Merry Christmas, Dad!

During the last two months of my father's life he was pretty much in misery. Imagine being 93 years old, have a serious heart condition to begin with, have been crippled for 60 years of your life due to an auto accident, and then one night your "good" leg really starts to hurt below the knee. I took him to the emergency room around 1 a.m. that night. The emergency doctor just examined him and said that Dad needed to get into see a vascular specialist ASAP.

So, we set it up for the following day.The doctor immediately put Dad in the hospital and said that he would need to do some exploratory procedures that Friday to see what the problem was. After they were finished and while Dad was coming out of it, the surgeon came in and gave us the news. Dad's "good" leg was dead below the knee. "Dry" gangrene had already started set in. Dad would be faced with a decision. He could have the leg removed from above the knee to make sure they got it all or he could choose to not have surgery and die within a week. Die horribly, I might add.

Dad opted for the surgery. He was genuinely hopeful that he would be able to recover, use a prosthetic leg and have a few more years left. Frankly, I was very doubtful. Remember, his heart was already severely damaged. He only had about 25% use of it. He was 93 and had very little strength left to him and his "bad" leg (which had been broken twice and nearly had to be amputated previously) was very weak. How on Earth was he going to have the physical strength to go through rehabilitation etc?

As it turns out, he wasn't going to be able to do that. He had the surgery and never left full-time nursing care for the remaining two months of his life. He was fairly well miserable. He had his moments of levity because he had always been such a fun loving jokester, but he was miserable and we could tell.

About three weeks after the surgery we moved him to a hospice facility. The first of two. This place was a madhouse. The people there were just horrible. They had been recommended by the hospital, but I don't believe the hospital had any idea what kind of people were running the place. It was during his 3 weeks at that facility that Dad had his first close encounter with the afterlife. At one point, we believed he was literally on his death bed. When he did come out of it I was sitting in a chair in his room with him and he asked me who all the other people in the room were. So far as I could see, it was just Dad and me. So, I asked him, what people? He looked at me like I was nuts.

"Well, that man standing next to you and that lady standing at the end of the bed and all those "little" people sitting all around." he said.

I figured he must be hallucinating so I asked the hospice nurse if Dad was on anything that might cause that. No.

This would not be the last time that Dad saw people that none of us could see. He was not on any drug that would have caused it. I can't explain it. I just know it was what it was.

We moved Dad to a much better facility, but it was further away. It meant having to drive 120 miles round trip to see him. I and my sister shared this along with taking our mother to see Dad. For about week after moving to the new place Dad seem to rally a bit. But then he started to have more problems. We had given him a "Jitterbug" phone. He started calling me 3 or 4 times during the middle of the night and I could tell that he was disoriented. He thought he was calling Mom.

Two days before Dad passed away I took Mom to see him and he was more chipper than he had been since the ordeal had begun. I would like to say I was encouraged, but I knew that there have been many cases of a person having a rally just before they pass. On the day that Dad passed away I took Mom to see him again. He was virtually non-responsive. His head was back and his mouth hung open. His eyes were glazed. He did respond when Mom held his hand and she said she was surprised at the strength in his grip. Had he lived two more weeks they would have been married 68 years.

The hospice nurse came by and I spoke to her outside the room and mentioned to her my thoughts. She said that what I had mentioned was indeed a real possibility and that she thought he was nearing the end. She said that he might be holding on because he didn't want to abandon Mom.

So, as everyone else was preparing to leave that afternoon around 2 p.m. I went to his bedside. I took his hand in one hand and put my other hand on his forehead. I gently stroked his hair and then I bent down and kissed him on the cheek. I spoke softly to him and told him that "I got this." I told him that it was OK for him to go. That Jesus was waiting for him and that he shouldn't worry at all. That me and my sister would take care of Mom. He turned slightly and for just a moment his eyes cleared up. He looked right at me and though he couldn't speak I knew he understood what I had said. There was love and gratitude in his eyes.

I drove Mom home and then went back to my house. I received a call from the hospice nurse about 3 hours after we had left. Dad had passed away.

I miss him. I miss his laughter, his corny jokes, his good-hearted demeanor. I miss the love of my father, but I know that one day I will see him again. I don't know how all that works for sure. I just know that God will make it right. I trust in God and I trust in His Son Jesus. It's not a weakness or anything of that sort. It's a belief based on faith and on things impossible to explain to anyone who isn't a Christian.

As for those "little people"? Perhaps they were angels. Dad loved Jesus so much and had been such a faithful and good servant since accepting Jesus as his Savior at the age of 12. He lead music in church, sang in the choir, and lead a life pointing the way to Jesus. So why not send a few angels down to comfort him? As for the man and woman who were invisible to me? Who knows. They could have been loved ones that Dad just didn't recognize. Loved ones who had preceded him in passing.

This Christmas will be the first since Dad's passing. No, it won't be the same. But I take comfort in knowing that my father is in heaven now enjoying everlasting life in a body that does not hurt or receive pain. He knows no sorrow. He knows no tears other than perhaps tears of joy. I'll join him one day and I hope Jesus won't mind if Dad and I crack those old corny jokes with each other for a thousand years or so.

Merry Christmas, Dad!

                                        When

                                                                           By James R. Stout

A man so old set in his rocking chair with his head bowed low in prayer.

I stopped to say hello and ask if I could help as I admired his silver hair.

“Excuse me sir, but can I be of any help? Can I ease your worries or pain?”

He looked up at me with a weak smile on his face and then rested his head on his cane.

“Young man, may I tell you a story? A story that I know so well?”

At first I was amused to be call young again, given I’m 60 years old myself,

But then as his story unfolded I understood how to him I did seem young at that.

I leaned closer to listen to this gentle man as I removed my well-worn hat.

“I was born in the year 1911” he began. “The third of seven children that my mother bore.

My father died when I was only one year old and my mother before I turned four.

I spent my childhood in an orphanage on the outskirts of Bossier City,

In those days we were outcasts it seems and we garnered very small pity.”

He stopped for a moment and seemed to reflect on those long ago days of which he spoke.

I could see in his eyes what appeared to be the haze of fires long ago turned to smoke.

He wiped at an invisible tear that must have fallen from his cataract eyes,

Then continued his story as his rocking chair creaked in time to his melancholy sighs.

“I first met the Lord when I was only eight. I gave my heart to Him that day.

I prayed the prayer of a child and I prayed that He would take me away.

I heard Him say in a silent voice, “Someday, someday, but not today.

Someday I will take you home and home is where you will stay.”

“When I was twenty-one I met the love of my life. She was a beauty both inside and out.

We soon had a son who I prayed would grow to be a man so strong and stout.

A daughter came later and she challenged her mother for the fairest in the land.

We were so blessed to have these two gifts from God, from His own tender hand.”

“We bore the times known as the Great Depression and World War Two.

A family together and, a nation like a family, in faith it seems we grew.

But in every life there are valleys and hills and roads with turns to be made.

Sometimes we swelter in the burning sun while other times we rest in the shade.”

“When I was forty-one we received the news that we so feared with dread.

Our son was serving his country far away and we learned that he was now dead.

An enemy bullet had pierced his heart and our hearts too I’m afraid.

I prayed that God would comfort us all as we dwelt on memories made.”

“One day I prayed to God that I didn’t know how much I could take.”

He whispered in my ear so soft and soothed my poor heart’s ache.”

“One day I will ask you when you are ready to come home and then,

you will only need to say when.”

“When I was fifty six my wife took sick and she slowly passed away.

My heart was broken and it was a dark time for me with no sunny ray

to comfort me or carry me through that valley so low.

But God lifted me and carried me until once again I could go.”

The old man stopped for a minute and leaned back to rest his bones.

While a myriad of birds sang their songs together with a harmony of sweet life tones.

It was then I noticed how frail the old man had become.

Yet I marveled at his inner strength and wondered where it came from.

“When I was 81 years old my sweet daughter died when a drunk driver stopped too late.

And with her she took my two grand-children to Heaven and for a while I slipped into hate.

But I realized that they were all in paradise with my sweet wife at their side,

and the hate washed away like a fierce midnight tide.”

The sun had started to set as the sky turned orange and then pink.

The old man stopped for a while to ponder and to think.

His eyes glazed over and he drew short and ragged breaths.

He seemed to be at peace though despite his loved ones deaths.

“I am the last of us now, my family, my friends all passed.

But it is the future that I look to even though I cherish the past.”

He lowered his head, I thought to rest, but a prayer he whispered thin,

“Dear Lord, dear sweet Lord, when . . .”

The Old Wood Stove

        Part of the magic of visiting my grandparents on their farm when I was a child was that in cold weather we stayed warm by way of a huge wood burning stove. They didn’t have central heat in the old farmhouse. By the time I came along they did have small space heaters fueled by propane, but those were not left on unless you were in the room or in during the evening and even then we turned them off at bedtime. But the big stove in the living room was kept going pretty much from the first cold snap of the year until warm weather returned sometime around April. My grandfather would keep the stove going unless he was out working in the fields or with the cows and it fell to my grandmother to keep it going. By the time I was about 6 or 7 I was old enough to feed the fire and do my part. During the night Grandpa would bank the fire and then get up every couple of hours to add some more wood.
One of the best parts of being the youngest and only boy of my family was that when we visited for a weekend I slept on the sleeper sofa in the living room. The old stove had a glass window in the door so that you could see how the fire was without having to open the door. I used to love to lay there after all the lights were out and everyone was going to sleep and I would just stare at that fire. Before long I would doze off and the only time I would awaken was if I absolutely had to make a trip to the bathroom. Even with socks on the linoleum floors were like walking on ice barefoot and the bathroom was all the way in the back of the house. It was added onto the house sometime in the 40’s and you had to walk through a screened porch to get to it. So, it was cold and then some.
Well, thinking back on that old stove and the countless fires we had in it over the years I realized something about love. Stay with me on this and you’ll understand in a moment or two. It occurs to me that the fire in that old wood stove is a great metaphor to describe the love between a man and a woman. I guess you can call it “romantic” love, but after a few years it’s much more than that. So let me explain.
The fire gets started with some kindling and a match or two. Perhaps some old newspaper wadded up underneath some twigs and small switches. The fire would begin with some smoke coming up from under the pile of kindling. As we all know by now, where there’s smoke there’s fire. Maybe a young couple meet and are both intrigued by the other. Enter “the match”. And then . . . Smoke. Before long flames leap up from the pile of kindling and the romance starts to burn brighter and brighter. Now, if you don’t add some more fuel the fire goes out. Right? Some romances end at this point because fuel isn’t added to the fire. What fuel you ask? Tenderness, laughter, holding hands, talking, and being together all make for excellent fuel.
Now the fire really starts to heat up. Passion and desire, longing for each other when apart - you know the longing I mean? The kind where your chest literally hurts when you part. That sharp ache inside that feels so good because it hurts so bad. The flames are strong and bold and all consuming. It’s usually about this time that the young couple start dreaming and talking of spending life together. They talk of having a family. They speak from their hearts of building something together that will be lasting and then they become one. They join their lives together and the fire is rich and young and alive with the promise of the future that they will share.
As time passes the fire must be banked if it is to stay alive. More fuel must be added as the years go by - fuel such as children and the feeling that the two are making something that is ordained by God and that their love is no longer a momentary blaze that will burn itself out too soon.
More time passes and though there are periods when the fire seems to cool, one needs only to stir the coals and blow upon them and they turn bright orange and red with a heat that has become so much more than romantic love. It has become the comforting warmth of companionship. Evening walks, hand in hand, down sidewalks or country roads that allow for the conversations that only a couple who have spent their lives together can know or understand. They finish each others sentences and laugh at something that nobody else in the room gets. Smiles shared with a twinkle in their eyes over a memory that only the two share. These are the days that the flames may not show themselves, but the warmth is unmistakable.
Finally, as the years wind down the two love each other more than mere words can describe. Perhaps the passion is buried and the flames no longer consume with the voracious appetite that they once did, but the fire is still there within their hearts. There until one must leave the other behind. It is the way of life. But the good news is the love keeps on after they are both gone. It is alive in their children and grand-children and great-grandchildren.
Well, maybe that’s a lot to consider when thinking back on an old iron wood stove that I once knew. But then again, maybe not.

"Time Travel In A Little Country Church"

I found out today that time travel is possible. It didn’t take Einstein to figure it out either. All it took was for me to bear witness to an event that was quite endearing and a complete blessing to my heart. The little church that my mother grew up in had it’s 150^th Anniversary today. They have always called it “The Homecoming” and I attended many of them during the late 50’s and throughout the 60’s. My mother’s great-grand-fathers, from both sides of her parent’s families, had been the founders of the little church back in 1862. At different times during the first 40 years or so of the church both of them served as the preacher. I grew up hearing about many events that happened at the church. It was my great honor to read to those assembled today some of the memories of the church that my mother had written down. Mom has never liked to speak in public and asked me if I would read them for her. I was more than happy to do so.

Some of the memories included some funny things about church-going before air-conditioning, hardwood pews with no cushions, and tales of baptism’s in one or the other member’s “tank” (a small pond for the cows to you city folk) by lantern light, and life in general before things got crazy. No homecoming at Pleasant Grove Baptist Church is complete without a good old-fashioned “singing” or singin’ as we call them. Today was no different. About 50 years ago my mother, father, and two-sisters had a little gospel quartet and they sang for one of the homecomings. I guess I was too young then, but I showed them!

A gospel quartet came and sang today and the little church’s rafters were shaking and quaking. They were truly a good old-fashioned southern gospel group. I was surprised to learn that the bass singer graduated from the same high school that I did only he was 14 years earlier than me. They sang some great old songs like “The Old-Rugged Cross”, “This World Is Not My Home”, “Amazing Grace”, “It Is Well With My Soul”, “I’ll Fly Away”, and perhaps one of my parent’s favorites, “Victory In Jesus”. I sat there beside my parents and watched them grow young again. Young at heart at least. My mother reached over and took my father’s hand as they sang loudly the words to “Victory In Jesus”. Mom is 83 and Dad turns 90 in December. They have been married 64+ years. They both had tears in their eyes by the end of the song. I looked around the room, where only about 50 people sat - most of them in their 70’s or older ( it has been a long time since I was one of the youngest people in a room!), and I could see the pure joy that they felt singing those old songs. The quartet had come equipped with a P.A. system, electric piano, drums, and so forth. That little church may never be the same again! I know time travel is possible because there must have been 25 people there today that haven’t been able to hear for years and today they could hear loud and clear and their hearts were young again!

I realized after witnessing this blessing we called “The Homecoming” that it was just a small snapshot of what all Christians will partake of when we have our final homecoming. That is going to be glorious day indeed. The little church in the woods where so many memories are housed is a humble little church. The building itself is more functional than it is attractive. There’s no fancy alter, no gloriously lit chandelier, no TV cameras, no choir of 800 souls, nothing that bears the marked of a so-called “mega” church of today. But God was in that little church today. Jesus promised this when he said, “For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them." - Matthew 18:20.

I am so very thankful that I was raised in a Christian home with parents who love Jesus and taught me about Jesus. In many ways, they still do. We must never forget that those who go ahead of us teach us lessons long after we become adults. My parents are teaching me now how to grow old and appreciate this life that is such a gift no matter how hard it may seem at times. If you are blessed to still have your parents in your life, then call them up and tell them thank you. Tell them how much you love them. Because one day you will live on without them, even if for only a little while, and you may sing the words to my Dad’s favorite old gospel song, “If I could hear my mother pray again. If I could hear her tender voice as then. So glad I’d be, would mean so much to me. If I could hear mother pray again.”

God Bless,

James R. Stout

 

"The Alien Cows"

     About 10 years ago my daughter and I spent some time at my parent’s house visiting them and my sister and her husband. My parents live about 15 miles from our family property where I now live. One of my favorite things to do then and now is to drive around the country roads (all dirt or gravel) just to see what’s there. I’ve taken literally thousands of photos of interesting old buildings, houses, animals, scenery, and so forth over the years. Our visit at the time was no exception. The four of us bundled up in warm clothes and piled into my sister’s Ford Explorer for a drive out in the country. It would turn into a funny little trip that has now passed into family folklore.

     We first drove out to the old farmhouse that was my grandparent’s home dating back to 1921. We stopped and I took photos of everyone in front of the house like I have been doing all my life it seems. It was much too cold to stay in the house without starting a fire and we didn’t want to stay that long so we moved on. Our driving around continued and we managed to see a few deer, many small animals such as rabbits, squirrels, and such and more than a few seasonal hawks perched on fence posts and power polls. They appeared to be watching us as much as we were watching them. By far the most abundant animal in “these here parts” are the cattle. There were and are cattle everywhere. Hey, it is Texas!

     One of the fairly main county roads we drove on is about 2 miles north of the farmhouse. We had just turned left onto that road when I looked out into the pasture on our right and saw what I at first thought of as “The Goldie Locks Cows”. Why? Because there were three of them standing in formation. A papa, a mama, and a baby. The way they were standing caught my eye and I told my brother-in-law to stop so that I could get a photo. Well, I opened the car door and as soon as I lifted the camera up and was about to take the picture the three cows all raised their heads and turned them in unison to look right at me. SNAP! We all started laughing because it was just too cool that these cows thought enough of me to actually pose for a picture.

     Well, the story could have ended there, but if you have read any of my BLOG posts before, then you know it doesn’t. When I got back home a couple of days later and sat down to go through all the photos I had taken (digital, don’t ya know) I got to the photo in question and when it came up on the computer screen I busted out laughing because of an unintended, yet very welcome, “special effect” had happened when I took that picture. All of the cows had glowing green eyes! Staring right at the camera! You can’t stage that kind of thing. Immediately I thought of the tales of aliens coming down and cow-napping (well, they weren’t goats . . .) cattle for whatever bizarre reasons aliens do such things. Therefore, I named the photo “The Alien Cows”. I sent an email to several members of the family and everyone had a good laugh.

     Well, I tell this story because it reminds me of how every family has their own little tales of folklore such as “I remember when Uncle Dan blew tea out of his nose at Thanksgiving when Grandpa’s teeth fell into the mash potatoes” or “Do you remember the time Bobby picked up the snake that he thought was a twig?” Aren’t families great? Mine is. I sure hope your family is as special to you as my family is to me. Try to spend as much time with them as you can. You might get to see some alien cows too!

"Roll Tape"

     To those of you who have followed my BLOG you might have wondered where I’ve been for the past 3 weeks. Well, much has been going on in my life, but most of it has been typical everyday kinds of things that have just taken too much time from me to get another posting ready. However, I have started a couple of HUGE projects that I hope will be of interest to you when they are completed. First, I am working on a complete overhaul of my website. It will feature not only my music, but also my photography and it will be where my BLOG will be easier to access. The other major project that I am working on is what I am going to likely call “The Soundtrack of My Life”. That could change though.

     I have been recording music for over 40 years now. In fact, since I was about 14 years old. Thankfully, you will never hear any of the really ancient stuff. Take my word on something - that’s a good thing! The point is I have been going through hours upon hours of recorded music on old reel-to-reel tapes and transferring a great deal of it to the computer for the “Soundtrack” project. I’ll explain as things go along what all this is about, but for this entry in my BLOG I want to talk about some things that have been happening while listening to these old tapes. Most of them have not been played in many many years. I certainly remember a lot of the recordings, but amazingly I have “discovered” some old recordings that I had forgotten about. Some of them I simply don’t remember doing at all. That’s kind of humbling.

     What has happened though is hearing all of these recordings and listening through the typical things that you never hear when you hear a song on someone’s album (such as the starts and stops, background talking, joking around, noises, and in a few cases some pretty amazing exchanges between people) a curious thing has happened to me. I have quite literally been hit with a myriad of emotions while hearing these things. Things like just before starting a recording you can hear my ex-wife in the background asking how long I’ll be so that she can plan on when to have dinner. The exchange ends with an audible kiss and mutual “I love you” expressions. Hearing that strips away the hard years that were to come and I am reminded that I was indeed in love with her and she was in love with me. We were young, just staring out really, and all of life was still before us. It was before all the “stuff” that eventually crushed our love and our marriage. Hearing it makes me ask the inevitable question, “What the heck happened?” Well, of course I know the answer because the memory of all the bad stuff still lingers too. But it makes you wonder how you can let something that was good just die. No, I’m not hung up on my ex now. I have a good life now. But the “what if” game does play through your head and that’s a game that is hard to play.

     Other things have hit me while listening to these old recordings. The dreams and goals and vibrancy of youth that seem to just ooze off the tapes. Everything seemed possible then. There’s some pretty funny stuff on those tapes too. Things that remind me that I’ve been kind of nutty all my life!

     If all goes the way I plan, then you will have a chance to hear many of the songs recorded over a nearly 40 year period of time. The idea is to combine two forms of media for this project. I will be writing an auto-biography of sorts (where music in my life has been concerned) and the reader will be able to access a digital jukebox on the new website that will allow you to hear some of those songs when they were new and before the magic of a professional studio “cleaned them up”. There will be a lot demons exorcised in this project and that part is for my benefit. I’m hoping that to anyone interested in my life and my music their benefit will be to share it with me. Let me know what you think. I really would like to know.

Take care dear friends,

Randy

The Missing Links or "The Apes of Wrath"

     When you’re 17 life can be pretty amazing. It was for me. If I were to decide to write about the experiences I had in my 17^th year it could turn out to be at least a full book and perhaps a 3 volume set. For now I’m going to tell about one particular event. It was in June of 1973. I was working at a movie theater and among my co-workers were my best buddy Lonny and my cousin Philip. The new feature that week was the final movie of the original 5 movie set of “Planet of the Apes”. This one was called “Battle For The Planet of the Apes”. As a promotional we ran all five ape movies starting at 10 a.m. The current movie was featured both at 6 and 10 p.m. The original movie was also featured twice. Once at 10 a.m. and again at 8 p.m. It was such a popular event that it was held over for 3 weeks. Back in those days it was rare for a picture to stay in the theater for more than a week. Oh it would come back around as a second feature (remember getting to see 2 movies for the price of 1?) sometime later. It would also spend some time in the drive-ins after it’s run at the indoor theaters like the one I worked at.

     The second night we were showing these movies the manager came to Philip and said he needed something picked up from another theater across town. When I say across town you must understand that meant about 40 miles. Houston is a big town! My friend Lonny and I were just getting off for the day and had nothing else to do so we tagged along with Philip. It was one crazy cool cruising night. We took Philip’s car, a 1968 Chevy Camaro which was suped-up with loud exhaust, slicks on the back, and a faster than it should have been V-8 under the hood. It took about an hour to get across town and get the items we were after. Little did we know that the “items” were yet another promotional tool for the ape movies. What were they? Would you believe 3 very lifelike ape masks just like in the movie! Well, our fertile 17 year old minds immediately seized the day. As soon as we drove out of the parking lot of that other theater we stopped and dawned those ape masks for the ride back across town.

     Now there’s a couple of things you might want to picture along with this. First, Philip was restricted from driving without his glasses. So, he found a way to get those glasses of his on the mask which made for a very intelligent looking ape. Second, no A/C in that car meant the windows were down. So, to keep the image going we slumped down so that just our heads were visible to other drivers. We had to drive through the center of downtown Houston and there was a red light every 10 feet or so. The reactions by people were quite funny. We were deadpanning the whole time acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world for 3 apes to be driving a 1968 Camaro through the streets of Houston. Some kids screamed with fright while others laughed. Some adults, too old for such nonsense (in their minds that is) simply ignored us while others pointed and shook their heads in wonder.

     So the idea came up that perhaps we should stop by Lonny’s house and scare his little brother and sister. From what I can tell his brother has never gotten over it while his sister relates the trauma she endured in a stand-up comedy routine! Lonny’s mother was not amused however and I seriously wondered for years if she ever forgave me. Lonny tells me she did.

     Finally, we get back to the theater and we walk in among the movie-goers wearing the masks and generally got a lot of laughs. I tell this story because it reminds me that sometimes we forget how to let our hair down (sorry about that) and take a light-hearted approach to life when perhaps being light-hearted is just what the heart needs. Philip lives in Alaska these days having been banned from Texas for aping around too much. Lonny lives in the Dallas area and is perhaps the first bald ape in history. As for me, I live in the country of East Texas and over the years have become as big as an ape. I tell Lonny that between the two of us we’re bald and fat. But that night in 1973 when the world was hearing about the fighting in Israel, some really sick men who had murdered 27 young boys in our hometown of Houston, and questions were flying about something called “Watergate” three 17 year-old boys were not to be deterred from the joy that everyone should get to experience in their youth.