Eric’s Sunday Sermon; Our “Station” in Life
Never Cold in My Home
I Like My Station
Station is a really cool word. Of course there are other words akin to it like stationary. And Stationed. “Stationed” is special because the “ed” at the end does not necessarily mean past tense but it can. Estación. Stazione. Σταθμός. Those are Spanish, Italian and Greek. If you ask me that is special because in my limited way I think they could be said the same.
Historically it would seem that there were station wagons. These were wagons to go get people and stuff down at a railroad or “Stage Coach” place of embarkation or disembarkation. (getting on or off) Stage was really the name to the wagon attached to horses to go overland with folks and things. But obviously the station wagon was stationary to a station.
See what I told you, “station” is a great word. Divert for a moment rather than stationed. Stanchion is a thing of some sort to hold something stationary. Boats and flag poles have them. A “place holder” even for sheep’s heads.
This old fellow grew up in a place called Flagstaff. So stanchion means something special. And on the same token our real connection to the outside world was our train station. The route 66 came along and we had two routes from our town.
My dad was kind of lucky in World War Two. He had “four eyes”. An old term for someone with spectacles – glasses for the eyes, not being a spectacle. He was set to be stationed on a war ship in the Pacific but in the beginning of the war, folks with poor eyesight were rejected for active combat duty. So dad got “stationed” as a “general’s physician”. He actually spent most of his time in the Navy Polo team. Funny but hobnobbing with those kind of folks increased his station in life.
Our son is quite the 3rd grader. Top scores. His current station in life puts him ahead of others. We went to a birthday party yesterday and my station there is quite weird. I am older than most grandparents. Hispanics have children at a very young age. A cultural thing that works well.
So we come to ask about what we are holding in place or stationary. Are we a blank piece of stationary or is our life being written thereon?
I Am But A Pebble That Loves To Be Held
I Figure Standing Tall Would Be Good. Don't Know
Dropped Hard But Getting Up
Someone who wants to create something cannot remain stationary. They have to get up and shake the booty and take some steps and make it happen. Now do not get me wrong here as I often plop my booty down and just create in my nonstationary head. You can too. It is acceptable ;-) But if I do not break from stationary I get fat and out of shape.
We were speaking of this “station” notion the other day. And my young son proclaimed that I was stationed in my chair. How rude and yet how correct. I station myself for meditation, reading and prayer. Just comfortable habitual stations that get me into a mindset that allows me to get into a groove. (is it PC to say groove and groovy – my boy said it was ok, I like boss instead of bitchin also and that is approved also) Some of my retro stations in life are now back in the hip.
There are two issues here that you are already ahead of me on. The first is “stagnant”. Mosquitos thrive in stagnant water but to age a fine wine it must remain stagnant in a barrel of some sort. Someone told me once that love can go all stagnant. I reject that idea. I think it was an excuse to break vows. How can you wake up in the morning and not suck into to your self the blessing of a new day?
When in the old days a stage coach would get to a station it generally meant the passengers and driver and “shotgun” could wash up, eat up and rest up. Yes there was generally a front bench gunslinger with a rifle like a shotgun. But truth be told they were mostly “Porters”, that term meant more of a valet back in those days and then put onto train travel. And contrary to movies, normally a Black man of bravery. They also helped tend to the accompanying work livestock. Now if you never rode shotgun on a 6 horse team put that one as something to do. I even got to drive out Santa Fe way. They say a car has so much “horsepower” it comes from that. When you hold the reigns it obviously is a million horse power ;-)
Silly me one more time going off the reservation of normal thought. That term “Off the Reservation” actually has important historical significance, especially where and who I grew up with.
Cold And Hard
My Mom's Favorite Song. She Would Rock Me To It
Be A Stanchion Por Favor
Finally after all my heretofore mental and verbal machinations we get to have fun in the “sermon”. Sermon really just means deep oration of some kind of important spiritual or moral thing. Churches stole it to mean preaching. I do not cotton word usurpation. But alas I must somewhat capitulate in order to communicate. My son loves it when he says “WHAT?”, dad you are talking all crazy again. How fun is that. But a strange fact there, he likes to read my sermons. Now that is strange for his young station in life. Better we read Jodah in poetry, Billybuc in literacy and Carb Diva in our favorite things. I have a client who insists I do not mix up pronouns, adverbs, nouns, adjectives and flopping antecedents with proverbs so flippantly. But he keeps coming back for more. I reckon that is my station.
But what about your station?
My station is exactly what it is not to be “socially”. People look at me funny. They assume I am my son’s grandpa. They kind of talk to themselves when I say I am a stay at home father and writer. What do any of those things mean. My wife is closer to my eldest daughter’s age than mine. I gave up commodities trading, Trial Lawyer, and GIS and Preaching. Life in my world is a station more like the Hotel California than real.
I was looking up the understanding of the word “Hotel” and a Grammerly ad came on. I suppose that makes cents. (yes cents is right) In my station of life I cannot imagine a machine telling me what to write. We all know that how we speak is a reflection – nay truth of how we think. Someone speaks for me?
Hell cometh when the brain cannot associate with others. If love is not your default station in life then I propose that hell on earth is. I get tired and rest. My children think it not the best. Push the envelope I taught them. They toss it back with a high amen. These family friends of mine. They insist I do not go down into my mind. Bad lurks on every trail. But love is there never to fail.
My station in life was a God thought. Damaged at birth. Two months in the hospital. My first mom had to give me up. Back in them there olden days being a bastard illegitimate boy was really not so alright. My station was not good. It could not make it so I was not seriously beat upon. My station was bad. I beat the odds.
My station is what it should me. I do not ask God to change it. I like this station on the road it helps me drop my sometimes heavy load. I love being the “driver” on my station bound stage coach wagon.