Now I am venturing into an area where I do not belong- the interpretation of song lyrics.  I’ve had a hard time understanding the words of popular songs.  I can listen to a performance, focus hard and try my best to decipher the varied vocal affectations, and still walk away wondering what the heck was said.  Of course, people do the same with my sermons every Sunday.

So we come to the song “Lodi”, by Creedence Clearwater Revival.  I understand it was released in 1969 on the Green River album, and I remember it as the flip side of the “Bad Moon Rising” 45rpm.  I would have been 14-years-old at the time, listening to WFPA radio; “Wonderful Ft. Payne, Alabama” would croak the local DJ.  The station offered request line most nights, where listeners could phone in their requests and hear them on-air.  Being a nerdy-punk-kid, I liked to call in early, during the news broadcast, to enjoy hearing the faint but constant ring of the phone in the background.  And this did not endear me to Ned, the DJ.  And I liked to make obscure requests that he hated to play.  “Look At Them Beans” by Johnny Cash, and “Hanky Panky” by Tommy James and the Shondells, were favourites.  Soon I was banned from the request line.  Disguising my voice did not help; with about the third word Ned recognized this nerdy-punk-kid and quickly slammed down the phone.  And so was the joy of being a red neck kid growing up in a small town.

One day my friend, Jimmy, was walking along and singing “Lodi”.  It was a catchy song, country-rock with an edge, a roughly hewn trait that made Creedence sound so good.  And most of the words were easily understood…

So, what does the song say?

The man from the magazine
Said I was on my way
Somewhere I lost connections
Ran out of songs to play
I came into town, a one night stand
Looks like my plans fell through
Oh ! Lord, Stuck in …a low diaphragm? 
….shucking on low guys, again?

Here is an opinion of the song from George Starostin’s Reviews: 
“And 'Lodi' has to be CCR's best philosophical song ever; again, not that it has a great melody, but John brings forth all the talents he can muster in his voice. That's probably why it sounds so unconvincing in concert - because Mr Fogerty just can't reproduce the studio sound. The story tells of a (presumably) folk singer trying his luck in different cities - and ultimately failing. Fate has spared John such a turn of events, but parts of this story are certainly autobiographical, and the convincing power of his voice is amazing - ranging from humble and quiet to all-out screaming, sometimes in prayer, sometimes in desperation, sometimes almost in self-mockery.”

I’m in agreement.  I just wish to understand that one puzzling phrase. 

I challenge you.  Don’t Google the subject, and don’t look at the words on your dusty LP cover.  Just listen to the song, and tell me what you hear.  Not so easy, is it?

Tommy and his twin brother were born a little over 60 years ago. The care for crisis deliveries and premature infants at that time was not nearly as advanced as today. Thus they entered into the world with an intellectual handicap, and spent their entire lives struggling with associated challenges. I think their mother was overwhelmed by the challenge, and thus was controlling and overly protective until her death about four months ago. It was unfortunate, but I dare not judge her too harshly. It was a protection born of love, a simple and flawed mother doing her best with an overwhelming situation. She shielded them from other members of the family, and neighbors, and friends. She ordered their lives and handled every detail. And they were good sons who loved their mama. Apparently she thought she was going to live forever. She did not prepare them for life without her. She died at the age of 85, this last November.

So I tell you, after an explanation of his challenges, that Tommy was an amazing man. He enriched the lives of so many people. And we all gathered on Sunday afternoon to pay tribute to this friend. Concerning preparation, it was an easy funeral for me to conduct. A simple microphone was placed in the front of the church sanctuary, and those who would like were invited to step forward to share a few words of tribute. With the words that followed an exquisite portrait of an exceptional man was painted. A nurse spoke of his quiet dignity, as with simplicity and nobility he succombed to cancer. Friends from work told of how he always had a smile upon his face, and with his interaction made you feel as if you were the most important person in the world. My wife told of how she is going to truly miss his humorous banter. Steve spoke with tears of how Tommy, for some reason, “chose” him as a friend. He quoted I Corinthians 13, substituting the word “love” with the name of our brother. “...Tommy is patient, kind, never haughty, or rude, or self-serving...Tommy never fails...” And many others spoke of the influence of this simple and loving man. A cousin stood to read words, carefully and lovingly transcribed from his brother Johnny. Characteristically, Johnny struggles with a limited vocabulary. But as Johnny sobbing in his pew, the words that were read were divinely eloquent.

When I stood to share a message, there was no need for me to pontificate. The life and love of Tommy had already preached a wonderful sermon. I read the passage from Luke, of the the child who offered his picnic basket to Jesus. He was just a little boy. And what he had to offer was not much. But he gave his very best, and he gave it from a heart of love. And it was accepted by Jesus. He took the few pieces of bread, and fish, and multiplied them, and fed the multitude. I told the crowd that Tommy was that little boy. He seemed at first glance not to have a lot. But he gave from a pure heart, and he gave his all. And God took what Tommy so graciously offered, and through the gentle life of this man we we all have been richly and abundantly blessed.

Tommy loved a raggedly old teddy bear he lendearingly named “Little Steve”. The aforementioned Steve gave it to Tommy while he was in the hospital. And Tommy was buried with Little Steve.

Tommy loved his cat, named Boots. Boots was brought to visit with him in the hospice every day. The cat would purr, and rub against him, and then snuggle up next to him in the hospital bed to take a leisurely nap. Several times I delighted to watch as Tommy would light up at the presence of Boots. And inevitably he would sing silly little songs to the appreciative cat. They had an amazing connection. Boots was given to Tommy on Christmas Day, by a homeless man as a simple expression of appreciation. The man was starving, and freezing, and Tommy took him into his house and gave him a place to stay. And he did this against the advice of others, including myself. Why? Because it was parcel to his simple heart to simply love others.

He liked to sing in the choir, even though he could not sing a note. I think he sang like an angel. He loved to come to men's breakfast, and eat about three plates of food. Given the opportunity, I'd cook him all he would want. I remember his long, never ending sentences, and wondering if he would ever stop talking. They don't seem so long anymore. I remember Tommy. He liked to smile and say, “There's my craaaazy preacher!” To have been Tommy's pastor, and friend, is a title of honor.

Tommy, I will see you again.

--------------------

Yesterday I purchased a portable dvd player at Circuit City.  After the ensuing experience, I intend to shop elsewhere in the future.

When I got the item home, it was a chore to extract it from the thick clamshell casing.  A razor blade was needed, and of course there was no way to extricate the player without completely destroying the packaging.  Finally it was out of the box, and happily all of my fingers were still intact.  It was time to play.  I plugged it in and turned it on.  The picture was great.  However the sound was terrible.  It could not be heard from more than two feet away, even at highest volume.  I thought that surely there would be adjustments to remedy this issue.  But after thoroughly studying the manual and trying all of the buttons, I decided the player would be unusable.  So I re-wrapped it as best as possible, considering the container was sliced to shreds, and took it back to my friendly neighborhood Circuit City.  This was within an hour of purchase, and this was when things got interesting.

The young lady at the return desk was surly.  And after the upcoming experience, I can understand why.  She asked me why I was returning the item, and I explained the terrible audio quality that rendered it unusable, even with earphones.  She was accepting, and continued to type information into the computer.  Then, with her scowly face and monotone, she casually mentioned there would be a 15% restocking fee.  I asked why, since I was returning a defective item.  She simply said it was "corporate policy", a despised phrase I heard often repeated in the next hour, and pointed to a poster above the desk of various and almost unreadable lawyerly jargon.  I told her "No.  I am not paying a restocking fee.  Absolutely no."  With irritation, she informed me she would have to get the manager.  That was fine with me.

He came along, a busy man, and asked what was happening.  She told her story, and I told mine.  "Corporate policy", he said.  "But you have sold me a piece of merchandise that is defecive through no fault of my own", I replied.  "I'm sorry, sir.  But I can't do anything about it.  It's store policy."

By then, I was highly irritated.  I felt I was being robbed by a big business that did not care about me.  I told him a "restocking fee" was most inappropriate for an item that had a manufacturing flaw and surely would not be restocked.  I mean, knowing the dvd player would not perform properly, surely a caring business would not rewrap it and sell it to an unsuspecting customer who would pay hard-earned money for it?  "Corporate policy", he said.  Exasperated, I looked over and saw several customers milling around.  "Sir, I said loudly, you had best be careful about buying items from this store.  If they have a manufacturing defect, these people will charge you to return the items."  Then I called over to another person in line, "These people want to charge you to return their defective merchandise..."

The manager looked at me, then looked at the sour cashier, and said, "Give him his money and get him out of here."  Full refund.

"Restocking fee" is a phrase meaning, "We as a business are quite comfortable stealing your money.  We are ready and willing to profit from any pain and inconvenience we may inflict upon you.  For you, the customer, we do not care."  Circuit City, and businesses of similar ilk who mistreat their customers, will eventually pay dearly for such arrogance. 

I learned, later, that Radio Shack and Walmart do not charge a restocking fee.

I was walking out of the Hospice, and I said something that probably should not have been said.  Well, it definitely was inappropriate.  What made me say it?  I don’t know.  Maybe I was tired from an emotionally draining time with a friend.  That would put a noble spin upon the matter.  Perhaps it was an attempt at “black humour” that did not succeed.  I know what it is, and I do appreciate a well-timed effort of levity about a dark subject.  But I had best leave it to the professionals, of which I am not.  What most likely happened at the moment was the emergence of the Jerk-From-Within.  He almost always lurks somewhere near the tip of my tongue, and in most inappropriate times and ways will make his presence known.  I know how to keep him away:  introspection, the will to consider before I speak, and of course prayer.  I was practicing none of those disciplines as I left the Hospice that day.

A lady, about my age, was sitting on the porch and smoking a cigarette.  She had sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and was obviously a patient.  I was considering the absurdity of the scene as I walked by.  She took another draw.  I smiled, and said, “You’d best be careful.  Those things can kill you.”  There was a puzzled look on her face.  I left.

Not good. 

Happy Birthday!

Skylar Hope

(My Granddaughter)

Is One-Year-Old Today!!

Aside you I have sunshine

And stars glow with your every smile

In your visage I've found beauty

From within pours forth love

My heart already given to you

I am smitten

You are my life

My Little One.

- PaPa