Gratitude-Cam / American Renewal

  I set alarms for every hour today and took a picture of something that I am grateful for and then reflected on how that person or thing has changed my life over the years...

magic gratitude device.

7 am- Geography. Maps. I never get enough of them. My freshman Geography class at Troy State University was a mind bender for me. I am also able to retain 99% percent of what I learned in that class, because I came home and told my dad everything I learned and he quotes it back verbatim 44 years later. 

I have been working on drawing the 50-state map from memory. I think I need that Previgen drug. This project was inspired by SNL Legend and former Senator Al Franken - Senator Al Franken draws map of USA

8 am- The natural world. Sometimes the hymn, “This is My Father’s World” (I like Mother Earth better but whatevs) just pops in my head. It must have made an impact on me around 3rd grade or so. I knew those words rang true for me– “I rest in the thought of rocks and trees, of skies and seas.”  The natural world was always a thing to appreciate and find wonder in for me. My Big Mama (Great-Grandmother) taught me about the Crepe Myrtle and many other trees. Mr. Ben Speight, my Future Farmers of America Agriculture teacher, showed a slideshow of trees early in our semester and I almost fell out of my chair in amazement of how diverse the plant world was. I just sat there transfixed on the Norfolk Island Pine. That was a life-changing class for me even though I spent time picking corn and throwing it at my buddies in class. I deserved the ensuing paddling from the Vice-Principal and still feel it on cold nights.

This is My Father's World (Hymn 31) - Hymnology (Official Video)

Light/Music combo. 
Birmingham-based 
Will Stewart doing some solid
melancholy work

9 am - Music. It is magic. 

It is the best, addictive, legal mood-altering drug out there IMHO. 

Try it here → The Staple Singers - I'll Take You There (Official Lyric Video)

10 am - Light. This is a GI Bill thank you. The GI Bill sent me to film school and my eyes were opened to a world of light that I will never learn enough about…and never be less than fully amazed by the power and beauty of it.

11 am - My pup. Animals have always been in my home as a kid and as an adult. When we got Jackson from the shelter, his foster mom’s description of him was “100% sweetness," which is 100% true. How can a creature that eats cow poop with abandon teach you so much?

Jackson @ Church

12 pm - Food is love…and I love food. My mom and grandmother’s

Sunday lunch was such a captivating smell and it is with me always (not literally, cause that would be weird.) My wife is an absolutely amazing cook and she got it from her world-class Alabama cooking mama. My sister makes meals, delivers meals and just does everything for my parents from a few blocks away. I am 2600 miles from there but if I was there, I couldn't even make tomato soup without a disaster. #PanerasDelivers

1 pm - Wheels. I remember my dad buying a new Chevy Caprice to go

pick up my mom and new baby sister from the hospital. I don’t know if the words, “that’s cool as hell” were part of my mental flow those days, but I know I was in the ballpark. My grandmother’s ‘71 Nova V-8 is the one I love above all the others. The other morning I had a 2 AM epiphany…just shot up out of bed and thought/muttered, “what do cars do?” – “They transport memories.” I made a  film about this car show recently: Cars, Bikes & Coffee

2 pm - Everything. All the time. Really? Is this something to be

grateful for? I don’t know. We did pretty good just waiting a few months to head into JC Penney or Sears. I could go see Mr. Arant or Mr. Gunter at the Hardware store and have a new lawnmower or rad stereo and speakers on a payment plan. That was cool. I think my (our?) desire for better, better, better is making us empty. Pics on film…developed and in your hand. Old cars. Writing a letter (what?!) …and baseball. Baseball is always old even when it is new. Amen.

3 pm - The Center of the Universe. My Universe. Karen Messick Avery.

Nothing is possible without her. I do not pass Go. I do not play well with others. I do not do the things I should do. She makes everything right and everything good and I have no idea why I deserve her. I mean, she had me with the 1982 blue jeans jacket, but she just keeps giving me reasons.

My Valentine...

4 pm - Extending my circles. The center of David & Karen’s Universe. Kyle. We did pretty good, I ain’t gonna lie. He’s a pretty good mix of the best of us, but he's unique. He is kind, smart, wicked funny and suffers from a beautiful case of sarcasm tinged with hope. He loves dogs, plants, birds, languages and humanity. Our crowning achievement. We can just coast the rest of this out.

5 pm - My dad told me a few weeks into my college freshman year, “son, just go talk to Major Toft, that ROTC Instructor, you never

know.” He knew. I think his years of high school Naval Reserve and 2 more serving in the Carribean, the Atlantic caused him to see the world and be a different person. I’ve never met someone with a wider focus and deeper insights. I had that conversation and that instantly changed the vector of my life. Luckily, the people, the palmettos, the oranges and the opportunities I took with me from Ft. Meade, Florida were as good as any kid could ever ask for. The Air Force gave me constant education, opportunity and purpose…I could do a darn good cheesy Aim High commercial right now. But it showed me the world and tested me and gave me triumphs, lonely deployments, and memories that flash like that St. Elmo's Fire I saw on the windscreen on a perfect night halfway to Australia. 

6 pm- Teaching High School JR ROTC. 12.5 years of madness, bliss, disappointment, creativity & enthusiasm on steroids!

  When they tell you to do what you love, man I hit the jackpot. I am grateful to the students, the parents, and my fellow educators. Flying was fun. Teaching was hard. No one ever thanks you for your service as a teacher. If they only knew. 

7 pm - Travel. I collect rocks. Hopefully legally. I bought this Mississippi looking petrified wood in Arizona. We travel the Interstates to and from Alabama and to and from Chicago because we can’t leave our baby dog with anyone when we leave home. I mean look at him, he’s 100% sweetness. 

 Madison, Wisconsin- amazing! Gallup, New Mexico- cool! Oxford, Mississippi, Hotty Toddy! This country is vast, but everywhere you go… people love their families, their pets, their community. I know we can get out of this two warring groups versus each other rut. We have to. It starts with confirming the foundation… “Tell me about all your dogs…” What was the first car your mom or dad let you drive? What did you eat at Grandma’s house? What do you wish for your kids and grandkids?” I can’t believe I’m being an optimist, but here we
are. 

8 pm - California. We lived for a few months in Oklahoma. Loved it. We lived in Delaware and froze to death for days in an ice storm… Loved it. Home is where the heart is. Okay, we leave our doors and windows open all the time and have no bugs here in NorCal. When it’s 94 degrees you can mow the yard and not really sweat. The state is ridiculously big, diverse in plants, people, food and culture. It ain’t perfect, but I’ve been around this 50-state joint and there are a lot of glass house folks that should just put their rocks away. I don’t want any state to suffer. I feel zero joy in jokes about Alabama or Mississippi or any other state fighting for 49th or 50th in quality of life measurements. I want us all to love each other and lift each other up. That’s what they taught me in Sunday School. They never would have guessed I was listening but I was locked in.

9 pm - Sports. I. Learned. Everything. Playing. Sports. 

I saw someone drop that iconic quote from Field of Dreams the other day and I wasn’t ready for it. It hits me like a sledgehammer from somewhere deep and tears form from mental creeks, crusty for decades.

Yes, SGA is Canadian...
and they believe in 
each other...
check the stats below...

   "The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come."

America- Field of Dreams (James Earl Jones)

    Why does this quote give me such hope for my country? I don’t know, but I’ll take it. I’m looking

hard for a way out of this doom loop. 

I want this country

to slide into third base like Pete Rose, 

Superman style. Together. 

10 pm - No picture. Just an image from a terrifying survey... We think A LOT of our fellow citizens are morally bad. Canada is the MVP at the good side of this. But I believe this is only a surface feeling. It is not deep. It is not soul deep. I know. I had a red/blue argument with an old friend recently. We haven't seen each other in over 40 years and had little social media interactions. We got off the main public message arena and privately chatted 2885 miles apart...and guess what? Two guys saying 'I love you man and miss you"-- in a few seconds. I am as happy today as I have been in a while. This national animosity is temporary. My friend and I lucked into renewing an old, but solid foundation. No one can make us hate each other even if we disagree with each other. Those connections are real. They are deep. They are the norm that we need to swing too. It's time.

Nightmare fuel below-->

https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2026/03/05/in-25-country-survey-americans-especially-likely-to-view-fellow-citizens-as-morally-bad/

Jet Fuel & Febreze (the cruel consequences of conceit)

Jet Fuel & Febreze 

    My feet hurt. Mom insisted I get some nice shoes for this. A "dignified transfer ceremony" she said...and they say we might meet with the Commander-in-Chief. My brother would have absolutely loved my pain. I can’t believe I won’t get roasted by my little brother again. Ever. Mom has on her best church shoes, but she looks like she belongs in them.

    The President wears an embroidered gold, braggadocious as hell, “47” hat into the room. I detect something less than respect. He is bereft of decency, humanity, love, honor, gratefulness or sadness. He keeps talking about winning our state in all his elections. He keeps saying “your boy” when talking about Robert. He doesn’t know his name. I saw a news show later when they said he started referring to the war as an “excursion.” He tried that line first on us. I thought I saw mom jerk slightly, but I was so tired from the travel and the other hell that I wasn’t sure. 

 

    Robert mostly loved the Army. He was definitely getting out at the end of this tour though. He is only with us here in this room as a flat 8 X 10 photo propped up next to some not so fresh flowers from the Dover Base Commissary I guess. I swear, even at a time like this he would lean down and whisper in my ear that this room smelled like jet fuel and febreze. I actually smiled. Then the tears again.

  

  Did his heart beat 47 times after the impact?  Forty-seven times we called his unit and buddies asking why we hadn’t heard from him. Forty-seven minutes in labor for mom in 2003.  He was so easy, she said. She said that she held him that day and all she could hear were TV’s in the hospital broadcasting the news anchors’ endlessly reveling at how our military took the Iraqi military down so fast. 

    President George W. Bush was here many, many times. As he welcomed home the caskets of the women and men who slept in their dress blues after the bombs in the sand. They never planned for that. Not really. This is a little different than dying and then bloating in the sun on bloodsoaked battlefields across Virginia and Pennsylvania in the Civil War. Maybe it’s better than being dead but listed as “Missing In Action” in a jungle in Vietnam. It’s about the same for the crying mothers though, regardless of the century or the war.

  Dads cry too, even though it doesn't come as easy. It sometimes comes harder because the dam is old and dutiful, so the rush is unexpected and terribly powerful. Maybe the drip, drip overflow of every day and every week and every month is a better preparation for the worst time of your life for the moms. Mom wasn’t crying today though. 

    He actually mentioned his new ballroom. It will cover up the East Room like the ground will cover my brother. They will say Robert’s not forgotten. But I know his photo will meld together with all the other ones they see on their screens through the days, the years, and the decades of our country using the Middle East to prop up egos, ramp up testosterone, and make families break forever. Boots up your ass goes both ways.

 

    Gas prices will go up and down. Economies will roil and rally. Politicians will rise and sputter, but back at home families will keep doing what they always do to try to make their lives better. They will attempt to forget and then later feel like they should remember more. But our family memories will have a stain like the orange make-up on the President’s ridiculously bright red tie. A tie dripping with an insatiable urge for power. Power, wonder-working power, glowing with the blood of these lambs. 

   There were hollow words about feeling our loss. The same hollowness that just last week Robert said he heard from those who gladly supported this “Hollywood” war. He hated the performatory “thank you for your service” routine. The President doesn’t even try that line. That’s fine, because he does not feel our loss and he knows nothing of service.  He is serviced by the power of taking lives and commanding others to lose theirs. This power appears to be quite a drug. 

   Momma had enough. I swear, I knew she would say it before she did. I had no reason to know this. She has never said anything like that. No one would believe it had ever floated through her mind, but it rolled off her tongue with a soft ferocity. “Go fuck yourself." The big man looked a bit surprised but also emboldened. He regained his superior demeanor. He tilted his chin up, quickly glanced and winked at a young staffer.  He said to mom, “you'll feel better soon.” Again, she said it, “go fuck yourself.”  He ran his hand in a flowing motion across the space in front of her and his team jumped into action to escort us from the room. His “47” hat brim rose up and lifted his mass with it. His smirk changed to a non-affected look as he lumbered out of the room. We dragged ourselves out of there and into the rest of the nightmare. 

      They escorted us to a bus to depart the base and then on to hotels, airlines, parking lots, casseroles, tissues, anger, despair, and emptiness. Nostalgia came later. Bittersweet tears of happy times slowly broke though.  We joined our first club ever. No one seeks to join the Gold Star Families, it was chosen for us.

    The cruel consequences of conceit do not destroy the ones that choose war. They fall upon the warriors and those they leave behind. Like mom said…

Listen:

 Jason Isbell- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJb1_EGnapY

 Steve Earle- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nXQJ-H8v3Y