West of Mayberry

I know the facts of this post will not interest the most of you, but maybe the spirit of it will.

As the rappers say, “people were blowing up my cellie” tonight.  I’d be on a call when another would beep in.  I’d let one go, and another would beep through.  I stopped answering the others once The Attorney got in.

His call referenced the same thing as all the others.  But, I could tell he figured I had already heard the news.

“Okay, I guess you were right.”

That’s all he said.

It’s not so much that I am “right,” but I had never been able to quite warm up to Lane Kiffen in his first year as the football coach at the University of Tennessee.   For some reason, which I could never really explain, I had trouble getting behind him.  Something in my gut just didn’t feel good about him.

Based on Kiffen’s announcement tonight that he is leaving Tennessee to take the open head coach position at University of Southern California, my gut instincts were correct.

I get why he wants to go to USC.  It’s one of the most storied programs in the nation.  Rose Bowl and everything.  Plus, he had been an assistant there during at least one of their recent National Championship years, serving under the very man he is replacing.  So, there is a sense of home about the place for him.  It’s his dream job.¹

But what about the recruits that were set to sign with Tennessee three weeks from now? ² What about the players who came to Tennessee already to play for him? What about coaching staff that he will not be taking with him and find themselves wondering if they will be replaced when we get a new coach?  Where do we find a good coach who will come into a program with no time left to recruit?

What about the fact that Kiffen in his first press conference a little more than a year ago, he was emphatic about how he was at Tennessee for the long haul so that he could rebuild our suffering program.

Where is his conscience?

In his final press conference tonight, which lasted less than one minute, he refused to take questions, and tried to deny TV cameras.  Those are not the actions of a man who is struggling with the consequences of a tough decision.  Those are not the actions of a man with a heavy heart.

Those are the actions of a man³ without a conscience, without class, and without a backbone.

Could he not display even the smallest expression of regret or sorrow.  That’s all it would have taken.  Even if he didn’t mean it.  I’m not saying people would have liked it any better, but I think more would have accepted the news.

“You’re pissing on us, Lane, but we understand.”

Instead, he chose to tell us that without a doubt in the fourteen month he was here, he is leaving us in a better place than we he arrived.

I assume he is not referring to the series of NCAA recruiting violations, mouthing off in the press, yet another bowl game loss, four team members going to jail for armed robbery and shop-lifting, nor the Halloween uniforms.⁴

Stupid ungrateful punk.

Interestingly, the USC fans, for the most part, don’t seem much happier with the news⁵ than our fans.  No one seems to be looking at it as the return of the prodigal son.   My gut now tells me that he is going to have a rough time of it out there.

That is if he makes it there.  There’s a lot of drunk rednecks out there right who have had their football messed with.  That’s worse than messing with their women.  There were reports that on campus, students were rioting outside the athletic center and demanding that Kiffen be brought out to them.

You reap what you sow.  One good turn deserves another.  Karma sucks.

Kind of ironic, but the Kiffens have a boy that was born not long after he took the job in Knoxville.  In honor of the new position, they named the baby “Knox.”  As much as I’m sure he wants to, Lane Kiffen will never be able to forget Knoxville, because forever he will be feeding it, changing it, and it will be asking him for money.

Karma is a bitch.  An evil, evil bitch.

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1. No doubt they are offering him more money too. [↩]
2. And will be penalized a year of playing if the decide to go somewhere else? [↩]
3. and I use the term lightly [↩]
4. I know black jerseys are all the rage in modern sports, but when your primary team color is orange, you just have to let that fad go. Especially if the game is on Halloween night. [↩]
5. for different reasons [↩]

A buddy and I were wishing each other Happy New year the other day.  He said he was so glad to say goodbye to 2009 because it had bee such a rough year for him.  I told him I felt the same way.

About 370 days ago, I started this blog, the gentler offspring of my somewhat racier blog that had run its course a few months earlier.

I started up this one because I missed writing and wanted to offer more of myself than a plus-sized pecker.

Then I failed.  I ended up making only 46 posts the entire year.

I blamed it on 2009.

But, how can I do that?  The pages of a calendar are no more responsible for a year that I would love to forget any more than the turn of the page on January 1 would suddenly make everything better.

Sure, there are things that happen that are beyond my control, but it’s not those things that effect my happiness, it’s how I manage to deal with them.

Granny’s health and faculties are in serious decline, but I’m the one who let the increased responsibilities frustrate me.

It was me (and the Attorney) who let the limitations created by the realities of our relationship get to me.  Not a two, a couple or zeros, and a nine.

So, it’s me who has the power to make it better in Twenty Ten.

I think maybe, without realizing it, I took a big step toward that already.

The Attorney visited with Granny and me on New Year’s Eve.  He gave up an invitation to a fancy party for a pretty uneventful evening watching the countdown on TV with us.  Granny fell asleep in her chair long before midnight and the Attorney took the opportunity to lay his head in my lap and steal few moments of private affection.

I normally wouldn’t go for anything like that right under Granny’s nose,¹ but there was a comfort there that was…well, comforting.

I wanted it to just be us.  If only for a few minutes, just us.

So, a few minutes before twelve, with Granny snoozing, he and I grabbed the bottle of champagne that the Attorney brought up, hopped into the truck and drove a little deeper into the mountains to a spot where we parked overlooking a ridge and waited for 2010 to arrive.

At the final tick, we toasted, drinking straight from the bottle, and steamed the windows with the year’s first kiss.

In all we were gone maybe half an hour and I honestly felt a little guilty about sneaking out on Granny.  But I also honestly felt happier than I had in a while.

Because I chose to make myself happy.

And that’s how it will go in 2010.

Happy 2010 to you, too.

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1. mostly out of respect [↩]

Despite what you think from the title of this post, this isn’t about high-school football play-offs.

So, don’t worry.

It’s about the Bible.

So, now worry.

It’s a bit after midnight here, west of Mayberry.  Officially Christmas Day.

I just said goodnight to Granny and turned off the lights in her room.  After getting her settled in, I sat next to her on top of the covers.  We propped ourselves against the headboard and watched TV for a while.

She got tired but wanted to hear the story of the nativity before she fell asleep.  As you all know, I’m not the most religious person in the world, but I’d have to be a downright heathen to refuse to do that.  So, I grabbed Granny’s Bible off the night table and read from the second chapter of the Luke.

No room at the inn.  Shepherds and their flocks and all.  But no Wise Men.  No kings.

At first I thought maybe I was reading from one of those contemporary editions or something.  But when I looked at spine, it said “King James.”  I asked Granny about it and she told me, “That’s Matthew.”

Then she told me she prefers Luke, which is why I guess that’s what she asked me to read.  I asked her why she preferred Luke since it was essentially the same story.

“Luke is more for regular folk.  Matthew is too…too…”

She searched for the right word, then finally finished her thought with, “too Republican.”

We both chuckled about that and I made a mental note to tell the Attorney, who has been known to have Republican tendencies.

Apparently there are differences in the facts of the Christmas story, depending on who told it.  Luke talks about the manger and shepherds.  Matthew talks about the kings.  The shepherds heard from an angel.  The Wise Men followed a star.

Isn’t it kinda ironic that the Gospels are not necessarily the gospel?

So, I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that even now, 2000 or so years later, that Christmas is a different thing to different people.  But whether your Christmas includes shepherds…or not.  Kings…or not…Jesus, Santa, Angels, Rudolph, presents, trees, or stars…or not, we’re all celebrating the same thing.

The easy answer is “the birth of Christ.”  But the bigger answer is “goodness.”

You may not believe a baby was born in a manger to a virgin. Or, if you do, you may not believe that babe is the Messiah.  But, if you celebrate Christmas at all, surely you can believe in the goodness that the story represents.

And, if you don’t celebrate, surely you can believe in goodness nonetheless.

It’s all mankind truly has to give.

Goodness: It’s no better, nor worse, from shepherds than from kings.

Happy Holidays, dear friends and readers.

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It’s been more than two months since my last post.

In the last several weeks I have received numerous e-mails of concern, support, inquiry, and general contact.  I have to say that I am overwhelmed by the number of people who give a shit about my well-being, and even more amazed by the number who have stuck with the blog in my absence.

I now understand why the word “thanks” has similar roots as the word “think.”  It’s because we express thanks for one’s thoughtfulness.

In honor of the Thanksgiving holiday, I thought this is the perfect time to express my Thanks and gratitude to all of you for writing, continuing to visit the blog, and keeping me, Granny, and The Attorney in your thoughts, prayers, and RSS  feeds and Google readers.

I wish I had some monumental epic story to excuse the cobwebs and chirping crickets that seem to have taken over here West of Mayberry, but the truth is that sometimes life’s currents overtake you and sweep you under.¹  You go missing for a bit,  but if you keep your wits, hold your breath, and stay calm, usually you’ll pop back up again…although a few yards further down the river.

So, here I am, popping up a little further down the river, a bit water-logged and a touch worn-out, but ultimately none the worse for wear.

I’ve never been one to burden others with my woes and sorrows.  And I’m not going to start now.  Folks have enough of their own without having to take my on, too.  But I do want to let you all know that despite some rough patches and stress, I’m okay.

I’m okay. Granny is okay.  The Attorney is okay.  We’re not perfect, but we’re okay.

Even if we weren’t, I would have made it back here eventually.  If for no reason other than to close the shutters and sweep up for one last time.  I would never just cut out without saying thank you and goodbye.

But, I’m not saying goodbye.  Just thank you.

For all you have given me.

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1. Ya’ll know my connection to water. [↩]

“He big man! Let me talk to you for a minute…”

I kept walking.

For two reasons: 1) I knew it must be a panhandler;¹ and 2) I didn’t realize he was talking to me.

I just don’t think of myself as a “big man.”

Granted, most folks would say I’m tall.  According to surveys, at 6′-3″, I am taller than 97% of other men. I realize I am generally the tallest man in any given room² but that figure really surprises me.

Still I’m guessing the percentage of  people who would refer to me as “big” is pretty small.

Because I don’t have a lot of body mass.  To me, that’s what makes a man big.

I have big hands, nose, feet, ears, etc., sure; but everything that connects them is pretty slim. I’ve always been slim, sometimes downright skinny.   I was around 150-160 lbs at 6′-3″ in my teens and early 20’s. Those are the years you really become who you are, so maybe that’s the way I will always see myself.

Even though I’m right around 200 lbs³ these days, that’s not all that much when stretched out to 75 inches.

Yet, to at least one homeless guy, I’m big.

The reason I write about all this is because it has me thinking about perception and how it effects almost everything in life.  There is very little black and white to our existence.  It’s all what kind of light you see it in.

It’s a struggle the Attorney and I are having right now.

Lately my time with him has been very limited because of having to ramp up my care for Granny.  I actually have not laid eyes on him since Labor Day weekend.⁴

To him, he’s not getting what he needs.  To me, Granny is getting what she needs.

A big deal?  Or a small sacrifice?

Depends on which one of us you ask.

Don’t get me wrong.  I understand where the Attorney is coming from, but I also know what I have to do.

I once heard a drag queen say lighting is everything.

As long as I remember that, I won’t lose perspective on his perspective.

I may not be big, but I hate feeling small.

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1. Don’t just beg for money. At least try to earn it in some way.  Play an instrument. Clean a windshield.  Something. [↩]
2. unless the Attorney, who is 6′-5″, is there. [↩]
3. the most mass I have ever had in my life [↩]
4. Very briefly at that. [↩]