wish you were here

That's Beaver, Wally and Eddie Haskel, or at least the actors who played the parts on the old Leave It To Beaver show. Happy Halloween... if only they were in costume... for those of us growing up watching "the Beave" get in trouble, or his big brother Wally help him out of it, or Eddie "Haskel" Mrs. Cleaver, as Ward rolled his eyes, a photo like this is a serious gut check on our age. To those under 40, it was an old black and white tv show, your parents probably watched it, or reruns of it, and it carries almost no historical value... but it's a goldmine of nostalgia from a not too distant past, our past.

I've never liked Halloween much, like the candy... and since I don't eat that to excess any more - and if you're not going to eat it to excess, what's the point? - but I have lot's of fond memories of times together at Halloween with old friends, family and people who are either no longer a part of my life, or are dead. They've somehow slipped into the same slot in my brain that holds Leave It To Beaver, I Married Joan and All In The Family... but in my heart... something special still beats for each of them. This morning so many people and so many good times have gone through my mind.

Mom kept a "costume box" in my sister Kathleen's closet. It was strictly off limits, until after school on Halloween, when she'd get it down and the four of us kids would in a matter of minutes become: pirates, gypsies, indians, cowboys or whatever else our imaginations could pull out of those magic rags and jack-o-lantern glasses... good times togehter with Dad, Mom, Danny, Tim and Kathleen. We'd head out into the neighborhood with bags or pillowcases- definitely no adult chaperones... a different world... and walk, knock and trick or treat til we were beat. Friends would join us: Bobby, Susan, Mickey, David, Kim, Jane and so many others... we'd come home and dump the candy, cookies and popcorn balls into large bowls where mom would "sort" and inspect it, letting her sweet tooth be her guide. The candy seemed to last forever... the friends, like Beaver, Wally, Eddie... grew up, moved away and embraced the "necessary losses" that come with aging. Don't know what happened to the costume box.

Today my minds working in black and white- all reruns -and wishing you were here... so many old friends, so many good times, events and people that shaped me in ways I never noticed and definitely never aknowledged... I'd list you all... but I'd never be brave enough to be certain that each of you received it... but for today, the candle in this old jack-o-lantern shines for so many old friends who once meant the world to me. Thank you... "our lives have changed in so many ways..." part of you has stayed with me.

My brother-in-law, and good friend for the last 30 years, Gary, died last year. It was hard, could have used a hug from each of you. It was not a joyous time to be the preacher. I didn't want to bury him. Right before I stood to speak, his neices, two beautiful young women with amazing voices and incredible talent, stood, playing the acoustic guitar and sang for their uncle Gary- one of his favorite songs -"Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. I was balling my eyes out in the background... thinking of so many memories this morning... the song came back to me... and I sort of wished mom could pull down the old costume box and we'd all be kids again for the day... but it's not what I want, not at all. However, as life, family and friends quickly slip away I find myself wishing, sometimes more often than not, that you were here to share the joy, adventure, sorrow and challenges of it all. Today, I'm thinking of you, in only good ways.

blessings,

Eric

Song of the Day - Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here - Listen in.
Click to hear music file

found a nickle!

I love finding money on my runs- I stop, pick it up, jam it in my pocket and run off with a smile. Getting home, I'll set it on one of our cars, one of Debi's knick-knack boxes, rarely do I put it with my change... there's something special about found money. Don't think I'd like to find a $20- or more... I'd feel bad for whoever lost it. Once found $120- in an envelope on the side of the road... it had an address and we were able to find the sender and return it. I've found numerous wallets, credit cards and so many other random pieces of life left on the side of road. But spare change is my favorite still, makes me smile, feel like an elementary school kid.

I've noticed that many people consider change a pain- they'll do anything, donate towards whatever cause, leave a cheap tip at Starbucks just to rid themselves of it. My generation had coin jars- coin bottles- usually old 5 gallon Sparklets water bottles where we kept our savings. They easily held in excess of $1,000-, I know... been there, done that. Change was an invitation to hope: a trip to Europe, someday a downpayment, a car, it represented possible, positive, change... in simple change.

It's a lost legacy. Maybe that's what makes me feel just a little thrill when I find a nickle, dime, quarter... or even a penny on the road. Debi already put the one I found today in her money jar... hope... change... who knows, maybe my Christmas present!?!

If I were king of the world, or in charge of a world that holds change in disdain, I'd invite everyone to empty their pockets of change each day and hurl it towards the gutter. Soon the gutters would glitter with hope, kids could pick up a little piece of purpose just walking down the road, no one would need to panhandle and me... my runs would take forever... I'd never make it home but our coin jar would always be filled and it'd be hard not to start every day with a smile.

I found a nickle today on my run, put it in the little change pocket in my running shorts and thought of world of change... what a bargain! It's a change in thinking, give it a try. If you enjoy change- pick it up, look at it in wonder and leave it somewhere around the house. If change isn't your kind of thing- empty your pockets and throw caution to the wind and let the gutters glitter -someone's waiting for a better day, a shiny nickle of hope. It might be me.

Tune in to the song of the day on the side bar - Ben Harper, singing about change
Click to hear music file

random thoughts on todays run

my run this morning

It's the first run over 10 miles I've done in a while... and it was OK. The time may have been REALLY slow...but I bumped into a friend along the way on his run and we stopped and caught up on our families, running and mutual friends. The time needs to pick up- it was all downhill -but all things considered... I'm just glad to be out there- smoke cleared, cooler weather and my body feeling reasonably good.

Simple things please runners... I ran in a new pair of shorts and they fit perfectly. They've got cool pockets, so you've got someplace to stick your hands when you stop to talk. The basic key pocket, but it's built in to the inseam with spandex to keep the key from bouncing around. They're a very cool, light gray color with yellow, orange strips on the hips... any splash of yellow/orange makes you look a little faster while running. And perhaps best of all, they've got a little zippered pocket at the small of the back- I carried cliff shot cubes and ate one every three miles -but it's plenty big enough for a cell phone or some other silliness. Wish I had ten pair of shorts just like them, I'd wear them everyday! Made by a company named RUN - who knew?

If you click on the sattelite shot of my run, you can clearly see Lake Matthews to the west, Lake Perris and Elsinore to the east and a zillion other points of interest. I didn't run by any of them... but cool to see just the same.

Running... it got me out the door again today... my mind stayed relatively free and clear... if I could send it a thank you note, I would. Just 6 weeks ago I laced up my shoes again and already I'm feeling like it's coming back. This afternoon, resting, not needing to work today, tempted to take a nap, I feel blessed. Blessed to enjoy getting outside and blessed to have the health and desire to pull myself out of bed and do it. Hope there's something you're making time to enjoy. Life can come at us fast and it's good to know that the road, the water, the weights, the whatever it is... are waiting and ready for us to get involved. Go. Do. Be.

blessings

tune into the song of the day on the sidebar... it's one of my favorites
Click to hear music file

early morning sessions

a kid rips up the inside of HB Pier on a Longboard

I've been up since 3am when I stood in our upstairs bedroom and watched the fire in OC come over the top of Saddleback... pretty impressive sight from so many miles away. I was awake, so I went for a run and felt a little silly being alone on the roads in the dark. Not that I haven't done it plenty of times before... just not for awhile... and I heard coyotes around me barking at the full moon... oh my!

Early in our marriage, Debi and I lived up the street from HB Pier. She worked at Long Beach State and I taught at HB High School. Life was busy... life was just beginning a new page. Every morning began with me loading my little Bruce Jones board into my bug and drving the few blocks down to the pier, already in my wetsuit, then jumping in the water in the dark. The few of us who hit the water that early in those days called ourselves the "Gone Before Dawn Patrol." We were new in our careers and still refusing to release our grip on the ocean... or maybe the ocean just wouldn't release her grip on us.

Most mornings there'd be one or two other guys in the line up where lights on the south side allowed us to track the oncoming sets when there was no moon. Often I paddled out alone and surfed alone: 3:30am to 6 or 7am when the water began to fill up. I don't remember being scared during those early morning sessions, however, if it was big, I remember praying that someone else would begin to surf... good waves, in the dark, are better shared with someone, even if it's a stranger.

I'd run back to my bug before the sun broke the horizon- kiss Debi as she headed out to work -jump into the shower, rinsing off my wetsuit and making ready for the day, then head out to teach. The kid's would always ask the same question each morning, "How was the surf today Mr. Denton?" I'd smile and usually say something like, "You really missed it... life's so much better once you graduate... get back to work!" They must've hated me. I was loving every minute of it.

I haven't been in the ocean for ages and can't begin to imagine having the confidence to surf the pier in the dark... I'd struggle in the light of day... but this shot brought back so many good memories of watching groms rip up the inside. Looks' like they're still doing it. Made me think of this old song by Grateful Dead. Check out the song of the day on the sidebar, enjoy.

We live through so many adventures that it's easy to forget they ever happened... that we were ever really there. Cue up the song and think back on a time when you enjoyed early mornings... seeing this picture, hearing this song, lit a fire in me- and I saw a fire from my window this morning... maybe I'll hit the pier first thing in the morning... or not.

Eric
Click to hear music file

The Not So Perfect Day

The fires have taken a toll that will be difficult to calculate. Hundreds of thousands displaced, living in fear. Almost two thousand homes already gone. Countless memories released into smoke, surrendered to the flames, resting in the ashes.

My sister's family hopes to return to their home today. It seems the fire has passed them by leaving only disruption of lives, turmoil and expenses that will never be recouped. Their story is but one in hundreds of thousands... they're among those blessed to have a home to return to. Talking with her about what she took as they were hurried out of their neighborhood, she said: "Looking around at all our stuff, I kind of had an ah-ha moment... realizing that all we owned was not what was important to me. We put the kids in the car and left." I imagine her experience was lived out a thousand times over as people were forced to evaluate their priorities.

I imagine there's a little liberty in that... but what do I know, I wasn't chased out of my home by fire.

We grew up with our mom's story of watching their childhood home burn down. Mom and her older brother Doyle were climbing in a eucalyptus tree in their front yard when they saw smoke coming from the roof. By the time they got down the back of the house was engulfed... she said the house was gone before anyone could come to fight the fire... it was the depression and everything they had was lost. Somehow, the family put things back together... even still, my grandfather was dead, a young man, within the decade. Doyle, her tree climbing brother, was killed in WWII. The house they built on the burned out pad is the place of my memories with granny, she's been gone since '72. That house was eventually torn down to extend the runway at Sky Harbor, the airport in Phoenix, Arizona.

The people who tore it down didn't know a thing about mom and Doyle, climbing a tree out front, only to watch their house catch fire... to lose everything. When I watch TV and see newspeople walk across scorched pads where a home once stood, where so many memories were made, where the walls were once filled with laughter and tears... I remember mom's story and my heart hurts just a little more for the loss.

You know the saying: "Just another perfect day in paradise." We take pride in those days here in Southern California... we haven't had one this week... far from it... it's not even been close to a perfect day. Pray for the people losing everything, those who's lives have been dangerously disrupted, those who are fighting to save it all... pray for us in sunny southern California. We're living for the return of our perfect days.

Song of The Day... in the sidebar... are just words of comfort, from a friend
Click to hear music file

the perfect day

When Shelley first talked to me about having a Craft Faire - well let's just say I probably wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about it as I could have been. What a dope. They're about 30 minutes away from wrapping the day up and it's been an incredible success: from pancake breakfast to caramel apples to lunch in the courtyard to over 50 vendors both indoor and out, it's been the perfect day. The weather's been incredible, the workers amazing, the face painting beautiful, the games, jumpers and DJ - running the cake walk as well -have all been... well, perfect.

The whole deal was to raise money for our orphanage in TJ, Siempre Para Los Ninos, and I'm guessing they've raised a bunch. Now, a perfect day in Riverside, hanging out with bunches of great people, enjoying time on the church campus, checking out the gifted work of so many artisans will all be converted into giving hope to children who once had none. God is good beyond measure.

Thanks to everyone who participated, planned, volunteered, worked hard with their whole hearts and to those of you that spent money on something. Thanks also to Shelley, who along with her family have kept the whole ball of wax rolling for months. Next time an idea comes your way, remember, just because it's not your idea, doesn't mean it's not a great idea... open up a little... it might just lead to the perfect day.

blessings,

Eric

PS
I don't know if any of them will have the juice left after today... but the song of the day is just for them... a song of celebration... kick up your feet, Great Job!

Click to hear music file

from a distance

Not so very long ago... waiting for Christmas to come... the workers of Jackets for Jesus, our ministry to the homeless of Los Angeles, were caught up in a robbery. Christmas was weeks away. It was a cold night. The McDonald's we were sitting in was empty, until some young men came in, masked, guns in hand and forced the workers on the floor while they emptied the registers and safe. It was pretty scary. It was the second time we'd been caught between the guns and money on a Sunday night.

Our workers are dedicated.

Christmas music was playing, we'd been ignoring it until the end of a pistol silenced us all... then we heard it clearly, Bette Midler singing her Christmas version of "From a Distance." She was in full voice, mid chorus, singing "God is watching us, God is watching us..." Peace moved freely. Robert started singing along. Our hearts, while not yet beating, were at ease. It was as if God WAS watching us and from not too very far away. It seemed like He was right there.

The song now holds a special place in each of our hearts. Bette Midler jumped way up my list of favorites- she'd become a messenger of peace when we needed one most.

Christmas is just weeks away. So much will fill our lives in the days to come. Some of it will be amazing... some heartbreaking... some of us will face disappointment we never anticipated... God is watching us and from not so very far away. He's in charge, even when life gets out of control, we choose to live in His peace... or not.

It may be October- but it's a Christmas song of the day -it's a great reminder of His Presence through it all this last year. A reminder that regardless of what's out ahead, He'll be there, we can share His Peace. We can prepare our hearts for joy: God is watching us.

Play the song of the day in the sidebar... don't get too caught up in the words... think of some scary guys with guns in McDonald's and the amazing message one song sent to some frightened people... He has a message for you in your most frightening moment... when it all comes down, listen... God is watching us.

Merry Christmas!

Click to hear music file

Who Knows Where The Time Goes?

Watch the video- it's a piece of our church history. This week we celebrate 75 years as a church in Riverside, California. Just 15 years ago we paid a hunk of change in pre-PC video editing days to have this made. We bought 1,000 copies and passed them out in the community, hoping to give people a look at who we were and what we did without having to venture any further than their VCR. We didn't have a great response but it sure is a cool bit of history... maybe just for those of us who know the people in the video... but it was a wild time in the church at large.

Worship was changing... we'd gone from a choir, organ and hymns to a praise band! Months after the video was made we changed the name of the church! Not to mention you'd have to go back to '93 to find pictures of me wearing a tie at anything other than a wedding or funeral. Church was changing... it was changing us and we felt like we were on the edge of "A Great Awakening!" We sang about it.

From a historical perspective... better yet, from God's perspective, I'm guessing these changes that seemed so radical at the time will be judged by their fruit: was The Love of God lifted up? I know when we spent the $9 or $10,000- we really didn't have -to make this video, sharing His love and building His church was at the top of our list. I hope you can feel a little of that as you watch it.

From a pastor's perspective, I look at the people, miss the one's who've gone to be with God, smile at those still with Central Community- looking so young and bright -and wonder about those we've lost contact with. It was a fun time in our ministry. We wouldn't be where we are today without those important steps of outreach in the early '90's.

From a personal perspective, aren't my kids cute? Can't believe the mullet I was sporting. And Debi... always beautiful. Our kids still work with us at the church. John, the cute little guy with glasses, is now our youth pastor. Julia, the beautiful girl with long hair who looks just like her mom, runs our offices and works with our children's small groups. Debi and me? We're still doing what we do... and if I had the money in pocket... I might not make another video, but I hope I'd still try to stay on the cutting edge of growing God's church. It's worth it! He's too good.

blessings,

Eric

Life's Short

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost (from Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening)

I have a seizure disorder. Had my first grand mal seizure in August of 1969 several weeks after a motorcycle accident, I was 15. I've had a number of seizures since then, not sure how many episodes (that's what they call it when you have a seizure... kind of like a TV series). My seizures try their best to kill me. Nothing pleasant about them. I've broken both shoulders during seizures- in different episodes- my heart's stopped, lungs collapsed, you name it... it's pretty much happened.

I'm extremely fortunate, I have my seizures in my sleep, there's a name for that- just don't remember it. I've not had so many that people steer clear of me, point fingers or try to tie me to the stake- maybe a dozen total, possibly less. I've gone as long as ten years without one and had them as close together as 6 months. Had a pretty rough night of several seizures 2 and a half years ago- those took out my right shoulder and an entire summer of healing. Some people have ten or twenty a day... I've been blessed.

My family's amazing. People with seizure disorders face medication and thoughts of mortality on a daily basis. At 17 a neurologist told me I wouldn't make it to 30... beat that by a few. But when it's in YOU... whatever it is that triggers it, from stress to MSG to doctors who think it's time to take you off of medication after ten years without seizures, you learn to cope. Your options are limited. I don't know how mom's, dad's, sister's brother's, wives’, husband's, significant other's, son's, daughter's and friend's survive the lifetime of stress and worry. It must be brutal. I've surfed, backpacked, traveled, worked and played around the world... often by myself in some pretty sketchy situations from Siberia to Kenya, Tahiti to Mykonos and plenty of points in between without much thought of the concern it must cause my loved ones... and to their credit, they keep on loving me right back.

Seizure stories: I have them going back to 1969. Some are heart breaking tales of days in unconsciousness in lonely hospital rooms... none are funny... some seem to scream out life lessons by the circumstances that surround them, all carry a heavy fall out. I try not to dwell on them. It seems like a good way to keep "the beast at bay."

One story always stands out- it's the short end to this long introduction. Nine or ten years ago we switched insurance carriers and their neurologist decided I was cured and didn't need to be on medication- that didn't work. After six or eight months of slowly weaning me off of each of my three daily meds- I had a series of killer seizures in my sleep -my family surrounded me in love, paramedics worked feverishly to save my life and after some time I was transported to the ER where I waited in semi-consciousness for a room to open.

It was during that very gray period, in the middle of the night, someone sent my mother, who along with my father and other family members had made a mad dash in the night to the hospital, to sit beside me. She said she was confused as she pulled back the ER curtain surrounding my gurney, because she heard my voice: weak and fragile, yet speaking words she knew with certainty. From somewhere in the dark recesses of my recovering brain the words of Robert Frost slipped across my lips. She said it haunted her and broke her heart to watch her youngest son in painful recitation bring new life to those old words: “But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Sometimes, when I feel like quitting, throwing in the towel, chucking it all away because “the woods are lovely, dark and deep…” I think of my wife, my mom, my son and daughter at my bedside on nights they were sure they’d lost me and I remember that “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Tomorrow’s not promised to anyone: we have today. I’ve long since learned that though my seizure disorder might make me medically unique it doesn’t separate me from the people I share today with. Each of us have our own individual concerns, conditions and heartbreaks that weigh heavy on our souls. We’ve all been given the opportunity of today- living well in it is our choice. I choose to give my best, to think, to live, to love… I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

Blessings,

Eric

Big Dreams... in action!

That's my buddy Joe's, (aka Aloha Joe), Pumpkin Patch. Stopped by to visit on my way down for Jackets for Jesus, our work with the homeless on skidrow. Joe's a dreamer who's put his dreams in action. He left a job he was unhappy with to start his own business with party jumpers and he's now parlayed that business into his first pumpkin patch- using all his jumpers- and a Christmas Tree lot in the same place once the pumpkin's are gone.

He's deeply invested. He's giving it his all. He's having a blast. Joe's a people person- thrives on being in a crowd- watching his pumpkin patch sprout and grow has definitely been a highlight of this month for me. I drive by, scan the lot, look for his face or maybe the face of one of his family, stop in when it looks like they're not too busy and drive by smiling when the place is packed. Pretty cool.

Might sound like a simple dream- sell some pumpkins, give a family a safe place to hang out and have fun together in the middle of what's become a pretty scary holiday, hopefully end up a success at the end of the day... by my measurement he's already there... he's doing it, living his dream.

Hope you're living yours today. I'm heading down to skid row to live out part of the dream God's given me. There's something for everyone. God's good.

blessings,

Eric

Surfing Online

http://www.aspworldtour.com/2007

The link above will take you to the site that's kept me awake early for the last couple of weeks: live coverage of a WCT Surf Contest at Mundaka, Spain. Mundaka's an almost mythical left in the Basque region of Spain that I've never surfed. Spent a month or so surfing just north of there back in the '70's on the waves around Biarritz, France... never made it down to Mundaka... I regret it.

What can I say, I live with more than a few. That's not even in the top ten.

The best surfers in the world have worked their way into the quarter finals at a neighboring beach break in pretty junky surf in hopes that the final days will be held on the main wave with a swell. This weekend- October 13 & 14 - will have Mick Fanning surfing against Bobby Martinez, while Taj Burrow and 8 time world champion Kelly Slater fight into the final. With the time difference from California, for me, it could be as early as very late tonight.

Most people on the planet could care less... but high speed internet has become a surfing fans dream. Live coverage of the best surf spots with the best surfers in the world right on your lap top- get fancy and plug it into your big screen and bore the entire household- mainstream surfing -available to millions, recruiting even more people into the lineup... I would've been stuck to the screen if they'd had this when I was a kid... even still, it's the nightmare we never even imagined- international recruiting of MORE surfers!

My buddy Brad, who's surfed Mundaka to his heart's content, use to talk about surfing becoming unpopular. He'd say: "Don't worry, it's just a fad, when it passes we'll start to have the waves to ourselves again." That didn't work out. I've been in the water just a couple of times in the last year. Brad lives on his favorite surf break and doesn't surf anymore. There's two old guys out of the lineup. But when the boys are surfing the hot spots and Kelly's pushing for another title, you'll find me staying up late- or waking up early -with a heat always on in the background, checking in on the boys who still chase the endless summer... and dreaming.

One of these days I'm going to get back in the water.

Coming and Going

The wicked man flees though no one pursues, but the righteous are as bold as a lion. Proverbs 28:1

Getting a haircut was a ritual growing up. Three boys in the family, dad would haul us down to Oscar's where we each dreaded our turn under his cigar breath and not so nimble fingers. Hair was kept short and it seemed my ears were continually knicked by his wayward shears. Things changed. From my freshman through senior year in H.S. I had my hair cut exactly once, up to my shoulders. I had long hair. I liked my hair long. Never missed my time in Oscar's chair.

Adult living and careers slipped in and hair needed to fit the "social norms." I learned to dress for work; whether that was when I galvanized steel wearing denim, waited tables in a tux, was a bank teller in a tie, a school teacher in permanent press or my early years of ministry in a suit everyday: I kept my hair short. Sometime in the '90's I decided to skip most trips to the barber. Even with friends more than willing to cut my hair - at my office, in their homes, in our home... I fell back into the habit of letting it grow, not really long, but longer than most... one or two cuts a year. Hey, it's my hair.

When I was a kid, my parents and adults in general hassled me about my hair. It was a pain in the neck. As an adult, my kids and their friends hassle me about my hair. It's still a pain in the neck. Today I was out to get a sandwich for lunch- a young man from church, early twenties, saw me and the first words out of his mouth were: "You need a haircut!" Oscar's revenge!

Proverbs teaches that the wicked run from that which does not pursue them... >I'm not going to let all these kids get me down!< But the righteous are as bold as a lion. >Don't lions have long manes? And no one messes with them.

Here's the problem: short hair is so much easier. But if I get it cut all these people will start saying "Finally!" Just like when I was a kid... people even wrote songs about it: "Almost cut my hair..." Think I'm going to take the path of the righteous- bold, without fear and get a hair cut... so much easier than getting stopped right before lunch. Some kids never grow up.

Eric

My Brother Tim Likes the Yankees

I couldn't believe he said it out loud... he had a great excuse- the same one so many people use -Mickey Mantle. He'd been his baseball idol as an elemetary school kid and it's never quite rubbed off. Overall he's an overkill Dodger's fan- he and my dad have probably watched more Dodger games in their lives than time spent in church. With some of the teams and players the boys in blue have put on the field across the last decade, they should have been at the altar praying for 'dem bums.

But I could relate- Mickey was cool but it was the "Say Hey Kid," Willie Mays that turned my heart towards the Giants... and truth be told, I've found myself rooting for the Giants, usually in silence, and always from a distance, ever since. Not like a big fan, but like a kid who read The Willie Mays Story one too many times in 4th and 5th grade. Just seeing the old paper jacket brings back good memories.

The man was a star and lived out loud long before the world of "bling" began to dominate. Not to mention that watching he and Willie McCovey carry the team attack was a thing of beauty in the early years of the Dodgers/Giants rivalries.

I eventually became an Angels fan. Took tons of abuse from my brothers. Even hitting against "my" team, there was something of the "fall classic" in Boston's Manny Ramierez, finally coming through in the post season and hitting a walk off in the 9th at Fenway. It's the stuff that makes little kids that live a million miles from Boston start rooting for the Sox.

Found this video online- enjoy it. Sums up a bunch of my childhood dreams. While watching it I couldn't help but whisper a silent prayer: "God, help The Angels to sign Alex Rodriquez AND Barry Bonds for 2008." My brother and I could go to a game together and cheer from the heart. I'd pray for the Dodgers to get them both... but just the prospect of Barry Bonds in Dodger blue would probably rattle the universe. As long as he doesn't put on pin stripes!

blessings,

Eric

My Daily Run

That's a satellite shot of my neighborhood. Look closely and you'll see a little blue line with arrows: my daily run. Just under 5 and a half miles, the way I can put it off one would think it's a marathon. Weather's been perfect for running; cool, clear, an invitation to get outside... still I find a way to brush my teeth, check my email, read the newspaper, even cruise all my favorite www sites before pushing this old frame out the door.

But here's the deal- I'm out doing it again, everyday.

I'm a runner. People ask me about my running when I go places. I've been running for decades. In the '60's ran like a kid- (I was a kid!) In the '70's ran mornings when there were no waves- getting in on the fitness craze. Injured my knee running a 5k in '84 and cycled the rest of the '80's. Ran my first marathon in '91 at LA, spent the next decade running a marathon a year. The new century brought a bit of a slow down. Weeks that used to be filled with 40-45 miles were now lucky to break 20. It's been a roller coaster, filled with getting back at it and falling away- old age? No excuses. Too busy... life's definitely been... but I've run through busy times before. Think it's just time to get back at it, again.

This morning I'm blogging- one more excuse not to go outside and play... to run. I'll strap on my heart rate monitor, latch my little computer- a Garmin 305 -to my shoulder to track speed, route, etc... by gps... then go out and run the same little 5 mile loop I've been running for 14 years. Hope you've got something to pull you outdoors today.

still running,

Eric

Someone Will Take My Hand

My mom wrote the following words. They're the final chapter in her wonderful book: My Alabaster Box. That's Mom and Dad at a book signing some years back at our home. They encourage me, I know they can bring hope to you when you're a little down... or maybe even devestated. My mom's known dark moments: her brother killed in WWII, her dad died not long after, her oldest son served overseas during the Vietnam war, her middle son was stabbed by a serial killer (and thankfully survived), I've had health problems I wouldn't wish on to my enemies... the kind that keep mom's up in the middle of the night. Through it all, mom's been there.

Today Debi and I are going to spend the afternoon with my parents while my sister-in-law and brother have to be at the doctor. Mom hasn't known that she wrote these words for years. Her memory has slipped away. Her words and lessons remain while she and dad live in a downstairs room, watching CNN all day at my brother's house. It's enough to break your heart. My prayer is that in her moments of confusion and loss that there is always Someone there to take her hand.



SO MANY YEARS. . . .so many months. . .hours. . . .minutes . . .and not all of them happy. Count them up – perhaps the sorrows outweigh the joys. It’s strange how one joy can cancel out many sorrows!

The past year seemed to add up more sorrows than joys…nothing evened out when I tried the system of one joy canceling out three sorrows. But the thought came to me as a bright diamond in the dark….these sorrows MAY bring joy SOMEDAY.

When a mother holds her infant until the five-o’clock hour of the dawn as the baby fights for the breath of life…I shall be able to say “take my hand….I understand your anxiety”….when a family lays away a beloved member and the tears fall, fall freely, and they long for a view of a rainbow…I will be able to say, “I’ll cry with you…hold my hand…I’ve walked this way before.” When the heart is bound with grief-a sorrow so deeply hidden within because of a prodigal child…I will say, “Yes, take my hand, I too have walked this way before.” When a mother sits by the hospital bed of her near grown child as he struggles to hold onto the thread of life…I will softly whisper, “Here…hold my hand let’s share together.”

When dreams lie shattered in the dust…the dreams of years of planning and waiting-and the future seems dark, I will say, “Take my hand, I have walked this way before.”

But someday the dawn will break and I shall see the rainbows and the long journey’s end and I reach the moment we all must face when eternity looms out ahead, I am sure at a second’s fraction of time I will reach out and someone will take my hand and say, “I’ve walked this way before – come follow me.”
And this one final joy will cancel out all sorrows.

Ione Denton