Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Friends


Somehow, every year or two, when the stars align just so in the heavens, an opportunity presents itself for we band of brothers to come together.

Gordon was in Maine being the good son to his infirmed, elderly mother. Bob drove down from his new home in Harpswell. We ate good food, drank margaritas and stayed up into the wee hours catching up on each others lives. We walked the beach, laughed until our belly's ached and enjoyed being in the company of real friends, people who know each other as well as anyone can know another fellow traveler. We are older, grayer, bad knees and sore feet, less hair, but wiser, more content, egos diminished. Still we are "better men".

What a treat. Thanks brothers. Until next time...





25 years ago... give or take... during the duck hunting era. What a crew.



Sunday, March 27, 2011

It just ain't right...

http://www.thisamericanlife.org/sites/all/play_music/play_full.php?play=430

Poem by Mary Oliver

The Summer Day


Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Saturday, February 26, 2011

STS 133


Ken, David and I drove 3 1/2 hours down I95 and took our place with 300,000 other people to watch the final flight of Spacecraft Discovery. She had already flown 143 MILLION miles and she proved herself worthy of one final mission before being parked in a museum. The 6 astronauts were all veteran spacemen and, as of this posting, they are safely docked at the international space station.


An amazing sight to behold, once in a lifetime, check it off the bucket list...





Here is a picture of us on our way home... good times!


Saturday, February 12, 2011

Grandma’s Eulogy

Grandma’s Eulogy
02/07/11
Christina Marie Goulette Murphy
Oct 16, 1927 – Jan 30, 2011
By: Ryan Joseph Foss

I am one of 18 Murphy Grandchildren. As we celebrate our Grandmother's life today, and I gather with all my cousins, the first thing that comes to my mind is how blessed we are.

I am in awe of the talents and the qualities the Grandchildren in this family possess. We are scholars, teachers, caregivers ... athletes, musicians, actors … hard workers, and good cooks. We all live our lives to the fullest, following our passions. We value family first and foremost and go through life maintaining a sense of humor; we laugh together at any chance we get. We are filled with tenderness, kind heartedness, love, and are strong in our faith. Most of all, we give.

Now, one could argue there was something in the water up there on the top of Brewer Street, starting all of this, flowing down throughout our family.
I would be more inclined to look with certainty that our Grandmother possessed all of these talents, qualities and these family values. Her faith and her love has carried through the generations.

She nurtured and cared for us, and not to mention, when given the chance, she would sustain us with three square meals a day.

Wherever Grandma was, Brewer, Winslow, New York, or at her Grandchildren's house, the Grandchildren would gather around her. While her grandchildren were her passion, It would not be fair to leave out the countless neighborhood kids that would come knocking at the door looking for Mrs. Murphy.

We cousins share some common memories of times with Grandma. She would lead games of Red Light Green Light and Mother May I. She would take us sledding. She would make Pomanders with us. She would write, produce, direct, and act as the costume designer for extravagant plays. Somewhere in between all the days fun, she would find the time to make dinner, where we would feast upon the world's best Mac and Cheese, finish dinner with talks of religion, faith, and God, and then retreat to bed for bible stories, fables, fairy tales, and stories of Mike and Spike ... only to be awaken by the smell of Grandpas bacon and treated to the best crepes in the world.
Our Grandmother was a teacher of many. I even had the privilege of attending her CCD classes, although at the time, I didn't always see this as a privilege ... Consequently, I ended up spending some time with the nuns transcribing the bible.

Our Grandmother passed on many things to her Grandchildren:

She taught us to eat until she saw the flowers on our plate.

Grandma taught us music and song. Her amazing gift resonated joy through us all.

She taught us to sew. It was in this act that her patience and attention to detail shined.

Grandma taught us cooking. Her cooking was gourmet.

She taught us to marry well, in that she married the best dishwasher on earth.

Grandma taught us grace as she attended pretend masses at the Bean House.

She taught us humor. She and Grandpa would fill the room with laughter. Boy did they love to laugh. She may have even been coerced by her grandchildren, once or twice, to take out her teeth, which was followed by shock, and then laughter by all.

Grandma taught us honesty. Although, there were times she convinced every one of her Granddaughters that she was the real Cinderella. In her defense, she even showed them her glass slipper..

She taught us French. Grand-mère, repose en paix.

Our grandmother instilled us with discipline. This discipline she conveyed was in something as simple as a session of Quakers meeting before dinner, or a tale from Essops Fables. More often, it was grounded in lessons only derived from a life of loyalty, sacrifice, and faith.

She taught us prayer. Our grandmother prayed for us, and we know this is another reason we are all so blessed. At some of the harder times in my life, she taught me how to pray. I was praying for the things in life that I thought were important and that I thought I should be praying for. Grandma taught me to open myself to God, so that I may be show what is important. She taught me to pray for discernment.

Our Grandmother taught us faith. She taught not only through her understanding of the word of God, but she taught us faith through the way she lived her life. Her faith stood at the center of all that she was and all that she is.

Considering all this nurturing we received from our Grandmother, I wish I could say that I was always well behaved for my dear grandmother. Yet, there were times that this may not have been the case. We never broke melmac plates over each other, but there were times Grandma would have ask, 'what had happened to the other Ryan, the other Eric, and the other Chris.

It was usually Chris and Eric's fault.

Grandma would then ask us to travel through the Brewer St. house, into the upstairs, through the bedroom, past the cat sheet bunk beds, where we would then proceed down the back stairs. Upon emerging from these back stairs, a transformation would occur, and the other boys, the good boys, would be revealed.

This transformation infinitely pales in comparison to the transformation our Grandmother has made.

The mysteries of her faith have been revealed, and she has gone to be with God.
In reflecting upon all that she has shared, all that she has given, all that she has nurtured, and all that she has taught, I look out at this moment and see all that she loved. I see the picture of the family she created.

It fills me with great joy to know that Grandma has given us the ability to see how blessed we are.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Here's to you Tina...


Mother's Day with the Foss girls.

Ericka's wedding, Nov, 2010.

Geaghan's Restaurant Bangor.

Mothers Day... Mom had scallops.

Mother-in-Law, you were #1.

Arriving at the Veterans Home in Bangor, 2009 wearing Dragonflies.

Rest in peace. We know you will always be with us.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Tough neighborhood .

blog entry by Sampson;

There's no telling who we are going to run into down here. Any given day on the beach, we come face to face (and face to butt) with hounds, terriers and rottweilers, shepherds, retrievers and poodles. It is a veritable canine united nations out there. My sister and I are certainly among the smallest... but only in physical size. Like they say, it's not the size of the dog in the fight. It's the size of the fight in the dog. Still, you've got to know when to hold em, got to know when to fold em, got to know when to walk away, got to know when to run! as Kenny Rogers croons.

Lulu is such a mouth. She is always the first to charge at another dog on the beach, yapping, causing a fuss and then bolting back to the humans to be picked up. And where does that leave me? I mean, some of these thick headed breeds think we are rabbits to begin with. I have to put on the tough guy act, growling, circling, snapping. Usually it works...

But the other day, we met our match. This was one baaaad dog. You could tell by the expression in her eyes, not to mention her other unusual behaviors. We steered clear of this one you can be sure. I mean, see for yourself...

Monday, January 17, 2011

Something new every day

We have learned that Southerners are very precise with their language, both in word structure and in tone. For instance, if someone says "Bless yowah heart" sometimes it is a heartfelt statement of compassion or appreciation. Sometimes it means "You are nummer n' a lip full o' Novocaine"... it's all in the tone.

Some of this nations greatest orators hail from the South; politicians, pastors, radio talk show hosts, both past and present. Maybe it's something in the water. But even the "everyday man" will go to great lengths to engage in the verbal gymnastics, to attempt to add clarity to cloudy conversation.

My friend David, who is something of a mixture of sage counsel and local historian, received an email asking him to clarify the meaning of a word. Here is what he received:

Uncle David, I need your input as to the following. I figure you are the only person I know that really has the answer.
Breakfast is breakfast
Lunch is lunch
The evening meal is supper?
What is dinner? Please advise. MS

I mean, this is certainly one of the burning questions of life. We have all wrestled with this timeless conundrum and typically have allowed the question to slip back beneath the waves of conscious thought, unanswered. But that is not the SSOP (Southern Standard Operating Procedure). Here was David's thoughtful response:

"Dinner is the main meal of the day.When I grew up, Sunday dinner was around 1 or 2PM. Saturday dinner could be anytime from afternoon till dark depending on the heat of the day. Otherwise, during the week, dinner and supper were the same-the last meal of the day. So supper can be dinner-dinner can be lunch, but lunch cannot be supper although it can be dinner. Simple Y'all -D"

It has recently come to my attention that there are online courses to help people understand Southern. Perhaps you will find these useful. I know they cleared up many of my unanswered questions. Bless their hearts...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1NsC98xVN0&NR=1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5N1Im1xbjWQ&feature=youtube_gdata_player







Saturday, January 8, 2011

Living Deliberately


One of the good things about traveling around the country in a mini-van is that there are only so many square feet of space in the vehicle and, therefore, you must be very deliberate about what comes along and what does not. Connie is very insistent that we bring her massage table along, as I am adamant about my guitar... and of course there are the dogs, but they are not possessions. They're family. Everything else is negotiable.

Every year, as we swing through Maine, we visit the storage unit and stroll through the remaining materiality of our former lives. Things come out of the van and into storage or to Goodwill (such as our porta-potty and the double-wide screen tent.... seemed like good ideas at the time). Sometimes things come out of storage and into the van (such as the Cutco knife set and the shell lamp and shade that Connie found at a yard sale in Portland several years ago) or to Goodwill. More often, stuff of Ryan's or Katie's are added to the storage unit collection or materials flow out of storage and into their households (such as the turkey roasting pan and the Christmas decorations). We have determined that it is far more efficient, and fun, to collect any material things we may need/desire at the various locations in which we settle... from yard sales.

In Naples Florida, we picked up sun screens and beach mats. In Palm Springs, it was camping supplies; Tomales Bay, books and cookware. In Maine, I picked up a case of pickled fiddle-heads and an avocado green, 1970's era crock pot (which was left in Arlington) and in Georgia it was a charcoal barbecue grill and bicycles.

The art and the science of yard saleing is highly developed throughout the country, but the two most accomplished practitioners we have met are Jerry of Petaluma, California and David of Saint Simons Island. Both gentlemen have an uncanny ability to sense value and to immediately bond with the sellers. They have the vision, foresight and intelligence to buy, fix and sell. That said, they are quirky, amassing a "clinking, clanking, clattering collection of caliginous junk"( to quote the Wizard of Oz.)

Jerry has a collection of a dozen wheel barrows and rusted antique farm equipment scattered around the property. David has 3 or 4 vehicles, including a Jaguar, a Mercedes, a Jeep and a 1921 Excalibur, 12 cylinder, 400 HP roadster and a dozen power boats, canoes, kayaks and inflatable zodiacs. Their homes are fascinating collections of technology, trinkets and treasures discovered and collected from OPS (other peoples stuff). And it is amazing what people sell.

This morning Connie and I got up early to go yard saleing with David and Mary Helen. We were looking for another crock pot to replace the one we left with Katie and Elnur. Mary Helen made coffee, David scouted out the locations from the morning paper and Connie and I climbed into the back seat to enjoy the show.

There are two major roads on the Island, one runs north/south, the other east/west and so the procession of vehicles of Yard Sale Crusaders is a veritable parade. The faces are familiar and there is a sense of competitive comradery among them. But they often specialize. Some focus on books and DVDs, others clothing or furniture, still others are looking for art. David was scouting for building supplies this morning and, as always, fishing gear. Mary Helen sought a set of night stands. Connie wanted a very specific stainless steel slow cooker.

At the third stop we drove up to a shabby, low probability yard sale on a dead end street. The 40 year old male proprietor was wearing a fleece vest against the chilly 50 degree weather and a Georgia baseball hat. David immediately engaged him in conversation and quickly ascertained that he knew the value of his stuff and had marked items to sell quickly. There were collections of brand new neck ties, shirts in wrappers, shoes and sneakers still in the boxes. There was original island art, paintings and pencil sketches. And there was a brand new, stainless steel slow cooker. We haggled a bit on the price and settled quickly. Connie was pleased and I was headed for the car to store our purchase... when several vehicles including a police car quickly pulled up and stopped in front of the house.

Several men sprang from the first car and pointed a camera in my face. The flash went off and he announced "You have just purchased stolen property. That's my crock pot!" I froze in place expecting the cop to slap me in irons, but instead he walked up to me and said "You can keep that... it's ok." The incensed man then proceeded to run around the yard taking pictures of everything and repeating "That's mine. And that's mine!" while the Proprietor yelled "Bob, get off my property!" It was a bizarre scene and we quickly exited with our prize.

I am curious to see if my picture gets published in the Glynn County Police Beat in the Brunswick Newspaper, perhaps headlined "Crazy Yankee Caught with Hot Crock Pot". What is the criminal penalty for receiving stolen slow cookers in this state? What is this world coming to? I may next be blogging from the Milledgeville Georgia State Penitentiary for God's sake! It ain't right...

Who has more fun than people?



Tuesday, January 4, 2011

It's our birthday!

Let's toast to us! We're 11 years old and going strong, although with all this travel over the past 4 years, I've gotta say that sometimes Lu Lu seems a bit confused. Then again, she has always been a little spacey... ethereal . Actually, according to MummaLuv, our real birthday will be on 01/11/11. Yesterday she gave us both a bath so we would look good. Hope that means they are planning a party for us!

We left Maine in October and have been up and down the East Coast several times, just got back from Christmas in Arlington, Virginia with Katie, Elnur, Kristen and Ryan. Good times!! We stopped back in Saint Simons Island for a night and the weather has been so good and the people so nice that Glendog is having a hard time getting MummaLuv back in the van. He always threatens to duct tape her into the passenger seat. YEAH! Like that's gonna happen...

Besides taking rides in the van (40 states so far), we enjoy chasing things (doesn't matter what... anything that runs), treats, walks on the beach and singing. Everyone in the family has been on the receiving end of one of our singing birthday telegrams. In fact, just last week we sang to Molly in Kentucky and they taped us! It wasn't our best performance, but it will give you an idea of what remarkable dogs we truly are... if I do say so myself. So Happy New Years People and Pets! Stay healthy, eat well, exercise often and sleep at least 10 hours a day!

Licks and Wags,
Sam n' Lu


Sunday, December 26, 2010

2011

2011, just around the corner. The years march on... double time, so it seems.

It seems to me that traveling around the country as we have these past, going on 4 years, has added new facets to the passage of time... new dimensions... certainly new thinking. I like it that now, when a memory pops into my head unbidden, it is often of some unique location or adventure, some interesting person or landscape, sometimes something profound and bizarre. Sure, the memories of standing on a rocky mountaintop in Zion, or at the base of a giant Redwood in Humbolt County or of paddling through Cypress swamps in the Okefenokee make for great memories. I cherish them above material things. But there are also treasures to be found among the flotsam and jetsam of the everyday, in the little backwaters of the great flow of Life. For instance, at Walmart...

We have shopped at Walmarts and Dollar Stores across America. If you pay attention, there's much to be learned wandering around the aisles of “Every day low prices”. You will always find a fascinating diversity of humanity. Diversity in ethnicity, age, dress, speech, behavior. It's always an experience of the great mixing bowl of Americana, each region with it's own distinct flavor. In Collier County, Florida you see a lot of Q-Tips, that is, white haired Seniors, pushing carts through the home goods section. In Palm Springs, it's Latinos with a uniquely California flair in dress and body art. In San Francisco, it's Asian; Chinle, Arizona, Native American; Heber City, Utah, White Mormons. And in Glynn County Georgia, Black.

One day while in a Dollar Store in Louisiana, I overheard two women talking in their distinct Cajun accent. The first woman said, “I do love de Dollah Stoah. It be real convenient... and casual.” The second woman said, “ Dat be for sure. And I don't have to get all dress up like going to Walmart or somethin.” Now there's an endorsement to build a advertising campaign around...

Brunswick, Georgia is the Glynn County seat, an eclectic cultural and socio-economic mixture of humankind. a gritty, declining manufacturing/fishing industry, a vibrant local and federal government sector, an aggressive and unhealthy legal community. It is the gateway to the Golden Isles, the resort communities of Saint Simons Island and Jekyll Island, earlier in history slave plantations, later the private refuge of the insanely wealthy; the Rockefellers, the Morgans, the Pulitzers, none of whom would every have shopped in Walmart.

In the Brunswick Walmart, the majority of dolls in the toy section and peoples images on greeting cards are dark skinned, the canned goods; turnip greens, okra, black eyed peas with snaps... and hair products selections; relaxers, straighteners, glosses, are not typical to a Walmart in, say... Waterville, Maine. The sense for me is always, as it is in every location across the country, a distinct ”You're not in Kansas anymore Dorothy.” feeling. And I love it. “New experience” as my Azeri son-in-law often says.

Walmart is aggressive in affiliating with other businesses in their stores. Banks, Credit Unions, Tax Services, Nail and Hair Salons, Eye Glass shops, Photo Studios, Urgent Care Medical Clinics, and, of course, food vendors. Where else can you get your oil changed, your toenails polished, your portfolio tweaked and a 12 inch Subway, turkey on honey oat bread with spinach, tomatoes and onions...

I was walking out of the Brunswick Walmart when I spied the empty sandwich shop. The Subway gift card that my thoughtful sister had sent me for my birthday had been burning a hole in my pocket. It was an “impulse purchase” for sure, but my impulse at that moment was hunger.... mmmm.

The young, white girl behind the counter was pleasant, a half smile on her face. “Welcome to Subway. How can I help yewww?” Georgia girl fer sure... She had dyed purple hair under her Subway cap and a barbed wire tattoo around her neck above her Subway shirt collar. The metal hoop rings in her nose and lip were not unattractive.

“Hi. May I have a $5, 12 inch, oven roasted chicken, on Honey Oat, toasted with Swiss, please?” I recited. Connie had taught me well. We would split the sandwich when I picked her up at Belks in a few minutes.

I watched her build the sandwich. Tattooed on the knuckles of her right hand were the letters L-O-V-E, one letter on each finger. This was not a professional tattoo. This was a jail house tat. Skin ripped with a sharp object and ink from an ink pen rubbed into the wound. She pursed her lips and concentrated as she added the veggies. “Yeww want sum sauce on thay-at?” She asked. Yes, please, sweet onion...

She cut, wrapped and bagged the footlong and I passed her my gift card. She looked puzzled as she swiped the card and started pushing buttons. Finally, the computer prompted her to enter the date. She gazed at me. “What's today?” she asked. “Wednesday” I answered. She blinked twice. “No, no... what's today's date?” she asked. “ I don't know,” I responded.

She raised her voice and called to someone unseen. “Mayhelen,” it sounded like one word, “What's today?” A voice responded “Wednesday...” She smiled, the deja vu humor not lost on her. “What's the date” she called back. Mary Helen announced “It's the 21st...”

The counter girl turned to me and made eye contact. There was wonder on her face. “ The 21st.” she repeated, “Where has time went... ?”

2011, just around the corner... Where has time went, indeed?

Profound and bizarre.

Happy New Year, folks.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Friday, December 3, 2010

Okefenokee Swamp




Just back from a kayak trip for a couple incredible days in the swamp. The Okeefenokee is an almost 500,000 acre National Wildlife Refuge located on the southern Georgia border with Florida and is unlike anything I have ever seen across the country. Okefenokee is a vast bog inside a huge sauce- shaped depression that was once part of the ocean floor. The word, Okeefenokee, is Native American for "land of the trembling earth". Peat deposits up to 15 feet deep will quake when walked upon.



It wasn't an "easy" trip. David, Beaver and the crazy Yankee paddled around 15 miles a day, at times in shallow streams, dragging our loaded kayaks through the thick swamp vegetation; marsh grass and water lily, struggling over downed trees of cypress and pine. The water level was very low, as low as David had ever seen it, but the upside was that we had the swamp entirely to ourselves.



The slow moving waters are tea colored due to the tanic acid released from decaying plants and is acidic, about the level of a carbonated cola drink, not good to drink. Perhaps, as a result of this and also the cool, windy nights, there were no bugs to speak of. But there were plenty of other critters; egrets, heron, turtles, piliated woodpeckers, ibis, sandhill cranes, hawks, bow fish, owls... and gators! Hundreds of them, from one foot babies to huge 12 footers, sunning themselves lazily on the banks or skulking in the water. Impressive, instinctually threatening, the hair on the back of your neck standing up on end when one swims toward you and submerges under your boat. In the backwater creek I bumped one (not on purpose) and it came up behind the boat hissing. Motivating!



The reflectivity of the water made for some great photos.

We limped into the "chickie" around dinner time... just in time. The raised sleeping platform was named "Round Top". God knows why, because it is located in the "praries"; flat, swamp for 20 miles in any direction. Truly desolate. Truly beautiful.
The sky was huge, the clouds were jaw dropping, and the stars that night were spectacular.

We set up tents and enjoyed some great steaks from Beaver's restaurant and a fine container of box wine from Winn Dixie, before some serious relaxing. A gator lived under the chickie and we named him "One-Eyed Jack". I tied a chunk of steak on a 3 foot piece of rope and got to meet him up close and personal. They are not too bright, but make up for it with ferocity. Here's a shot of Jack through my binoculars.


We hit the sack, enjoying the cries of the Sandhill Cranes, just down for the winter from Minnesota or Canada. An erie sound. Around midnight we were all awakened to another sound, the sound of wind... lots of it. The intensity of the coming storm built for about an hour and we scrambled to lash things down as the temperature dropped from 80 degrees into the 40's. The force of the wind was so great that our tents collapsed on us and we huddled waiting for what was to come. The rain exploded on the metal roof top and blew sideways into our tents soaking clothes and sleeping bags. And we three fools lay in the dark, howling with laughter, hysterically happy.

By 2:00 AM things had dialed back a bit and we lay in our tents, cold and wet, waiting for the light of dawn. Beaver was introspective as he spoke into the darkness. "You know, this is great. Now when stories are told, I can say "You think THAT was bad, well let me tell you about..." And we laughed for another 15 minutes. Awesome...

We rose before the dawn and got busy getting warm. Coffee, beef stew and a hibachi full of charcoal lifted our soggy moods even as we put on all of our clothes against the hand numbing coldness. Lacking orange juice, we took mega doses of Tylenol with the rest of the red wine further lifting our moods.





We attacked the 3 miles of shallow water paddling against a heavy head wind with stoic abandon... and more red wine. And by the time we reentered the main canal, the sun was bright, the temperature was up 20 degrees and the wind shifted to our backs. The Universe is good...

The vegetation was spectacular. Carnivorous Pitcher Plants in the bog, towering Cypress dressed in Spanish Moss, Cypress "knees" (root extensions) clumped like monks in prayer, yellow Swamp Dasie's, green floating rafts of Duck Weed, even the pond scum was beautiful.






Our shoulders were sore and our hands blistered as we loaded the kayaks for the drive back to civilization. But the smiles didn't leave our faces for days. Great trip David. You're my man. And Beaver... "You think THAT was bad...?" LOL!!!