ELVIS, THE ANXIOUS YOUNG INTROVERT. Pts. 1-2

After my wife and I bought our new 2015 Nissan Altima a couple of years ago, we received an initial complimentary subscription to Sirius Radio. At this writing, I forget whether it ran a few months, (the offer, not the car) or as much as a year. Of course, we realized ‘day one’ that the initial subscription was little more than a ‘teaser;’ in order to interest prospective subscribers. 

Ultimately, I received an email offer to extend our access to Sirius Radio. And while, at approximately $250.00 per year, the fee was steep, it was, and continues to be worth it; at least, to me. (Don’t ask my wife). Oddly enough, though Sirius offers upwards of 150 channels, I ‘was in it’ for one reason. Literally one station. Elvis Radio.

Granted, I spend a limited amount of time in my car, but I have derived so much pleasure from the Elvis Channel during trips to the post office, church, and other local destinations that I just can’t bear to ‘kick it to the curb.’

To be fair, I don’t enjoy every song which Elvis sang. I mean, he sang selections from virtually every genre of music. My preferences are the slow ones, such as, “Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “Maybe I Didn’t Love You,” and Gospel selections, such as, “How Great Thou Art,” and “Amazing Grace.”

However, even more than Elvis’ songs, I love the stories George Klein, the King’s childhood friend, and aged Elvis Channel DJ, as well as former band members share about his all too short life.

Wink Martindale, whose wife, Sandy, once dated Elvis Presley, has appeared on Elvis Radio a couple of times, and he shared the following story.

Pt. 2

Elvis recorded his first song at Sam Phillip’s Sun Studio in 1954.

On the evening of July 5, 1954, Presley, Scotty Moore, and Bill Black were hard at it, but couldn’t seem to find just the right song. In between their failed recordings, Presley began fooling around with Arthur Crudup's song, "That's All Right, Mama.” Black joined him on his upright bass, and they were soon joined by Moore on guitar. Producer Sam Phillips was surprised at the change in tempo, and asked the three of them to begin again so he could run a tape.

The following evening, Elvis and his compatriots recorded, “Blue Moon of Kentucky," and it was selected as the B-side to, "That's All Right;” (a shortened version of the original title).

The foregoing recording session had been Presley's fifth visit to Sun Studio. (His first four visits had, apparently, been private recordings).

Sam Phillips sent copies of the acetate to local disc jockeys, Dewey Phillips of WHBQ, Uncle Richard of WMPS, and John Lepley of WHHM. On July 7, 1954, the former of the three played "That's All Right" on his popular radio show, "Red, Hot & Blue.” When Elvis got the news that Dewey Phillips planned to play his song, he headed to the local movie theater to calm his nerves. He just couldn’t bear to listen, and wonder how it ‘was going over’ with the station’s listeners.

However, the song was so well received that the DJ reportedly played the recording 14 times, and answered over 40 telephone calls. In his interview with Elvis Radio, Wink Martindale reported that, upon hearing the song, Vernon and Gladys, Elvis parents, (perhaps as the result of a phone call from Phillips) hopped in their pickup truck and set sail for the ‘picture show.’

They found Elvis sitting alone in a far corner of the darkened theater, and managed to persuade him to drive to the station for an on-air interview.

Completely unaware that he was on live radio, Presley responded to Dewey's questions, including one about his local high school; a roundabout way of making the audience aware of Presley's ethnicity.

The original release of "That's All Right" came out on July 19, 1954, and sold about 20,000 copies. Not a platinum record, to be sure, but a respectable, and some might say incredible initial effort.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

If Elvis was, at one time, an anxious, self-reflective, introvert, I guess there’s hope for the rest of us.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 55. Copyright pending

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FLOWERS FOR MY BUDDY. Pts. 1-2

As I was preparing to write this story, (and as I often do) I went to the internet, and brought up a series of articles related to my topic.

In this case wild violets.

And as I googled the subject of my quest, the first item at the top of the list was,

“How to get rid of wild violets in your yard.”

And I thought,

“Why would I want to get rid of them?”

(and)

“I happen to like them.”

(and)

“I happen to like them a lot.”

I mean, I purposely mow around a 2x2 foot clump of the little things in my back yard.

Of course, as you might expect, there’s more to the story, and for anyone who is a fan of my blogs, you may remember my having written about the topic before.

Yesterday, as I stepped outside to survey my woodsy quarter acre, I glanced to my right and noticed a tiny clump of lovely wild violets were in bloom. Twelve or fifteen of the small purple blossoms greeted my eyes; held up by rich green leafy shoots.

And, as always, I paused to reflect on a precious little Shih Tzu named, ‘Buddy’ which I was privileged to know and love for the space of a decade.

And as I have inferred in the past, when she left us, (Yes, ‘Buddy’ was a her) I installed a circular decorative tile on this spot to commemorate her.

For it was here that our precious pooch so often resorted to “take in the rays.

Pt. 2

Perhaps I have chosen to “read more into it,” but I am convinced that the proximity of the wild violets to the place Buddy loved the best is no coincidence or mistake. I believe it was an “on purpose” sorta thing which has its roots with Providence, and was (drum roll) planned before the earth was breathed into being.

I know that’s “saying a lot” and I realize it’s a lot to take in, but I’m convinced that Buddy was simply worth it, and that our Lord was thinking of her

…before He made the worlds.

I mean, I’ve written about my little Buddy before, and without going into great detail again suffice it to say that I think my precious pooch fulfilled her mission on this earth; whereas many human beings never do.

There was a time when her incessant barking caused a would-be burglar to flee. There was a time when she refused to leave my daughter’s side when she was grieving the loss of a marriage. There was a time when she followed my wife around the house, ‘til she submitted to a physical exam by which a malignant tumor was detected early, and she has been allowed to live out a long and productive life.

Yes, my Buddy was worth it, and I think our Lord agreed with me before I ever knew the bless-ed creature.

There is a particular verse in the Book of Psalms which provides some evidence of the Creator’s love and affirmation for both his human and animal creations, and His promise that I will see my Buddy again one day.

Your righteousness is like the highest mountains, your justice like the great deep. You, LORD, preserve both people and animals. (Psalm 36:6)

Afterward

No, I don’t believe the presence of those lovely wild violets, next to that circular decorative tile in my backyard, is a coincidence or mistake. I will always think of this place as a Providential tribute to one of His wonderful little creations named Buddy.

I like to think of that wild, uncultivated patch of purple blossoms as God’s own memorial for a life well lived, and for a creature He loved more than I ever could.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 30. Copyright pending

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ARE WE THERE YET?

Three weeks have passed since Our Little Buddy left us. The first several days were the worst. Naturally, I have asked myself those age-old questions, “What could I have done differently,” and “Did I do enough?” But I keep coming up with “I don’t have a clue.”

Maybe it was just her time to go.

But there’s that dull ache, and tears still come to my eyes at the most unexpected times. Jean speaks That Precious Puppy’s name, or I make a Freudian Slip and call someone else by Buddy’s name. I pull a steak out of the refrigerator and place it in the old frying pan, and I instantly regret it since… my mind is suddenly overwhelmed with memories; bitter-sweet. My Little Friend loved steak, and one whiff of that Medium Rare sent her galloping into the kitchen. And I’d drop a couple of morsels into her mouth and she’d virtually swallow them whole.

So reminiscent of the gentile woman, and the illusion of dogs under the Master’s table. But I hardly thought of My Little Buddy that way. She was a member of the family. She was as near A Child to me as I can express or imagine.

My mother-in-law made a remark to my wife a few years before she, herself, passed away. It was poignant. (She never wasted words, and they always had import.)

“Daughter, you know, Buddy won’t always be with you.”

I’ve made similar remarks to clients and friends. I might say, “You know, we can’t stay here,” or I’ll refer to myself in fairly graphic terms, “I hope you’ll be serving The Lord long after I’m moldering away.”

And such statements are fairly academic and theoretical ‘til they “come home to you.” When My Dear Buddy passed away, it came home to me. The emotional chickens came home to roost.

I’ll never forget the long road trips we three took together; once to South Carolina and a shorter excursion to the Florida East Coast. Buddy’s curiosity was contagious. She would throw her paws up on the dashboard, and the wonder in her eyes was compelling.

In her silence she seemed to ask,

“Are we there yet?”

And she would turn that petite little head to and fro, as traffic whisked by, and familiar places gave way to unfamiliar.

We took Our Buddy to the beach a couple of times. A leash wasn’t necessary. Where we walked, she walked. Where we sat, she sat. And I’ll never forget her timidity as she pitter-pattered up to the edge of the surf. And I’ll never forget her surprise as the cold ocean water lapped against her legs. Needless to say, she didn’t linger, but quickly darted up onto the dry sand.

And on this memorable day, my wife and I, and Our Little Buddy stretched ourselves out on a large blanket, and I think we all nodded off for a spell. We’d made plans to watch the sunrise, in the morning, on the East Coast, and to travel to the West Coast of the state, that same day, to watch the sunset. But fatigue changed our minds for us. We watched that magnificent sunrise at Vero Beach and turned around and went home; my wife, My Buddy and I.

But each of us have the opportunity to witness a sunset more glorious than any we might have witnessed that day. But it will be more than a casual observation of nature’s glory. We have been given the privilege of participating in that particular sunset.

Little Buddy was the sunrise of our lives, and she was the sunshine of our moments. (For life is not, in fact, an accumulation of days, but a collection of moments.) And though Our Little Friend was denied the earthly opportunity, on that particular day, of witnessing what assuredly would have been a magnificent sunset, she has been privileged to participate in a grander one.

That most amazing sunset awaits all of us. And the sunrise that will follow; the more amazing still.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "My Little Buddy." Copyright 2017 

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BENNY HINN: "MASTER OF THE CRAFT"

After knocking down eight of the ten audience members standing onstage at a recent healing service, prosperity preacher Benny Hinn managed to take down the last two standing attendees with one wave of his suit jacket, masterfully executing the notoriously difficult 7–10 split conversion, sources confirmed Monday.

Hinn’s first shot of anointing was slightly off-target, and failed to take down all ten audience members gathered to be slain in the Spirit, leaving Hinn with just two remaining for his second shot.

The audience held their breath as Hinn stood pensively, studying the arrangement and planning the highly technical blast of Spirit power he would need to unleash to take them both down with one hit.

Finally, Hinn raised his hands and, after a running start, swung his coat in order to fire off a powerful ball of anointing energy at the gentleman standing to the right. The shot flew straight and true, blasting the man right in his ankles and sending him toppling to the floor.

But the genius of the shot only become apparent after the angle of the man’s fall sent him rolling toward the other audience member, bowling the woman over and leaving no remaining attendees standing.

Wild cheers erupted from the shocked crowd.

“I didn’t think he could pull it off,” one Hinn fan said later. “I’ve seen him knock down several people at once before, but a technical shot like this—it’s one for the record books. I can’t believe I got to see such a master of the craft in person.”

(from a recent news article)

*To be sure I am an evangelical Christian and believe in the power of God's Spirit, but this man seems to have a "look at me" persuasion and adorns himself with riches and houses. He also has been accused of "goings on" with the likes of Paula White. I just can't buy into such spiritual dynamics.

MY LITTLE BUDDY RETURNS (from the dead)

As a child and as a young and older adult, (well, throughout my natural life, for as long as I remember) I have enjoyed watching “The Twilight Zone.” And though Rod Serling, (like Elvis) has long since “left the building,” millions of people are still fascinated by the syndicated re-runs of this marvelous program.

For anyone who has ever ‘partaken’ of this half-hour broadcast, he or she is all too familiar with the quirky nature of the old series; which might loosely be characterized as belonging to the genre of science fiction. Of course, none of ‘the stuff’ of what was formerly a weekly television offing was based on reality.

Nonetheless, someone once made a statement which goes something like, “There are (strange and wonderful) things in heaven and earth which have yet to be found out; and some are the stuff of fiction.”

(Come to think of it, I kinda like my rendition of the phrase).

Lately, I have come across two examples in scripture, one in the Old Testament, and one in the New Testament, which bear out this perspective.

“You (meaning God) preserve both man and animals, alike.” (Psalm 36:6)

(and)

“Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:

‘To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!’" (Rev. 5:13)

After my pet Shih Tzu passed away, I wrote a small volume in her memory entitled, “My Little Buddy.”

(Yes, her name was ‘Buddy.’)

The dear creature first wandered up to our house with another dog of the same variety; apparently her brother; as they were obviously still puppies. And since Shih Tzu’s are rather expensive, it seemed obvious that these were no ‘throw away’ pets. Sadly, the male pooch died shortly thereafter, and as a result, Buddy displayed some significant anxiety, but it is not my purpose to give much time to that sad occurrence.

However, I will allude to the passing of our dear little Buddy; a full decade later.

Buddy, (as is the case with many Shih Tzu’s) suffered from severe allergies, and the only recourse was the administration of steroidal medication. Otherwise, she at best would have been uncomfortable, and at worst, might have scratched out her eyes.

However, the use of this medication over the course of ten years took its toll, and Buddy’s liver values continued to rise, and ultimately to dangerous levels. I always referred to this seeming medicinal contradiction as, “Taking poison to stay alive.”

I will spare you the worst, (though I was quite specific in my volume by the same title as this story) but suffice it to say our little Buddy left us in the course of a night, though her leaving was not without significant suffering. She lay close against me that night, as she had all of the 3,000 plus days I’d called her mine. And as the dark of night gave way to the light of dawn, Buddy took her leave, and traveled to wherever household pets go …when they go.

On a rather light, or morbid note, (depending on your particular mindset) having considered ‘permatizing’ my pooch, I once looked over at Buddy, and asked,

“Buddy, would you like to be freeze dried when you die?”

And I kid you not, my furry friend responded with the most contentious look I had ever witnessed on her canine countenance.
But to be sure, I’m convinced that we will see our pets again. At least, I have asked our heavenly Father for the favor of their eternal presence next to me.

Can it be sixty years since that black & white Cocker Spaniel, Princess, graced my life? And with the passing of decades, Buddy, and Lucy, and Queenie filled the successive emptiness left by the one before.

And of course, as each went “the way of all flesh” I expected the obligatory wait ‘til I would see any, or all of them again.

But, have you heard the old adage,

…“There’s always an exception to the rule.” (?)

I was heartbroken.

I was nearing 60, and I found myself coping with a loss with which I hadn’t contended in half a century. The demise of a beloved pet. The tears came, and continued to come hot and heavy, as they had when my little Princess had gone on to her reward.

I don’t exactly know what I believe about “visitations from the great beyond;” (except the admonition of scripture that we refrain from ‘following after’ such things). I can only bear witness to the unique experiences which were mine, (and mine alone) after my little Buddy left the scene, and the resulting perspective that God can do anything He “jolly well chooses” to do.

It had been, at the most, a few days since Buddy “gave up the ghost” and my emotions were as raw as the day she left us. My furry friend and I had slept in the same bed for years, and there was no one to complain about the arrangement, as my wife had long since “taken up residence” in her own bedroom; due to her work as a shift nurse.

My little Buddy had her own pillow at the foot of the bed. And I’m not ashamed to admit that after her demise I kept a token pillow at the end of my bed, (and only recently relinquished the practice).

At any rate, after I resorted to my bedroom one night, and the combination of weariness and grief overcame my wakefulness, I experienced something completely unexpected, and unbidden.

…Breathing

Or at least the sensation of something up against my right shoulder, and that something was

…Respiring.

To be sure, no audible sound escaped the lungs of whatever lay next to me. Only the physical sensation of something breathing in and out, in and out as this non-descript thing lay hard against my shoulder.

And as you might well imagine, several seconds transpired before I conjured up the wherewithal to look. I mean, by this time I was all too aware that I, and I, alone should be the only entity filling up the 65 square foot rectangular surface upon which I resided.

Ultimately, I turned to look.

And what greeted my eyes was,

… absolutely nothing.

Too much time has transpired since that event for me to tell you whether the sensation continued much beyond my having turned my head in its direction. I only know that I was wide awake, and that there was nothing about it kin to the dreams of which I, (and every other inhabitant of the earth) are all too familiar.

The late Jimmy Stewart, one of my favorite old-time movie stars, once appeared on “The Tonight Show” (with Johnny Carson) and shared one of his ‘home grown’ poems, titled, “My Dog, Beau.”

What he apparently experienced, and upon which he based the following excerpt seems akin to my own experience.

…And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so.
I'll always love a dog named Beau.

And I suppose if that had been the end of it, a decade later I might still be questioning the reality of what transpired that night.

However…

As I was walking in my neighborhood one evening, perhaps a month after the loss of my beloved Buddy, and I found myself reminiscing about the old girl,

…I saw it,

(or should I use a different pronoun)?

…I saw her.

Suddenly, not thirty feet ahead of me, what seemed to be a little white pooch appeared out of nothingness, slowly walked across my path way, and entered my neighbor’s front yard.

And as quickly as she appeared, she immediately relinquished her physicality.

I can’t account for why the great actor and I were blessed to realize such momentary manifestations of our precious pooches. But at least for me there

remains that quiet reassurance that our pets are alive and well, and reside in a land where the roses never fade, and no tear dims the eye.

There’s a poignant cartoon which depicts St. Peter standing at the pearly gates. Next to him is a dog thoroughly overcome with excitement. In the foreground we see an old man approaching the duo.

St. Peter bends his head towards ‘Rover’ and exclaims,

“So this is your friend, Bobby, who you’ve been “going on about” for the past 50 years!”

I think by now Jimmy and Beau have been reunited, and I like to believe my own little Buddy eagerly awaits my arrival.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 22. Copyright pending

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CLIFF HUXTABLE, R.I.P.

Bill Cosby a.k.a. Cliff Huxtable (or is it the other way around) was arraigned today for the rape of a woman named Andrea Constand. Ms. Constand claims that Mr. Cosby drugged and sexually assaulted her in 2004, and has filed criminal assault charges against him; just prior to the end of the 12 year statute of limitations.

How the mighty have fallen.

“The Cosby Show” was loved by all, and ‘til recently generated immense profits in syndication. “Cliff Huxtable” represented the all-American father and husband. He was as prone to human wisdom, as he was susceptible to human frailty. But whether the portent of wisdom, or the model of weakness, it seemed he could do no wrong.

Until…

While the vast portion of the proverbial Cliff Huxtable’s life on earth was filled with wealth, adulation and ease, Bill Cosby’s waning years are rift with spiritual poverty, suspicion and agitation. And unlike his fictional predecessor, this once-was, has-been comedian leaves a legacy bereft of character, and replete with the filth of innuendo and a rancid reputation.

Cliff Huxtable R.I.P.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 21. Copyright pending

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CROSSING JORDAN

My sister forwarded a photo of my dad to me today; one which I don’t recall seeing before.

The picture depicts my dad at the age of perhaps 65 or 70; 15 to 20 years before our Lord called him home to Glory. When I asked her, Linda informed me that the photograph was snapped in Robbinsville, NC; along a river where my parents had purchased a cabin. It seems my dad was in the process of building a dock, though no structure, whatsoever, can be seen.

In the picture Daddy is wearing the most bedraggled clothes I have ever seen him wear. His jeans are replete with holes, and stains, and his upper body is clothed in a dirty t-shirt. In spite of the condition of his clothing, my father appears to be staring directly into the camera lens, wearing a smile which might easily compete with the sun, and with one hand raised in greeting, (or farewell).

Interestingly enough, as recently as I came into possession of this unique picture, it has become my all-time favorite of my dad.

And I think I like it so much because it so well characterizes the journey we know as life and death. 

I think the river represents the threshold between this life and the next. That both literal and proverbial river we call Jordan. 

My father’s torn and dirty clothing speaks to the trials, troubles and turmoil of life, and the manner in which it inflicts pain and suffering on all of us.

Whereas, the exuberant smile, and raised hand is all about the conclusion of such momentary symptoms, the joy which awaits the redeemed, and that one final opportunity to bid a fond “fare thee well,” but not goodbye.

And if I could select one scripture to accompany the photo, I think I might affix the following caption:

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present life are not worthy to be compared to the glory which shall be revealed in us.” (Romans 8:18)

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 21. Copyright pending

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THE FOUR MINUTE EVERLASTING RECORD

I recently purchased my great Uncle’s 1903 Edison Amberola,  (erroneously referred to as a ‘Victrola’) and which was first owned by my grandfather; (having been purchased at Sears & Roebuck in 1917). Interestingly enough, I first heard it play over half a century ago, (and then forgot all about it).

The device is enclosed in a small cabinet, on top of which is a steel head and a stylus designed to play cylinder shaped audios; (or records as they were already known). Earlier today, as I was examining one of the small cardboard boxes into which the cylinders fit, I noticed some writing on the outside.

‘U.S. 4 Minute Everlasting Record’

And as I reflected upon the text, it seemed to me that the wording affixed to the box was almost prophetic; given that not only the player and the audio cylinders, and those disembodied voices remain, long after they who vocalized the words have gone on to their reward, but their cardboard trappings, as well.

On a similar note, the owners of the construction company for which I work once purchased several hundred red bricks which had been dislodged when the city paved the street upon which they had been installed.  Some of the bricks still bear the fingerprints of the masons who originally fired them; decades after the hands that made them and the owners of those hands were laid to rest in the loom from which they were made.

And more personally, my own father ‘left something behind.’ Well, to be sure he left plenty of stuff behind. His audio recordings upon which he spun those long since lived childhood stories. His family research. And hundreds of beautiful landscape paintings; some of which adorn the walls of my home.

And as is the case with these few foregoing examples, the creations are left to us; whereas the creators have passed from the earth. 

Ultimately, however, not even the creations are eternal and will dissolve into the dust whereby they are composed.

Thankfully, this ‘ain’t’ all there is, and the redeemed have something to look forward to.

Scripture informs us that “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)

(and)

“This life and the lust thereof is passing away, but he who does the will of the Lord endures forever.” (1^st John 2:17)

No, my friend. In spite of the assurances on that century old cardboard box nothing on this side of the heavenly realm is eternal, but like those ethereal voices on those old recordings is quickly passing away.


  By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 46. Copyright pending
 
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