Ghosts of my Past

I've come to the conclusion that I'm afraid of ghosts. Not the Halloween kind or the ones that supposedly show up on the Ghost Hunter shows. It's the flesh and blood ones that still walk around today, forever etched into my memory.

I'm not afraid of much in this world except for them. There are just a handful of people whose opinion of me I cherish and value. And my fear begins as I try to renew old friendships, hoping that what I've become meets with their expectations.

My daughter had problems with some bullies at school. I told her that their opinions don't count for anything. They will come and go and probably not amount to much. I should take my own advice.

But these ghosts from my past rise up in my life today, and I fear they measure me against the success that they have attained. These ghosts have greatly excelled by their accomplishments, their careers, or their families. I am proud of my success in this life. I have beautiful children who aren't afraid to dream, friends whose lives I'd be willing to die for, and great compassion for many which God has given me. But I fear I don't measure up to the standards the world has set. And especially those people who wandered into my life and made an indelible mark on it.

I may have been in love with them or just desired their friendship. Or I may have just loved them so much that I prayed for their great success. But now that they have reached that in life, maybe I've been left behind, a shell of the man I could have been.

My love for their friendship still burns brightly today. It is with hope and faith, that I meet their expectations. For I shall always care for them to the point of laying down my life for them, because their lives are of so much value.

But I've found that the only way to face my ghosts is head on. You can never go back to the way things once were. But by confronting my fears, I overcome them. With confidence in myself, I defeat these ghosts in my memory and resurrect these friendships once again.

Home is where the warm milk is

The family has acquired a new pet...sort of. I went out to our deck this morning and what do I see but another stray cat getting ready to make himself at home on my property. This occurs quite frequently since my neighbors don't have the good sense to keep their house cats inside OR the neighborhood is being overrun by the zombie cat invasion.

It was kinda cute, with a light tan fur and a black and grey striped tail. You could tell it hadn't eaten in awhile because it was very skinny. By it's small size, I'm guessing it wasn't full grown. After about six attempts by this cat to mount my deck and call it home, and six attempts to "gently" push it off my deck, it finally found a way to the other side and happily laid down under my grill.

I told the cat in no uncertain terms that it was not becoming a part of the family and it should vacate the premises. However, for any of you that are "cat lovers", you know Nature's Rule #46...you can't tell a cat ANYTHING. Cats don't care what you have to say, nor would they listen to you even if they could understand your command.

See, that's why dogs are superior animals to cats. Don't judge me harshly before you know the whole story, you friends of felines. I HAD TWO cats that made their home with me not so long ago. One was completely nuts so I had it committed and they other tried to bite my daughter. Bye Bye Kitty! I was actually kind of fond of that one. We named it Tasha and I was quite sad for about five minutes when animal control came to take it away. However, in hindsight, Tasha ended up costing me several hundred dollars in damage to my carpet and furniture, so I wasn't THAT sad.

Back to the story of the squatter cat. While I was having a conversation with this animal, my children happened to peer out the door. Of course their first reaction was "CAN WE KEEP IT?" Uh........no. Second question to leave their lips was "WHAT SHALL WE NAME IT?" Uh.....Nothing, it's not staying. They begin to rattle off a whole list of names, while I closed the door and went back to my room. Sitting on the bed, I then had a brilliant idea! You want to name the cat? Okay! I have the perfect name!

What is it?, they all hollered in unison, figuring it was okee dokee that it was about to acquire the last name of Carleton. Into their sweet little faces, I looked at them and said, "STIR FRY!" And if you don't like that one, how about "KUNG PAO"?

The shrieks were deafening. I reminded them again how much I disliked cats and told them to stay away from it, cause stray cats have diseases. They grow giant fleas which can jump 75 feet, onto them, and into my house. We agreed that I would call Animal Control, who would of course, nurse it to perfect health and give it to some loving family that would care for it for the rest of it's nine lives.

I guess I'm an old softie. I haven't called Animal Control. It is still sitting on my deck, mewing at me, looking at me with those Puss-in-Boots eyes. And I'm beginning to wonder....How hot does my wok have to be?

Disclaimer: No animals were hurt in the writing of this blog. Just because I don't like them, doesn't mean I would ever harm them. So forget about animal cruelty claims, you cat lovers.

A Cloud of Witnesses

I just received a note from a dear old friend of mine after he read the last installment of my blog. It was a short concise note about how much he enjoyed it, but it spoke volumes to my soul. Because this is a man whose spiritual witness has been like an anchor to me.

He has never been one given to rash thoughts or comments. Everything I have ever heard come out of his mouth has been even-tempered, thought provoking, and surrounded by a peace that only comes from the heart of someone who has spent his life filled with much study and prayer.

Picture the wise counsel of an orthodox rabbi who I'm sure has faced his own struggles with life and family. While maddening at times, he answers each of life's questions after counting ten and a few "oy veys".

And how do I know the value of his advice to me over the years? I have only to look at his life and his family, the success of his profession and the proliferation of his children. It isn't the meteoric rise of a fast burning star, which climbs quickly and burns out in the same amount of time. It is a strong monument to faith...built one stone at a time all resting on a solid cornerstone.

My desire through these writings is to hopefully pass on to my children some of the lessons which I have learned while here on Earth. Some rules in life must have absolutely no bend in them. And some are guidelines that with knowledge, mercy, compassion, and wisdom must turn and stretch according to the circumstances to which they are applied, like a tree in the wind.

I'm still trying to find out which are which at times.

These I know are true....honor, character, mercy, love, preparedness, and most of all, faith. To abandon these lessons is to face certain destruction.

Others, I can only rely on the quiet whispers I hear in my spirit from an Omnipotent God, who knows the future and the past.

God is not the author of confusion. I hope you'll remember that. And He loves you very much. You know how I learned that?

By surrounding myself with very old and dear friends, who are a great cloud of witnesses....

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. Hebrews 12:1 (NLT)

Blood Brothers

It was a real shock just over 2 and a half years ago to find out that I was adopted at birth.

To find out that the family you were raised with doesn't share the same blood as you do was very disconcerting to me. Much is made about lineage, who we were descended from. Many cultures around the world are able to recite their ancestors in order for hundreds if not thousands of years. Did you know that not only was Jesus descended from King David, but that his lineage can be directly traced back to Adam? And if that wasn't enough, His mother Mary, was ALSO of the house of David? That was important because the Messiah was prophesied to be born in Bethlehem of the House of David.

Till the day I die, my family will always be the people I was raised among. And for all times, my sons will be Carleton's. And their sons, and their sons....I inherited their ways, their customs, their traditions, their values, and most blessedly, their love. They wanted me and for that I am forever grateful.

A medical emergency was brought to my attention by my newly found half sister. Our brother was taken to the hospital with a severe heart condition. At that moment, fear was the first emotion to rise up within me. My brother! I have a brother and he is ill and I must get to him hundreds of miles away. What a strange sensation to have! I have been an only child all of my life and all of a sudden this man who shares the same paternal blood as I do might be taken from me before I have a chance to get to know him as a brother. What does it mean to have a brother? I couldn't answer that question.

My best friend has been my brother for many years. We have shared laughter and tears, love and loss, good times and bad. And I will love him for the rest of my days. But now there is this person who is my brother by our common ancestors. Which is funny, because I used to make believe that I would discover somewhere in the future that I had a secret sibling. I guess it would be a lot like Luke Skywalker finding out that Princess Leia is really his sister and that Darth Vader is their father.

The Bible says, that "life is in the blood". And it was due to Jesus' blood sacrifice that paid our penalty for the sins we've committed against God. The blood is the currency that buys us into the covenant. It is this blood covenant that gives us the right to approach the throne of God. And it is this blood which we remember and honor every time we celebrate the Eucharist, The Lord's Supper, "the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. That was shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven."

My new brother has instantly become a part of my life. There isn't any "half" in this equation. My new siblings are part of me and my blood. And it mystically draws me to them. The blood has life and it calls to me to unite with them, to face even sickness and death. The blood speaks to me to defend my brother with my prayers that cross all time and space. My prayers are my greatest weapon. It is with words that the world was spoken into existence. And my prayers use these words to recite the words of the blood covenant.

I'm not one who embraced the "flower power" generation. But I have to chuckle when I think of the Grateful Dead's lyrics..."what a long strange trip it has been." I've gone from a family of one to the Brady Bunch. And getting to know my siblings has at times been overwhelming and confusing, just because I'm not used to having anyone else to think about. But the thought of losing one of them now gives me a newly found sense of urgency about getting to know them.

I wasn't able to have the privilege to meet my biological father. I visited his grave several weeks ago and met his brother, my uncle. I spent many years searching for my Carleton ancestors, and learning about who they were and what they did. And I am so proud to be included in the long list of Carleton children.

But as I stood at that grave, the blood sang to me a chorus, listing me in that long line of men, bound together by living cells and DNA. And I think of that man hundreds of miles away, whom I believe will make a full recovery from his hospital bed.

Brothers by blood.

For Those About to Rock, We Salute You

While at work today, I tuned in to internet radio. Specifically, hard rock heavy metal internet radio. Songs that evoked a whole flood of sweet memories involving summertime swimming pool romances, all night skates when our wheels didn’t roll much, and watching sunsets from the trunks and hoods of cars, smokin’ cigs and drinking pop from ice cold glass bottles.

There was a movie that came out in the late 70s or early 80s called Over The Edge. It was about a group of rebellious suburbanite teenagers that spent a lot of time hanging out at the much despised rec center, vandalizing property, smoking dope, and generally doing all the things I described in the above paragraph.

I hate to admit it, but Lord Have Mercy, that was a fun time to be a teenager. I know that every generation seems to think their’s was the greatest. But for me, there is such a pull to return to those days. You’ve probably guessed correctly I’m living my midlife crisis.

Want to hear how I came of age? I was a geeky, sheltered fat kid and I didn’t really fit in with any peer group until I hit middle school. I was about 13 or so and found some people that didn’t care if I was a geeky sheltered fat kid. Sure, by most adults standards, they were very dangerous….chain wallets, denim jackets, some with pot leaf and Led Zeppelin patches on them, and of course, the dreaded LONG HAIR! Oh, and every one of these people had a pack of Marlboros stuck in their jacket or jeans back pocket. But God I loved them.

They accepted me into their fold and we became like family. Some went off to juvenile hall and some died. But we were brothers, sisters, lovers, and friends till the end. We threw our fist in the air, snuck out between classes to smoke a cig, and then gathered on the weekends to celebrate our youth with Boones Farm and rock ‘n roll.

Our anthems blasted out of car stereos and boom boxes while I got kisses from girls with root beer flavored lip-gloss. I had my first girlfriend at 13, a beautiful half-Cherokee girl who I’ve been mystically linked to my entire life. Girls don’t look the same today. Back then it was feathered hair, a pair of Levis and the latest concert shirt, sometimes covered with their boyfriends torn up flannel. Always a mixture of Loves Baby Soft and smoke next to their skin. It would drive you wild.

The car or motorcycle definitely made the man. As long as it was loud. And of course, whoever had beer made it even better. Most of the guys I ran around with all had older brothers to teach them the ropes. Not me, I had to learn how to be cool. But I had good teachers. You don’t run your mouth too much, you stand up for your buddies no matter what, and you didn’t go after the woman your buddy was seeing at any given time. Those were the rules. Everything else was negotiable.

The parties were legendary. A tapped keg in somebody’s basement or out in a field far away from civilization. Always with fire, a big bonfire.

Now look at us...houses with a mortgage, kids to put through college, 25 year class reunions, and job where I can listen to hard rock heavy metal internet radio and be a teenager again.

The Final Frontier

Recently, we celebrated the 40th anniversary of the first manned landing on the moon. It was with great vision that we embarked on this mission to send humans into space. We’ve learned so much from the technology that was developed to get us there. Countless scientific experiments have been conducted. We’ve peered through the looking glass at worlds that are right now beyond our reach.


The United States government, in the midst of a severe economic crisis, is faced with a decision on what goals our space exploration program should try for. Should we bankroll NASA to make preparations to go back to the moon, so we can set up a permanent base? The first stepping stones, along with the International Space Station, to get us ready for a manned trip to Mars? Or should we forget about a moon base and concentrate on deep space exploration with our first stop being the Red Planet?

Scientists say it would take six months for a crew to reach Mars. That’s not impossible, but putting more than one personality together in a small, confined space for six months would create problems. So, we need to work on our fuel to get us there faster. Everyone agrees that whatever we decide to use, materials to manufacture it would have to be found at our destination or along the way. Can you imagine what would happen if a crew would run out of fuel due to an accident or malfunction and then not be able to return to Earth?


From my earliest imaginations, I dreamt of space. I was a child of the original Star Trek and later Star Wars generations. I imagined that I would someday be in space, visiting far away planets and meeting new species. Sadly, we have not progressed that far in our technology that allows us to travel faster than the speed of light. It’s a pretty good bet we won’t find any life or humanoids within our solar system. So we need a new vision….the same as the first space explorers had when we landed on the moon.

I would hate to think that my children would pass from this life and not see humans landing on Mars. And it would be worse if my grandchildren could not dream about making contact outside our solar system.

We need a vision. We need another dream. Something bigger than ourselves. We don’t dare to set goals anymore that push us to do the impossible. Instead, in the interest of being politically correct and not hurting anybody’s feelings, we have dumbed down our society and made excuses for a culture that is so self-absorbed, it can’t think beyond it’s own agenda.

Space, the final frontier. Maybe it will take a global initiative, maybe it’ll just be us cowboy Americans. After all, forty years ago, we were the first……

The Best Part of Waking Up....

I don’t really know when I became such a big fan of coffee. But it’s been a part of my daily routine since at least my teenage years.

In lieu of drinking alcohol and having unprotected sex, I opted to spend my rebellious years hanging out at the local Perkins restaurant, having cup after cup of their bottomless pot of coffee and partaking in the verbal exchanges between customers and waitresses.

It wasn’t that the coffee was exceptional. It was just McGarveys, I was told. But if brewed and mixed correctly, it was a rich bouquet that filled the nostrils and awakened the senses. It was really the conversation that I yearned for. Our little exchanges also opened the door for what I hoped could be secret late night liaisons. Something that would begin, "so…what are you doing when you get off?" "I don’t know, I’m wide awake." "Do you want to come over and watch a movie" I think you know where this is going…..

There’s been so many ladies' names that have poured coffee for me…and I’ve loved every one of them. I thought I was going to marry a waitress. It was either going to be a waitress or a stripper. I guess I felt sorry for the girls working in both professions since I knew that they worked really hard and had to take a lot of crap from stupid people.

I really hit my stride after I got married. I found brands like Eight O’Clock and Starbucks. My mother use to talk about Eight O’Clock. She used to buy it and it had been around forever. And you just couldn’t go wrong with Starbucks….it was very hard to get a bad cup of Starbucks.
I avoid bad coffee like the plague. While friends of mine would stop anywhere for a cup, not me. The places I stopped had to set a certain standard in the coffee they used, how they brewed it, what kind of water they used, when they threw out the old stuff and brewed a new pot. If I walked into a place and the coffee tasted like someone had thrown their old dirty sweaty socks in to the urn, I’d switch to pop. Yuck. While some gas station coffee was good, others were like drinking the gasoline they pumped.

I’m just a coffee snob. I don’t know what made me into a snob. I just know that coffee serves not only as a beverage and a stimulant, but it draws people together, a warm, inviting brew that people can talk over and get to know each other. It provides the open invitation of, "Stop by anytime, the coffee is always on!"

That’s the way it was at our house when I was growing up. Mom and Dad’s coffee pot was always on. And I mean always. No matter what time of the day or night you’d drop by our house, there’d be coffee. It might be very old and very burnt, but it was still coffee. But at least you knew….you were welcome.