The inspiration for this title came to me last evening as I watched the Syrians on the nightly news playing real-life Angry Birds among themselves. For those of you who are not already addicted, Angry Birds is a smart-phone game app where one flings various tiny cartoon birds via a slingshot at little green pigs who are hiding within various rickety structures. The little avian, which become lethal projectiles upon release and tend to explode on contact, are the means by which one pursues the objective of the game, which is to obliterate the protective structures and wipe out all those little green piggies, who have apparently gotten the birds riled up for some reason. I would recommend staying away from this app if you have any intention of continuing to include actual personal relationships in whatever may be left of your life.

Continue “Angry Transitions”

[This was an email to Skip’s friend, Gypsy Dave.]

Ӣ Skip to David

Do you play golf? My son Jay invited me to a round last Friday. We both decided to play hooky from work to enjoy a beautiful, early summer day on the links at Windsor Park here in Jacksonville. Jay stopped by a sports store somewhere en route and got us each a box of a dozen balls. “Did you get some for the back nine, too?” I enquired.

Now, I must say, I haven’t played a round of golf in nearly a year. But I decided to forego any warm-up/practice on the driving range–just tires me out before I even get started, it seems. And Jay had just played the week prior and was ready to try out his new “setup,” which would purportedly eliminate his now famous banana-ball slice (that would be a left-to-right banana in case you’re not a golfer).

Being a twosome, though, we were teamed up with another pair who, as it turned out, happened to be a father-and-son team as well, with each of our counterparts about our same age.

What a coincidence.

Continue “Doug2 and Skip2 Play Golf”

[Author’s Note: Be sure to check out the link. This is a great song.]

The title of this essay is taken from a great song by John Prine. And that song always reminds me of my maternal grandfather, Grandpa Yazell. Grandpa had numerous occupations over the course his life, but the one I always think of when he comes to mind is that of a carpenter. His skill with saws and hammers and nails and measuring devices used in the construction of a wood structure was unparalleled.

My father, an industrial engineer, was also highly skilled in the woodworking crafts. He built three houses from scratch during my lifetime and a goodly portion of our community church. And, under his tutelage, I remember the joy of discovering that my two-by-four fit perfectly in place below where the kitchen window would eventually be installed (“measure twice, cut once”), all the while inhaling the sweet smell of fresh cut lumber and sawdust with the hustle-bustle noise of power saws and hammering in the background.

Continue “Grandpa Was a Carpenter”