Category Archives: Relationships

First Mother’s Day Without Mom

12 Monday May 2025

Posted by in Personal Growth, Relationships

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Missing Mom today. Actually most days.

I find myself wanting to call and share my life with her. You know, just chit chat about the day. That I worked another accident as a police volunteer, where the cars were all smashed up. That I finally bought that special car. That I worked on the deck (again). That I played my violin at church. That I ran a 10K. That Sandy The Little White Dog ate her breakfast for a change. You know, important stuff.

Our lives are enriched when we share them with family. Good times. Hard times. Bad times. Sharing brings both perspective and peace.

The voice of a Mother, even from far away, brings us back to those days. When the toy trucks and cars roll in the sandbox. When freshly mixed Kool-Aid slakes your thirst. When the hot dog casserole nourishes an empty tummy, even with those green beans covered with mushroom soup. When an Arby’s jamocha shake is a reward for withstanding yet another violin lesson way over in west Knoxville.

The voice of a Mother sometimes speaks truth that you don’t want to hear. In college to earn my engineering degree, I found myself believing my musical skills and my jazz band were poised for greatness. Mom dropped what she was doing, drove three hours to meet me for dinner, and gently shared her guidance. She was right. I’m an engineer, not a jazz band musician ready to blow out of town and hit the road with my friends in a clapped out Chevy van. It was hard to hear, hard to accept, and yet without that voice my office wall wouldn’t have a picture of me graduating from Vandy. Or a 41-year career creating new and better gizmos.

I think Mom probably grew tired over the years. Not tired of listening to me, but just tired. Tired from sharing her guiding principles, her evaluation, her advice over my advancing years. As I think back to our many conversations, I realize that the energy she gave to build me up all these years most likely depleted her own reserves of emotional strength. She continued to be Mom until the very end, but at times, I wondered who she was, in those last days. Doubtless her many physical ailments and continual pain challenged her spirit. I sensed that she was different, that she was not now who she once was. It was hard for both of us.

So today, my first Mother’s Day without her, I feel sadness. I can’t let it show, of course. Got to be strong. I’ll be okay. I can do this. Right.

If you’ll permit, let me encourage you to reach out today. Let Mom know, even if she’s far away, that you treasure her. That you recognize the sacrifices of a single Mom who worked without rest for years to put food on the table and two kids through high school and college. That you welcome her advice on life. Listen to it, even if you disagree. Thank her for it.

And, most of all, if your Mom is in the winter of life, be strong for her. Be accepting of her frailties. Be ready to step in, when asked. Know that she is still in charge, and navigate those tough times when you have to be her guide. Be the child she welcomed into the world so many years ago, and share that radiant love with each other.

May God bless you, Mom, as you live in His light and rejoice every day with Him. Thank you for giving me life and love.

AE4CH…Listening on the 442.55…

11 Monday Sep 2023

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I grew up in Knoxville, Tennessee. My house on Garden Drive was just across the street from a neighborhood where friends from Shannondale Elementary lived. Jake, Kent and Brian, Bryan and Paul, Mark, Scott, and Chuck. Chuck was everybody’s friend. Except to his own brother Mark. I hope someday they became friends.

In the afternoons, I would cross Garden Drive, wander up Pinewood Drive, and hang a left on Raven Drive. There I hoped to find the gang. Chances are we would meet up, swap stories from the day, and do something to pass the time.

Jake was a quiet young man. Fast on the playground, quick to smile, but not gregarious. He lived in a tiny house, even by 1970’s standards. Next door were Kent and Brian. These were the older boys, and somewhat feared. They ran the school safety patrol. They were about six feet tall, and very capable of pounding anyone they wanted. Paul and Bryan lived a few doors up. Paul was studious, smart, and quiet. Bryan was that social sparkplug. We were in Troop 256 together, down at St. Paul’s Methodist. Mark was another only child. He was a bit older, and we really didn’t know him well. Scott was part of our group, but his older brother Dean just didn’t want anything to do with us. And of course, Chuck. He was the life of the party, wherever he went.

One of the crazes of that era was CB radio. But for us, it was all about walkie-talkies. There was something magical about them. I think part of the allure was seeing the soldiers in uniform with field radios, or watching police dramas where handheld radios were used. Young men want to be like their heroes. Every once in a while, we would marvel at the walkie-talkies that Kent and Brian had. They were available at Radio Shack. They had the really cool models with the orange color stripe on the face, a slim design, and multiple channels. Just holding them, talking into them, I couldn’t help but really want a walkie-talkie of my own.

Kent and Brian, being older, leading safety patrol, were of course to be emulated. I remember reading the Radio Shack catalogs, visiting the store, and lusting after this model.

My father, being the ever-resourceful engineer, could do about anything. His skill in so many hobbies and his schooling gave him typical engineer insights on cars, guns, archery, leatherwork, dogs, and music. This influence led me to think about things a bit deeper, especially when he brought new facts to my attention.

I’m not sure what he said to me, way back then, but one day, I did find myself the proud owner of a walkie-talkie. Of course I had been focused on the Radio Shack model, but I ended up with a Lafayette. I can still see the silver metal case, the polished speaker grille, the A-B channel switch, the circuit board with its two sockets for frequency crystals, and that long telescoping antenna.

It was a substantial radio. Far more durable, being made of metal. Easier to hold. And, very high quality. I still remember my disappointment when the antenna tip broke off, making the antenna challenging to extend. I tried to choose the best channel crystals for our neighborhood gang, saving up meager allowance for that little two-pin metal cased oscillating quartz.

Where that radio is today, I’ll never know. We moved from Garden Drive to Mayfield Drive. Adolescence changed my focus. Friends from the old neighborhood were replaced with new connections. And, the radio hobby became impossible, given the distance from the new home to the old.

But, today, I was once again walking around the neighborhood, with Sandy The Little White Dog. It’s only about a mile. We do it often. Tonight, knowing Sandy wouldn’t be able to talk with me, I grabbed…you guessed it…a walkie-talkie.

It’s a bit more complicated than my old Lafayette. I picked it up recently, after testing for an amateur radio license. (I’m licensed by the FCC as AE4CH.) This radio has amazing technology. In this little package, carefully designed to fit in a standard shirt pocket, are circuits and computer chips and software that allow me to connect to people worldwide. It transmits on a couple of frequency bands, and with the right antenna, you can reach nearby “repeaters” which re-transmit your low power signal from your handheld on very high antennas with many watts of transmitter power.

One repeater is at 442.55 MHz, on the 70 cm band, and it is specially configured. It is a Wires-X repeater, and can connect the radio from the radio frequency signals to the internet. Other repeaters are also connected to the internet, all over the world. On Wires-X, I’ve managed to speak with people in New Zealand, Japan, England, and of course, all over the USA. Saturday I heard from fellows in Sarasota, New Jersey, and Los Angeles.

Tonight there was no one on the air, though. I guess it was dinner time. Sandy and I walked around the block, and were only too glad to be back home with the heat and humidity. I put the “handheld transceiver” up (we can’t call them walkie-talkies any more), and reheated some pasta for supper.

I got to thinking. It’s been fifty years since I had that Lafayette walkie-talkie. I still have it, so to speak. And, I still am walking around my neighborhood, trying to connect with Jake, Brian, Kent, Paul, Bryan, Mark, Dean and Chuck. I don’t know the names of the amateur radio operators — hams — like I knew those names. But, I still want to talk with them. The magic of radio communication still excites me. The exploration of the unknown brings me a sense of challenge, and in a way, adventure. Each contact I make is about nothing important, most of the time, but at special times that faceless voice becomes another friend. One afternoon I spoke with a gentleman who was on the way home from Richmond up to NoVA, after yet another cancer treatment for his 83-year-old wife down here. He was kind enough to share his story, and there on the radio I could pray with him for her treatment, her strength, and his struggle as a spouse to carry on.

I’m glad that today I’m still like that ten-year old cradling a shiny new Lafayette, wondering who might hear me from far away. May the quest to connect with others never leave me.

Knocking The Rust Off

02 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by in Christianity, Relationships

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Today was a special day. It was made special by my wife, who suggested that we play golf today. We never play golf. All day yesterday I could think only of today. And, today couldn’t come fast enough.

My wife has golf clubs.  I bought the set for a daughter who showed much promise, but later decided to focus on acting.  It’s a nice set, specially made for women, and about one inch longer than standard.  It’s called a “Square Two” set, and has a number of shorter irons, a few hybrids, and a few metal woods.  The shafts are creamy yellow, and the accent color is a deep red.  The bag has matching colors, of course.

I have a set of clubs also.  I bought them some years ago, when I was playing more with the guys at work.  Like many golfers, I discovered that my clubs were just not right for me, so I sold them to a US Navy pilot passing through my town, and put the money towards a new set.  Ping, of course.  Model S59.  According to the Ping static fitting model, these are perfect for me.  Later, a Ping expert watched me swing with them, and checked the impact tape he place on the sole.  Perfect.  No question about it.

Since my set was only the 5 iron through the pitching wedge, I needed a few more clubs.  I found most pros were firing at the flag using a series of wedges.  Since I rarely land on the green, I decided to buy more wedges, but to purposely find wedges that were not Ping, and not even the same brand.  I found a 52 degree Mizuno, a 56 degree Nike SV Tour, and even a special Callaway X grind 60 degree wedge.  That’s a nice wedge.  It’s perfect for lofting shots from near the green onto the green.  Short shots.  Supposedly you need lots of feel to do that.  I think you just need practice.  Boy, do I get a lot of practice.  But, they made the wedge out of “carbon steel” instead of stainless steel.  For feel.

I don’t know if the carbon steel feels that different than stainless steel, but the wedge does work.  It pitches the ball way up in the air, and lands it softly on the green.  Once on the green, of course, I get to putt the ball.  A lot.  Usually three strokes or more.  The wedge?  It works fine.

But today, when I pulled the wedge out of the completely cool Callaway stand bag, with high-tech swingarms for standing the bag up, pockets for everything, and space to hide at least six cans of beer, I was chagrined.  The special wedge was, well, rusted.  Completely rusty.  Face, back,sole, and hosel.  Dark rust.  Like a deep red stain.  I played with it.  It worked.  But, I was disappointed.

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I was unhappy that something so unusually nice was now damaged.  I was sad that something so perfect when I purchased it was now and forevermore would be imperfect.  I was disappointed in my lack of care for it.  For my neglect.

The clubs have been idle for some time.  They have been “in the way” more times than I can remember as I putter about the garage.  I’ve moved them back and forth to make room for bicycles, car repairs, and the annual Christmas equipment boxes that have to come down from the shelves.  I could never sell them.  But, I wasn’t using them.  And so, the wedge sat.  And rusted.  And rusted some more.

So today, I played with a rusty wedge.  And, I played golf with my wife.  Nine holes.  Par 3.  I found something else was rusty.  My relationship with my wife.  I see her every day.  I talk to her every day.  I eat with her every day.  But, today, I saw the rust.  We hadn’t been out doing something together in a long time.  I knew today would be hard for her, since she rarely plays golf.  But, I knew she was doing this for me.  To show her care for me.  And, to look towards a future with me.  We’re getting older.  We see a future where we won’t be working.  And, we need something to do together.

We were together today.  We were out on a nice Sunday morning, and spent two hours together.  We fought the course, each in our own way.  But we were united.  It was truly a fun morning.  We pulled our bags on our thrift-store $10 bag carts up and down the hills.  We cheered each other on, and encouraged each other.  We guided each other.  We listened to each other.  We were a couple today.  It was a good day.

This evening, I took out that rusty wedge.  I found some metal polish, and some 0000 steel wool.  I worked on that wedge for a long time.  It’s not stained as much now.  In some ways, it looks okay.  But I can see the rust.  I don’t guess it will ever go away.  Even so, I can still use it.  I can still make those lob shots and pretend to be Phil Mickelson.

I wonder how to polish away the rust in the marriage with my wife.  It won’t be easy.  I don’t think they make a chemical to restore the glimmer in the eyes of a bride looking at her groom 24 years ago.  I can’t ever remove the rust damage on this club, me, the only club in the bag, completely.  Each moment I failed to be the husband God asks me to be, another scintilla of rust corroded me, somewhere.  It might not be visible, but the rust changes me and my marriage forever.

I think the only way forward is to play the course, with my rusty wedge.  Playing means with each stroke, a bit more rust comes off the club, as I strive to be like a champion holding the cup aloft.  Playing together means we will find a path to the green, even if we get off the course a bit.  Playing together means we will find joy in each other’s trials and triumphs. And, playing with my rusty wedge means it will soon have the fine polished patina of an heirloom, ready to celebrate 25 years together.  Here’s to 25 more!