My Bench Has Waited For Me

It has been awhile since I have posted to my blog.  The view from my bench was interrupted by a diagnoses last November of Pancreatic Cancer.  I had surgery in January and four months of chemotherapy, which was completed the end of June.  At this point my scans are clear and I have had the Summer free of treatment.  I have reunited with my wonderful bench. Once again I am enjoying the view.  The view from my bench has taken on new meaning for me.  I have always enjoyed it, but now I embrace it with an even greater intensity.  I have always tried to treasure the moment and embrace each day with great appreciation.  Now more than ever I am thankful for life and the family and people I love.  I have decided to share my story and encourage others to share theirs in a new website www.drinkdeeply.net .   In 1978 when I was 28 and my wife was expecting the first of our two daughters I wrote these words:

The days pass quickly by and time becomes like a fast-moving stream flowing by the fields and forests of our lives. We speak of the past and of the future as if somehow that fast-moving stream will slow its motion or reverse its direction. Yet the essence of time is not what has been, or what will be, but what is. Thus, it is better to drink deeply from the constant flow of time than to regret what you missed downstream.


I will continue to share the view from my bench and encourage you to share your story at www.drinkdeeply.net. 

Tim

Picking Up Other People's ****

Another glorious, "I can wear shorts," day as I walk to my bench. I try to feel the pain of those suffering freezing cold temps across the country, but it is hard to do as I sit on my bench basking in 70 plus degree sunshine.

While I sit on my bench quite a few dog walkers pass by. It is always fun to compare dogs with their owners. What does someone's dog choice say about them? Of course the variety of dogs and owners is unlimited, every shape and size. Funny isn't it that you never see someone walking a cat. Which brings me to my real subject: dog ****.

The park has signs telling "pet owners" exactly what they can do with their dog's ****. Yet, some people don't get the message or most likely refuse to get it! You can tell I am a bit upset about this lack of common courtesy. That's when it happened.

A gentleman (you will see why I use that word) comes walking by with his dog and the dog stops and I don't have to go into detail on what the dog does. The gentleman pulls out a plastic bag and cleans up after his pet. But then an amazing thing happens this gentleman pulls out another plastic bag and cleans up another pet's mess left by a inconsiderate, waste littering idiot!

As the gentleman continued his walk I thanked him for his good deed. "I always bring an extra plastic bag to help keep the park clean," he responded.

Praise God for the "gentle" people that make our world a better place because they are willing to clean up other people's ****.

Tim

Humans and Dogs Respond to Rewards

Halfway through my walk, as many of you know, I pause to sit on "my bench." The other day as I was resting on the bench I looked across to the Middle School and noticed a dog obedience class was being held in the playground. I thought it interesting that dogs were being trained at the same place 7th and 8th-graders have classes.

The pet owners with a direct and firm voice asked their dogs to perform a behavior and then rewarded them when the behavior was done correctly.

It raised a question in my mind: do humans respond to rewards like dogs? So I did what any 21st Century person would do I Googled the question. I discovered the "Dog Behavior Blog" authored by Dr. Con Slobodchikoff, President and CEO of Animal Communications, Ltd. In his January 2, 2009 blog, "How Dog Training Imitates Life," he says the same qualities; clarity of communications, trust, rewards, and social interaction affect the behavior of humans and dogs.

The greatest and most effective reward? Love. (You thought it was food didn't you!) It is amazing what dogs and humans will do for love.

Tim

Don't Stop Moving!

Not long ago as I basked in the sun sitting on my bench an elderly gentleman walked over and sat down beside me. At first I simply looked straight ahead and continued my "reflection." Finally I turned to look at my "bench mate." Then I realized I knew this man. He was the father of a good friend visiting from the East Coast. We recognized each other at the same time. After exchanging greetings and talking about the weather I asked him the secret of his longevity (he is 95). "Don't stop moving," he quickly quipped.

I was reminded of his words last week. A seventy-something friend and I had to go to the bank to take care of some financial business. I picked her up in my VW Van and she climbed into the passenger seat with great agility. When I asked her the secret of her physical strength she echoed those same words, "Don't stop moving."

When we stop moving we stop growing. When we stop moving we stop hoping. When we stop moving we stop living.

Get Up. Get Going. DON'T STOP MOVING!

Tim

"Fifteen Two, Fifteen Four, Fifteen Six..."

...those words spoken with great inflection and enthusiasm are the words of my Grandfather recorded nearly 40 years ago. You see, I attended boarding schools for six years--from high school to college--and during several of those years my dad and I exchanged cassette taped letters.

Recently I purchased a cassette player that allows me to convert those tapes to MP3 files. It has been a long time since I dusted off those old tapes and listened to them. I am sitting here on my bench listening to those wonderful voices on my iPod.

Sometimes my Dad would take the recorder to my Grandparent's home and let them talk or in the case of the tape quoted simply let it run during a heated game of Cribbage. My Grandmother can be heard in the background during the game declaring, "Tim doesn't want to hear you two playing Cribbage!"

Grandpa was a avid Cribbage player. When I was in Junior High School I used to drop by after school and Grandpa would teach me the fine points of Cribbage playing. How to combine the right cards, play your hand in the right order, and throw those cards down with a flourish!

How wrong you were Grandma. I treasure hearing those simple everyday voices. Voices that no longer can be heard on this earth. They are all gone now. I miss them.

Listen to the voices of the ones you love, while you can still hear them.

Tim

The Thanksgiving Family Baseball Game!

Mom's on first, Uncle Ken is on second, Cousin Tom is on third and Gandpa is at home plate. I am watching it all unfold from my park bench on Thanksgiving morning.

When I walked by the field on my way to the bench I asked one of the players what was going on and he informed me it was the "annual thanksgiving family baseball game."

As I watched from my park bench I counted 20 family members on two teams. Each player brought varying levels of skill to the game, but one thing seemed clear they were all having a good time. The game mixed genders and generations. Each unique family personality brought their own style to the game. Some family members were intense, others mellow, and clearly a few couldn't tell one end of the bat from the other!

What a great idea. Instead of siting around staring at each other or the boob tube (TV) they were doing something. Engaged, interactive, moving, working together, having fun, laughing, encouraging, and creating another family memory in the string of annual Thanksgiving Family Baseball Games.

It's not too late. Why not this Christmas get off your blessed assurance and do something active? Create the First Annual Family _________________________.

Just think if you have the chance to strike out or tackle a family member there might be less tension around the dinner table!

Tim

How Many Times Does It Take To Get It Right?

Sitting on my park bench I was enjoying the sunshine and fresh air when I noticed that a mother and two young daughters, carrying baseball equipment, entered the empty baseball field.

Soon mom was putting her daughters through throwing, hitting, catching and pitching practice. It was intense. One daughter even broke down in tears. "Don't be such a crybaby," I heard the mom exclaim.

While the older daughter wiped her tears the younger daughter was on the pitching mound, throwing pitch after pitch to her mother. "When can we quit," the young pitcher asked. "When you get it right," her mother replied. The mother's response resulted in wild and wayward pitches and the practice ended with a frustrated mother and two angry daughters.

Parents who demand perfection get bitter children who often grow up to become anxious insecure adults.

Tim