningful composition…

You were a captive audience that night,
my partners in learning and those who joined the lot of us. Tonight
I speak to you with renewed appreciation of the essence of classmates,
replaced now with sentiments such as friends, compadres, and pals, old
and new.  

I did know my time in our little town
was a precious commodity as my family was to leave here within days,
and I would follow them a couple short months later.

Much to my thankful amazement these words
that had been lost to me for the better part of three decades were recently
returned to me by one of you who saw it fit to preserve not just the
thoughts of a seventeen year old word smith, but as a vital part of
that special night and of our history together. I had resigned myself
to thinking that not only might I not see a lot of you here tonight
ever again, but that the words themselves had been lost somewhere in
the shuffle of all the miles and years we’ve put behind us. I know
now as I realized then that the seemingly impossible is attainable as
long as I stay close to all of you and faithful to these words I shared
with and for all of us…on that magical and momentous night so many
years ago… 

Graduation Address from
Your class speaker ~ June 10th 1977 

These are the feelings I hold inside
about the past four years and I believe all the seniors would like to
convey the same message. 

I have a feeling deep in my heart
for all of the people here. When I came here a child, my mind was full
of mysteries and I looked at the world and its people with awe. I wanted
the answers to those “whys” I asked. 

I found many good people to explain
the world to me, and good friends to talk to when I began to understand
the world that sometimes brought me down. With them the world was a
beautiful place, full of sunshine. Even the rain outside couldn’t
dampen our youthful spirits. 

A lot of those people have reached
the top and struck out on their own, as we’re doing now. I miss them
but I hold happy memories of them, and now I can truly respect them
for their achievements. 

There’s a group of people that got
here every morning before we did. The people are the administration,
they’re beautiful people. They understand the feelings and attitudes
of youth and worked overtime so we could get all out of life there is
available. Along with my parents they somehow made the mountains of
adolescence seem to shrink and become lessons in life, rather than setbacks
and disappointments. 

The spirits in the hearts of
our people is unsurpassable. In sports we saw many victories and losses,
but we never gave up, so we couldn’t be defeated. Where else could
teams be formed and perform in mud where others have grass and asphalt?
It’s not money spent that makes winners; its hours spent and determined,
ever-trying hearts. We were too proud to be defeated. 

Most of the
“whys” I asked before have been answered, the mysteries uncovered.
I will miss the people I’ve grown to love. I will always remember
this most fantastic journey. I’ve learned that success is possible
and not step on people as I climb, no matter what heights a person reaches,
it’s important to take time to say thanks before going on your way. 

In the past four years I’ve come
as far as the ten before. I have good
memories in my head and knowledge in my head that can’t be measured
or traded for gold. It’s all too precious and beautiful.  

These have been the best four years
of my life and no matter how far life sends me; the undying spirit of
’77 will live in my heart forever.  

Some of those thoughts were prophetic,
but to be sure, the meaning of them has changed profoundly over the
years. It has taken me all those passing years to realize the real message
of what was taught to me in high school.  Those collections of moments
have become metaphors that still teach me today. Memories of certain
experiences and staff members still enlighten me even now. For those
gifts I give belated thanks today. For some other moments I carry remorse
and I offer long overdue apologies…

Some faces are missing from the crowd
not only for tonight, but for the rest of time, I have done my best
to recall the last time I saw the souls now lost to us, to remember
the last words exchanged, the etching of what will have to serve as
reminders of them until we meet again somewhere beyond the bounds of
this lifetime…

I recall Brad, our own number 77…menacing
those on the other side of the line of scrimmage poised in front of
him, and sending shot putts and javelins into orbit at track meets always
held away from our home grounds. Not only did Brad wear the jersey with
our proud year upon his back, he was the first to leave us, first to
become a lesson of the hardest kind, having perhaps taught the rest
of us well enough to have helped us avoid his fate ourselves. Brad’s
last words to me were “I know you’ve got it covered, but I’ve
got your back no matter what happens…”

I believe those words still ring true
today…

I recall Doyle, also taken too young
from our ranks. He too prowled the line and backfield at those ballgames
of yore. He also prowled the nights with me as we tinkered on a ’63
Impala, or worked equally as diligently to find the bottom of a bottle
of home made wine…or whatever beverage was available to under aged
connoisseurs of anything that would cop us a buzz. Tony Hill, Doyle,
his son Christopher and I all broke bread together one last time shortly
before Doyle was to go on ahead of us. I will miss my friend…

I recall too, the invulnerable smile
of Karen Self, always an inspiration in the face of adversity. I remember
last seeing her at one of our reunions, then hearing of her having found
the love of her life and being married and at the top of the world when
she was taken from us. Through the mist of those memories of not so
long ago, I feel her life was a venerable example of how to embrace
the moments that are given us, and live them to their fullest. Let her
life and loss not have been spent in vain. Live by her example.

If there be others out there who are
gone, they were a part of the whole, a part of our class and they are
missed in spirit. They are the twinge of an empty feeling that finds
us when a cool breeze sends a chill, or when a line in a movie sends
us to a desolate place inside. Had I known what lie ahead I might have
been a little melancholy and perhaps had added a “via con dios”
(go with God) to my graduation address in ‘77… 

This isn’t a memorial service but I
wanted to pay homage to all of our class. I will see those three
and the rest at the grandest reunion of all. Salute…

I think at this stage in life few of
us need be reminded that life is often short, to not take any days for
granted, to never turn down a chance to dance with your love…to visit
your siblings, parents, and kids every chance possible. Listen to Garth
Brooks’ many thoughtful songs in case you’ve forgotten, or maybe
just a few of my words.

I am reminded of a favorite saying of
mine. “Though no one can make a brand new start my friend, starting
now, we CAN make a brand new end…” In March of this year I made
a simple promise to myself to find as many classmates as possible and
just gather their stories and contact information to share among us.
I made a simple pledge to make this reunion a little more inclusive
and perhaps personal too. I got more than I ever imagined out of the
task, and found a larger role in the process of organizing this reunion.
For the first time, I’ve gotten to know some of you again.
The experience has given me new friendships with some I barely knew
in high school.

I can still hear the echoes down the
hallways of that long abandoned school, feel the warmth of your being
as we brushed shoulders in a lunch line or rolled eyes at each other
in the midst of a boring lecture in some ancient class on even more
ancient history. Through the years as I have ventured down as many other
halls, sat dutifully at other desks, broke bread with whoever was a
part of my days, and toiled at the work put in front of me…I have
felt parts of our years still with me, imagined your faces in a crowd,
longed for the innocence and the unbridled joy that being there with
you could bring. While I’ve always lived in the moment, I also find
myself clinging to fragments and shreds of tired memories and trinkets
of our times together. Today, I’m here to replenish my supply, to
fill my heart and raise my glass to you again before I resume the journey.
When I leave here this time, I will have looked each of you more deeply
in the eye, held an embrace longer than in the past, and let your words,
your expressions, your collective essence embed a little more meaningfully
into my soul.

For well over thirty years I have lived
near the banks of the Columbia River. I have followed the river from
its origin at the Columbia Ice fields in Canada, to its merging with
the Pacific at Astoria. The river has heard my confessions, absorbed
my tears, nourished my body and quenched my thirst for water and for
life. The river has become a part of me.

In 1973, I became a citizen of Rainier,
I eventually became a Rainier Columbian as I was embraced by one, then
some, and finally by most all of you before those four years came to
pass. Today I am proud to say I am and always will be a Columbian to
the core. I shan’t travel along that river, nor feel a raindrop, or
learn a lesson without a symbolic “Captain Columbian” at the helm,
and without feeling the encouragement from my class to stand up and
speak my heart and mind.

The life times spent with you still flow
through my veins like the river past my desert town, and downstream
here past Rainier. You are all part of my foundation now, part of my
journey that will eventually empty in a celestial ocean of sorts. I
am proud of what we’ve accomplished and endured both together and
apart. I have not forgotten my roots, nor to thank those who’ve helped
me along the way. Though I left here some thirty years ago, the spirit
of this hallowed place I took with me. The soul in me is bursting with
the well seasoned pride from my times at the old Rainier High.

I’m taking all of you with me from
now on. I’m going to embrace this re-validation as your class speaker.
To borrow some words from a song I listened to when I still wandered
those halls, played in and attended the games, and lived the life with
all of you…”I’m holding onto things that used to be, holding onto
things that again will never be…and I’m always gonna hold onto you…” 
I will see some of you down the road; I will fondly peer out into the
night along the banks of that river and hope to feel the rest of you
there. I will do so with love in my heart, and I will remember you…I
renew my vow and declare now…The undying spirit of the Class of ’77
still lives in my heart, and will continue to…for the rest of my part
of forever…                                                                                                          
 

Matthew Lyle Landsman                                                                  

Read Full Post »

Estate sale…

Posted in inspirational, life lessons, Memorials, nostalgia, people, Uncategorized, tagged , on November 15, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Hi Boo…I just went to the bank and got out a few of the dollars the job put there. I noticed the avenue by my house was full of cars and folks walking to an unknown destination.  It had to be more than just a yard sale as the volume of the pilgrimage was too large. I saw an estate sale sign as I rounded the corner and headed to the bank.

I walked over there after I got home…to a place a half a block away at the end of a cul-de-sac, nestled among tall trees and rounded drives. I have lived in the neighborhood for eleven years and had never ventured, nor even really looked down that drive. I figure these folks had wanted and earned their privacy. Yet
I ventured down the drive today, curious…

I’m sorry I went.

I feel as though I violated sacred ground…felt my skin crawl a little.  I saw the books and tools, the diversity of life…the places traveled, the art, the worn pan in which she cooked his eggs…the coffee cup over which a soul
pondered the morning and day ahead…the sources of music that may have
accompanied private dances.  I trod upon worn floors that kids, and likely grandkids, had learned to crawl, then walk upon.  I saw a corner with an easy chair and a desk where a lifetime of bills were paid…a collection of ancient tools and instruments with which a living was made.

I saw a house…a beautiful home…a place where lives and loves had grown.  I saw a collection of dusty testimonials to the wondrous circle of life which we are all in the midst of…and I felt both full and empty. I tiptoed through the rooms, aware I was practically treading upon a grave…or an impromptu shrine that was being looted by bargain hunters…

And I thought of my own family…the great house and home my parents shared and cared in…and I thought of you too…then I kept my money where it belonged, tucked away…and instead said a prayer that in the end, my parents’ lives are honored and validated with a little more dignity…

I walked away from that house a slightly shaken and wiser man…and finished the coffee with which this whole journey began.

Matthew Lyle Landsman

August 22, 2008

Read Full Post »

Cancer Society Relay for Life essay

Posted in Cancer Society Relay for Life essay, inspirational, life lessons, Memorials, people, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 15, 2009| 1 Comment »

Dylan Thomas wrote:

“Do not go gentle into that good night.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Just after dawn on this relay morning I woke up with that line in my head…woke up with the recent memories of the luminary lighting ceremony, the benediction prayer, the soft strains of “Amazing Grace” sung by Penny…the team leaders carrying the flames that moments later would illuminate the names of loved ones who had fought and either won, lost, or were continuing to fight the good fight against their cancer.

In the time during the struggle my family endured alongside my stricken mother, and the time that has passed in the following years, I came to realize that the patient isn’t the only soul who is forever affected by the indiscriminate nature of cancer. I have been forever touched inside, by not only the loss inflicted by this worst of all diseases, but by the loss of innocence it forces upon us, the loss of sleep it continues to impose on those left behind, and the loss of understanding we search for to somehow justify the senseless suffering that cancer imposes on the victims, the family members, friends, neighbors, and caregivers, both young and old.

Last evening I witnessed a collective raging against the dying of the light…a glow encircling the track not unlike a halo of defiance sending out the message that, despite the heartlessness of the beast, a gathering of names, of stories, of prayers, and of faithful travelers in the still of evening spoke out against the forces of darkness.  We will not go gently into that good night. We will bring our own light; a message of will and determination to break the cycle of impending darkness, of deprivation and sorrow, the anger and time stolen from our lives and the lives of our loved ones.

So we assemble in a show of oneness and undying determination against the never resting cycle of degradation and deprivation of life and lives consumed by this demon called cancer. And we vow to carry our vigil from dusk, thru the spell of darkness, until we all emerge again in the light of the infant dawn. We are a collection of friends and strangers with a kindred spirit and a common bond. We form a family of veterans in the good fight to end this relentless march of darkness looming from beyond the shadows and staring down upon us all.  We are an eclectic combining of individual candles shimmering into a collective raging flame of diligent souls who “rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Shortly after the silent lap and as the stadium lights were still doused, I stood at the side of a stranger, peering into the candlelit night and up into the bleachers at the side of our battleground. From a vantage point to left of the bleachers, I could easily make out the word “HOPE” spelled out in assembled luminary bags in front of me.  But the next word appeared as a menagerie of glowing bags without reason or definition. The stranger there with me offered up the explanation that the second word was “hard to see”, but that it read “CURE”.

At that very moment my poet’s heart recognized the gravity of the moment, the irony of the jumbled word eluding my understanding…just as the cure itself lies somewhere out there still…in another collection of nights…other relays…in the misty light of a long awaited and very welcome dawn. Or perhaps cure will debut as flashes of blinding lightning bolts in the velvety midnight sky. Until that day, we will have to rely on each other for the light, lean on God for the light, resort to the lingering light of the memories of our loved ones lost to the celestial discharge. Before the cure becomes a reality, rather than a hard-to-decipher encryption in the metaphoric bleachers before us in a hope-filled night in June, we will continue to circle the track to join hearts, hands, prayers, voices and share stories.

Harry Chapin used to sing of life being “a circle with no clear-cut beginnings, and so far; no dead ends.”  He spoke of having a “funny feeling that we’ll all get together again.”  In the case of our yearly relay and the reasons for our holding it, Harry’s words were sadly prophetic. I love the camaraderie of this annual event. I look forward to us all gathering to reminisce our loved ones lost, of the battles won by survivors, and to just share in the essence of knowing the experience as we do.  But I mostly look forward to being able to look back in retrospect on the day when cures to the multitudes of cancers were found…when our diligence was rewarded with success and we are able to honor the loss of our loved ones with validation of our efforts to find those cures. Right now the circle of cancer in our lives is presenting us with far too many dead ends, and the discovery of the illness presents us with stark and solemn clear-cut beginnings. I join all of you in hoping that the only dead ends we find are the ends of a search for the cure…to the beginning of gathering in celebration and looking on our June gatherings in retrospect, rather than as a vigil continued.

Until then, I will join you in providing the light after darkness falls, in the circling of the track, in the joining of hearts, prayers, voices and well intentions…to rage against the dying of the light…and the circles in our lives ending with sorrow rather than continuing with jubilation. I am honored to join you all in the good fight, and to not go gentle in that good night, but to continue fighting until the dawn brings us victories and validations for the lives perished and rewards us for nights of sleep lost…

Be well, and continue to relay, until we need relay no more.

June, 16, 2007   Matthew Lyle Landsman

Read Full Post »

dandelions

Posted in Gardening, inspirational, life lessons, people, Uncategorized on November 15, 2009| Leave a Comment »

I am doing what I can to be an individual who makes a difference. If only the best of intentions would propagate like weeds. I guess though that they do.  Only it just takes a little more nurturing and a different standard of time to see the results.

As I am writing and thinking about all this…souls, weeds, patience, etc., it dawned on me that when one discovers dandelions growing in his lawn, one immediately fears infestation…in other words–the worst.  Instead of whining about dandelions, perhaps the world should look on the bright side and simply let them grow, then harvest and make dandelion wine…

A child is naturally attracted to the yellow “flower” and will present it to us as if it were a treasure. While our heart is bursting at the sweetness and naivety of a kid’s optimism, we secretly feel the longing to see, perhaps, a yellow rose there instead.  Dandelions have a bad reputation.  Children are trivialized for their innocent beliefs, and we are regularly disappointed by our expectations and unreasonable standards.

I guess a lot of folks would rather live in alleys than to own a piece of land with a yard full of dandelions… or go thirsty while waiting for wine from the south of France, and go without true love from a child’s gift while hoping for attentions from unattainable souls…

I say the glass is neither half full nor half empty…it’s just too big. Get a smaller glass and fill it with the dandelion wine.  Hug that child and show a better side of you to the world.  Wear that weed in your lapel and be happy you have the purest sort of love there is. When a worthy other sees you there making the best of these meager gifts, he or she will recognize that you are capable of embracing the metaphors presented to you, and that other soul will deem you genuine, deep, substantial, worthy, and deserving.

Love the weeds, they are people too. Harvest their bounty and make the wine. The taste and intoxication may even be sweeter and more potent. Fill that smaller glass to overflowing and appreciate the essence of every drop.  Perhaps then the Good Lord will lead you to a vineyard in Provence, a crystal setting, a yard full of roses…and you will knowingly turn it all down as you truly know real treasure when you see it.  It’s all about appreciation, faith, recognizing potential, and is as simple as accepting a beautiful flower from the pure heart of a child…

Matthew Lyle Landsman 2008

Read Full Post »

A House on a Hill…

Posted in inspirational, life lessons, nostalgia, people, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on November 15, 2009| 1 Comment »

Back in 1910, when Halley came around, the foundations of this house and barn had already been settling into the dark, rich ground for a decade under the Oregon rain. The lumber from which it was built had been felled and cut with handsaw, axe, sweat, and sinew from the tall timber nearby.

And in its time, touching on parts of three centuries (19th, 20th, and 21st) since ground was first broken, the farm would bear witness, but not falter and fail to the winds of change.  I myself have looked over the valley, to the forests and fields…to homesteads likely as old…and except perhaps for a change of crops and livestock, the view has remained essentially the same for nearly forty years.

On a recent visit it occurred to me that the influence from some lines in the Book of Ecclesiastes still echo throughout those timeless hills. And in some respects, time has stood still there on that farm. Time has hinted but not been granted much in the way of compromise. Some things have remained constant through the passing of over four hundred seasons since the foundations were laid there…and as in Chapter three of that book, there has been every purpose laid down and served over the passing of time:

“To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under heaven…”

On this farm lives have seen their beginnings and some have concluded their time on earth as well. Gardens and crops have been planted, and beasts and fowl have been raised. There has been harvest and slaughter, and gathering of eggs and milk alike. Lives have faltered and seen healing. Through it all there has been laughter and heartfelt tears, wedding dances and wakes, squabbles and reuniting of souls, times of exile and of reunion.  Lives and things have been both shattered and mended in kind…Souls have been saved and sent out into the world. And in times of war, some have served and fought the good fight, while the balance have stayed home to pray for peace and wisdom to prevail. On this farm, there have been prayers for both foe and allies, so we can all live as one in the end. For over a century, on these near to fifty acres on God’s green earth; a time for every purpose under heaven has been honored and served with altruistic humility.

And if there is such a thing as heaven here on earth, perhaps one might find the greenest acres of it here…

Good things never really go out of style, especially when one tends to not be a slave to fashion in the form of fads and trends. Goodness is basic, it is wise yet simple. Goodness is taught by example, maintained by character-filled intrinsic souls and emulated through generations and over the course of millenniums. It isn’t always popular, nor is it always easy. Virtue entails hard work, perseverance and conviction. Goodness survives, and fortunately, thrives here…

The fields and meadows around this house would have likely, over the decades, fed young men that would see sad times through the Great War…the one that was fought to end all wars. Then the house on the hill overlooking valley and dale would again bear cattle and crop to feed those of Greatest Generation in the war that followed. Since the land was cleared and the house and outbuildings were raised, the USA has waged seven major wars.

And I clearly recall an event that occurred in the time frame when the last helicopter left Saigon…When men returned from battlefields… men who had started their journey as wide eyed boys.

On nearly fifty acres, Mr. C watched over a treasure of lovely daughters, who were in turn being looked over by a variety of country boys. But boys we were… eating machines that produced unearned ego and testosterone by the bushel and bail.  Then a wise and resourceful father and farmer inducted this squad of boys with idle hands who’d been basically loitering around his girls and grounds…He enlisted the lot of us to earn our keep, and his respect perhaps, and to gather his hay and stack it safely in the loft.

Knowing well we had our wild oats to sow, he curtailed that urge and diverted our energies to instead to clear his fields, to feed his cattle, to feed his family and community.  While in that field, following a steadily moving tractor and trailer, we stacked bales alongside his daughters. And we unwittingly harvested self respect and cultivated a start on manhood. We earned a piece of his hard earned bread, exchanged sweat equity for Kool-Aid…and a valid taste of an honest, hard day’s work. It was but a taste, an insightful glimpse beyond our coddled youth. And with a few dollars in our pocket, I can guess that even the heartiest of us looked wearily back at a glimpse of a real man’s world…Then, spent of the energy and vigor that had accompanied us to the early morning starts, we dragged our tired posteriors off to therapeutic showers and perhaps the first night in our lives of well earned sleep. As for those wild oats…we had little left in the tank afterward to venture near that field.

I for one got his point and eventually knew I’d visited the Gill boot camp that week. I had never looked down on the man, but I can assure you, I’ll always look up to him for what he taught me then. To this day, when I chance to pass by a field of hay stubble and waiting bales, I look back knowingly and pay homage to his genius and callused but gentle shaping hands…

And no, he didn’t do all this on his own. For 56 years now there has been Gill and Harriet…and their kids…lots of them…eight daughters and four sons. (Gill finally got some sons to help him put up hay…and they remain at his aid even to this day…)

They’ve been in this great and simple old house since 1959. A house where old fashioned ideals never grow out of style, where hands wash the dishes and the family gathers around the table on a regular basis…where prayers are not only spoken, but radiate from the hearts of all who are a part of the life there.

Halley came back around again in 1986 and looked down upon all the chaos below… But on nearly fifty acres in a green corner of the Pacific Northwest, even Halley had to admit that peace existed there…That the world ought to peek in there and learn about the simple truth that progress is rarely an improvement…and that people mainly seek profit and scarcely consider that change isn’t always for the general good…And that if it isn’t broken, don’t try to fix it, don’t bend it, don’t plug it in, don’t tax it, don’t judge it, don’t date it…But do admire it, and try to emulate it beyond those nearly fifty acres.

If I were asked what was raised and grown on that farm, I would say without hesitation or the need for further explanation; goodness, virtue, honesty, compassion, patience, family, and possibly, the solution to what ails our society today…a good serving of God fearing respect, faith, hope, and mostly, love…pure and simple.

When one needs to find the answers, to grow beyond adolescence, to lead the flock, to elude the circling pride…Go find Gill , roll up your sleeves, (even at the young age of eighty he’ll be up and already waiting on you), and make some hay. After that, eat a meal of Harriet’s home made soup and bread. Sip from a glass of icy cold water from their artesian well. The rest will soon grow clearer and the scattered pieces will begin to fall into place…Then step outside and chop some firewood…that stove can’t feed itself.

Life on the hill overlooking the Georgia Marilyn Geisel—–t (for privacy) Memorial Grove (in honor of Gill’s late mother) is a labor of love…as is the grove itself.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven…And perhaps my time there is always a gift of a glimpse at heaven here on earth.

Keep the home fires burning Gill and Harriet…and I’ll see you there on that hill, when Halley next comes around…

Matthew Lyle Landsman, early November, 2008.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »