The story you may decide to read in a few minutes was written in April 1996.
Now, I will grant you that April is always a difficult time of the year for me. My Father was born in April. You pay your taxes to the dreaded IRS in April. Yet, April does have it's beauty of flowers and blooms and a renewal of the Earth that only spring can bring. Spring often brings renewal to my heart. I think often of the pleasant times I have had in the Spring and of loves lost, the passing of dear ones, and other things as you will read in the story that follows.
I appreciate the feedback many of you have provided me and it is for that reason that I decided to share a few more of the short stories I have written. Many of you seemed to really enjoy my Story about "Stempy" and how he came to be in my life.
By the way, just this morning I saw a glimpse of that old dog again. The weather here was much cooler today. When we got up to walk the "boys" at 6 a.m. it was down right chilly if you were wearing shorts and a T-shirt. My wolf dog couldn't have been happier. The briskness was back in his step. I am comforted by that.
He knows and I know that he is "getting long in the tooth," as they say, and even thinking about the inevitable sitting here at the computer makes my eyes tear up. The inevitable passing of loved ones --- and yes, Stempy definitely falls into that category --- always pains me, more each year, I guess, as I realize that I too shall pass one day and sooner now than just a few years ago.
So, it is with this melancholy that I share this "renewal" story with you. It always puts me in a better mood to read it. I hope you enjoy it and in some way it helps you to renew.
Without my "buddies" and dear friends I might not have renewed over the years. I am thankful for them and to them. Peace and grace, Dr. D.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Renewal of the Mind, Body, and Spirit
(Written in the Spring of 1996 and originally delivered as a "sermon" at the United Church on the Hill in Oak Ridge, Tennessee)
Thank you for inviting me back to visit with you this morning. The last visit, as I recall, was around the time of the holidays and I shared with you my experiences with working with the Salvation Army and what that had meant to me as I proceeded along my life journey.
Today, I would like to visit with you briefly about "Renewal of the Mind, Body, and Spirit" -- and as all good speakers, I will make my remarks brief and then sit down -- that is one of the cardinal lessons I have learned in my life journey that has served me well.
Some of what I am about to share with you is very personal. I thought long and hard about what to say and how to say it. No one likes to have to admit their weaknesses and yet I believe that it is through our recognition of our weaknesses that we grow stronger.
Renewing the mind
In January of 1995, I felt the first serious pangs of what I could only describe as hopelessness and helplessness.
It was a desolate winter of my soul and being. My decision to work for myself had proceeded without significant problems and I was doing more work at times than I could handle.
However, something was still missing within me. Something at the very level of the gut kept stirring my emotions. This was complicated by the fact that because of who some of my clients were I couldn't do exactly what I wanted to do to get things off dead center on a certain project.
I became restless and listless. Sleep became either an escape from all this or wouldn't visit me at all.
The days were dark and dreary, as was my mind. I have never liked winter much any way and usually begin to experience the change of the seasons most readily in September, when the earth begins to turn its face away from the sun for its own rest.
I am sure that some of this relates to some of the bad experiences I have personally had in September, which is sad really since it is also my birth month.
Daily my state of feeling grew worse. Some pretty horrible thoughts began to cruise through my mind and in some cases parked long enough to cause me to become alarmed.
Then one Sunday afternoon my wife convinced me to take a walk with her on the Northridge Trail. Enroute to our parking area we passed a dog sitting on the side of the road watching the traffic go by. I thought nothing of that dog at that time except to perhaps remark he was there.
We parked our car and started our hike and eventually came to the road we had to cross where the dog sat. He was still there and readily joined us in our hike for about the next two hours.
When we returned to the road I told Kay to go ahead and I would command him to stay.
Likely idea, I was to realize later.
Instead, the summary of the story is: he rode home with us; Kay advertised for his owners and got no response; and when I returned from a business trip to Vegas I had a new dog pen, a dog -- named of all things Stempy (from the cartoon show of the name: Ren and Stempy); and a wife and dog enrolled in obedience school.
I am pleased to say obedience school taught my wife a few things, however, Stempy,
graduated at the bottom of his class.
Suddenly though, almost as if by God's plan a change began to take place with me and in my life. The feelings of despair and loneliness, which I had experienced for several weeks, began to wane.
Stempy quickly moved into my office and claimed the floor as his. My office cat was moved to the top of the TV with a special bed for her. I now have to twist and turn when he stays in the office with me just to get to the phone -- but I would take nothing for this dog.
In fact, it was my dear friend in California that pointed out to me most appropriately that "angels come in all shapes and sizes."
I know for a fact she was right. This husky, coyote, basset hound eyed dog literally saved my life. He renewed the way I think about life, about my work, and about those little setbacks and issues that we all have daily.
I named him my Chief Financial Officer and he makes all my financial decisions --- one bark,"Yes," we will take the contract; two barks," No", let's take a walk. He has yet to fail me on a decision.
As I grow tense and stressed during the day, he senses it and demands a walk or at least some play time.
He perpetually grins and has a mischievous demeanor that elicits a smile and my affection.
He didn't just renew my mind, he renewed my heart.
I wrote about this experience in my Christmas newsletter. A letter from our landlord (Jim Knipe)at the beach, who along with his wife (Ann) have adopted us as their "children, places things into perspective more for me and this experience than anything.
This is an excerpt from that letter.
Darryl, "This guy Mike Royko has always given me a chuckle...Let's have more laughs and not take ourselves so damn serious. We can't be all things to all people. Somewhere along the line half of the population isn't going to like the other half and will be divided between those that don't care one way or the other. A few, our family, select close friends, and ourselves are all we have to please.
"My retirement was a great adjustment period that took several years for me to adjust. Your recent change (the decision to leave corporate America and work for yourself) was a major factor in your attitude adjustment period.
"There is a young entertainer today by the name of Harry Connick, Jr. A fantastic musician,however, he can't seem to find what niche of the music world he belongs to. Someday he will and all will know his name.
"I believe you have found your proper area. It will only take a little time for you to adjust. Remember you only have to please yourself.
"The materialistic things don't matter. Your family, Kay, Stempy, friends and achievable goals are most important.
"We have three children, but for all intent and purposes they have their own lives. So it's Ann and myself ,really.
"You and Kay were meant for each other. Build that cabin in the mountains and enjoy life.
"Love, your friend, Jim."
To the matter of renewing the body.
Three of my friends and family came down with cancer within the same week about four years ago now. I was highly stressed by this, as you can imagine.
One was my hunting partner of more than 25 years, who had just retired; one was Diane
Sexton, whom I had also known for many years and considered her the sister I never had; and the other was my father.
Since that time all three of these dear people have recovered and experienced at least one more round in their on-going battle.
Now, I realize most of you are aware of the dramatic medical breakthroughs in cancer and how application of chemotherapy and radiation; surgery; and drugs can help people live longer and have a more quality life after winning the battle.
However, it was during these ordeals that I began to read more extensively the works of Dr. Bernie Segal and Dr. Depak Chopra. I had seen a dear friend who had used hypnosis and diet to extend the quality of her life during her time with cancer. I had sensed but never first-hand witnessed the tremendous power and connection between mind and body. How one can affect and impact the other.
Especially how the mind and the minds of others could go about helping to heal the body.
I am not hesitant to say, because my evidence convinced me, that prayer had a significant influence on the healing of my friends and family.
Each time that these friends needed assistance, I turned to the Internet and Unity and asked for help in praying for the healing of their bodies.
Now, there are those of you sitting here today that have subscribed to the power of prayer only at those times when need was most.
In the past, I was one of those people. I know how it is to jump in the middle of the stream of a situation and ask God for help. Sometimes I suspect he picks up the receiver and says , "Oh, it's Darryl again. He must want something."
However, since these experiences I have integrated prayer into an on-going stream of
consciousness with myself. I not only ask and but I also give thanks profusely for the ways things are and my many blessings.
When I pray and meditate I do so in strange and unusual places. Like on airplanes when the pilot is about to take off and I am out of total control.
In airports because I spend so much time in them. When I drive, or walk in the woods. When I am tired and troubled -- I still try and give thanks for all the blessings and then ask for guidance and support and healing for my friends.
I am convinced prayer works. We have proof of process sitting in this church today.
Prayer warriors throughout the world prayed for my Dad on his last surgery. Just six weeks ago he underwent a second cancer surgery. The right lobe of his lung was removed. He has healed physically rapidly and without complication.
More importantly, he has healed for the first time in 65 years mentally. He has gone from a man that could sink into the depths of horrid manic depressiveness with a drop of the hat, to a man full of life, chatter, and plans for the future. In fact, my Mother now has to compete for telephone time.
He has gotten him a new cat; is making plans for my Aunt to return to the family farm and live; and is ready for me to come home and till a garden.
I am particularly impressed by these dramatic changes because in a prayer prior to his surgery we asked that: "God's will be done and that if it were God's will that Dad return from surgery to get own with living his life to its fullest."
I believe in my deepest heart of hearts --- that prayer was answered.
My Dad has never been a writer of anything. Yet, shortly after he returned home we received the following card: "Darryl and Kay, I would like to thank both of you for what you have done for me while I was in the hospital. Most of all thank you for just being there. This was a rough one and it really made a difference knowing you were with me and seeing you the next morning. Thank you for taking care of your Mother and showing her around because I was not able to do so. Thanks for going to all the trouble you went to when you came and got us in Princeton and took us to the hospital. Everything went great and we made it home okay. Thanks again for everything. Love, Dad and Mom"
Although my Dad and I have never been close, perhaps, also through the power of prayer we are on a road to healing those issues as well.
I am of the opinion that spirit never dies.
Donna Walls and I met by letter. We never talked. We never met face to face.
The first letter was mine sent to her after reading that she had ALS and that the community of Loretto, Kentucky was raising money to buy her a computer so she could communicate with her family and friends.
That one letter lead into a five year monthly exchange of letters. She typed hers meticulously one character at a time by blinking her right eye. Her letters were long, informative, and full of love and life.
I learned quickly from her that no matter what the debilitation --- her indomitable spirit would not be felled by ALS or anything else.
Donna couldn't talk, walk, or communicate except through her computer. She was at her
passing one of only a handful of people in the world who had survived with ALS more than 12 years.
I miss her letters. I miss her. Sometimes I selfishly want her back so we could continue writing. But I know I am never without her.
I have shared with you today those experiences over the past years that have helped me to renew myself.
I believe there is much hope for renewal not just us as individuals but for the world community as well. And I believe each year we must all work toward renewal of our minds, bodies and souls.
I leave you today with a modified blessing from our friends the Irish:
"On your life journey...may you always have a soft gentle wind at your back; may the wonderful warm sun of God's countenance shine on you face; and may He always hold you gently in the palm of his hand. Amen"
God bless. Peace, love and grace.
END
April 2, 1996, April 14, 1996, April 28, 1996
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
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Friday, September 28, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
“Pete” died, I never knew him but I know he was loved
“Services for Michael Glenn “Pete” Hyatt, 54, of Eddyville were at 1 p.m. Tuesday at Dunn’s Funeral Home in Eddyville. The Rev. Jamus Redd and the Rev. Steve McVay will officiate, with burial in Macedonia Cemetery. Mr. Hyatt died Thursday at the Cancer Treatment Center of America in Oklahoma. He worked at ITT Grinnell in Princeton and retired from the state highway department after 22 years of service. He was a member of Fairview United Methodist Church. “
I never knew Pete.
I heard of him this morning while I was standing in line at the Post Office. A patron wanted to know if the Postmaster knew why there were six KYDOT trucks parked at the one stop light in Eddyville. I had seen them and was curious myself. The Postmaster didn’t know but the Sheriff did.
Pete had died.
Pete just retired recently after 22-years of state government service. He had not even gotten his first retirement check.
Now many of you know that I was a federal employee for almost 20-years myself. I heard all the jokes, the side comments and the slanderous things that were said over the years about how lazy a “guvmint:” worker was. Well, I am here to tell you state or federal employee there are just as many dedicated, hard-working and committed employees in the government work force as there is in the private sector. So, I knew what was going through the fella’s mind at the Post Office about all those "good ole boys" at the traffic light..
The Sheriff set him straight. Pete had died.
His funeral procession was due in about 20-minutes and would go right through the only traffic light in Eddyville, right at the intersection of 62/641/293.
I figured Pete had probably traveled that road thousands of times and this would be his last trip.
Now, there is one thing you can say about government employees – just like the military or law enforcement they take care of their own and show respect for one of theirs.
I had done it many times during federal service and to show my respect to fellow military men and women.
In the South, many of us were brought up to stop our cars and pull off the side of the road when a funeral procession approached. My Grand Daddy even insisted we step out of the truck and take off our hats as the procession passed. I still do that.
So, I understood why there were six KYDOT trucks and men waiting patiently all dressed in traffic vests and field clothes and holding STOP signs. Pete was a field man. No suits for him.
It was all about respect.
You see men have a hard time expressing how they feel. But not today at this intersection. I pulled into the service station filled my tank with gas and waited.
Sure enough shortly the procession began. Led by the Sheriiff’s car.
And in honor of “Pete,” a state employee I didn’t know yet could feel affinity toward I stepped from my truck, removed my hat and stood at parade rest as he passed one last time down Highway 641.
And I saw grown men get out of their KYDOT trucks, turn on their overhead flashing lights,, remove their hats, and staff STOP signs and stop traffic to honor their friend “Pete” --- and I was moved.
And I wondered, as I stood there, if anyone would do that for me when I passed the final time down the highway of life.
No, Pete I’m sorry I didn’t know you --- because I know you were deeply loved and respected by your fellow colleagues. That was very obvious today.
And I was reminded of a line from a Jimmy Buffet song, “...some of life was magic, some was tragic but I had a good life always.”
As I got back into my truck to drive back to the lake I saw an older, grizzled fellow crawl into his KYDOT truck and discreetly wipe away a tear.
Men have such a hard time expressing their emotions.
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
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I never knew Pete.
I heard of him this morning while I was standing in line at the Post Office. A patron wanted to know if the Postmaster knew why there were six KYDOT trucks parked at the one stop light in Eddyville. I had seen them and was curious myself. The Postmaster didn’t know but the Sheriff did.
Pete had died.
Pete just retired recently after 22-years of state government service. He had not even gotten his first retirement check.
Now many of you know that I was a federal employee for almost 20-years myself. I heard all the jokes, the side comments and the slanderous things that were said over the years about how lazy a “guvmint:” worker was. Well, I am here to tell you state or federal employee there are just as many dedicated, hard-working and committed employees in the government work force as there is in the private sector. So, I knew what was going through the fella’s mind at the Post Office about all those "good ole boys" at the traffic light..
The Sheriff set him straight. Pete had died.
His funeral procession was due in about 20-minutes and would go right through the only traffic light in Eddyville, right at the intersection of 62/641/293.
I figured Pete had probably traveled that road thousands of times and this would be his last trip.
Now, there is one thing you can say about government employees – just like the military or law enforcement they take care of their own and show respect for one of theirs.
I had done it many times during federal service and to show my respect to fellow military men and women.
In the South, many of us were brought up to stop our cars and pull off the side of the road when a funeral procession approached. My Grand Daddy even insisted we step out of the truck and take off our hats as the procession passed. I still do that.
So, I understood why there were six KYDOT trucks and men waiting patiently all dressed in traffic vests and field clothes and holding STOP signs. Pete was a field man. No suits for him.
It was all about respect.
You see men have a hard time expressing how they feel. But not today at this intersection. I pulled into the service station filled my tank with gas and waited.
Sure enough shortly the procession began. Led by the Sheriiff’s car.
And in honor of “Pete,” a state employee I didn’t know yet could feel affinity toward I stepped from my truck, removed my hat and stood at parade rest as he passed one last time down Highway 641.
And I saw grown men get out of their KYDOT trucks, turn on their overhead flashing lights,, remove their hats, and staff STOP signs and stop traffic to honor their friend “Pete” --- and I was moved.
And I wondered, as I stood there, if anyone would do that for me when I passed the final time down the highway of life.
No, Pete I’m sorry I didn’t know you --- because I know you were deeply loved and respected by your fellow colleagues. That was very obvious today.
And I was reminded of a line from a Jimmy Buffet song, “...some of life was magic, some was tragic but I had a good life always.”
As I got back into my truck to drive back to the lake I saw an older, grizzled fellow crawl into his KYDOT truck and discreetly wipe away a tear.
Men have such a hard time expressing their emotions.
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
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Sunday, September 23, 2007
Death of a great one
AP TODAY – “The world's best-known mime artist has died. For decades, Marcel Marceau epitomized the silent art, eliciting laughter and tears from audiences around the globe.”
And so another great person, admired around the world died today. Perhaps it is the great ones such as this that we can really connect with and in some way “know.”
I am saddened by the news. I liked Mr. Marcel Marceau because of who he was and how he performed his art. All the great ones – well they die early don’t they. Mr. Marceau was 84.
I believe he understood the meaning of the word and the state of freedom. I will miss him and his art.
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
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And so another great person, admired around the world died today. Perhaps it is the great ones such as this that we can really connect with and in some way “know.”
I am saddened by the news. I liked Mr. Marcel Marceau because of who he was and how he performed his art. All the great ones – well they die early don’t they. Mr. Marceau was 84.
I believe he understood the meaning of the word and the state of freedom. I will miss him and his art.
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
Spread the word
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Thursday, September 20, 2007
"Angels Come in Many Shapes and Forms"
"Angels Come in Many Shapes and Forms,"
Marilyn King, dear friend and psychotherapist,
San Francisco, CA, September, 1995
Lately I have been contemplating what my life will be like when my beloved dog “Stempy” passes on. Now, Stemp is not sick or anything but he is getting age on his old bones just like me. And for those of you who may not know or appreciate how much this dog has meant to me I share the following short story with you that was written in December 1995. Both Stempy and I were much younger. Enjoy. D.
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When January, 1995 rolled onto the scene, things in my life were already less than satisfactory. Although my business had taken off and I had been quite pleased with the income and work load, the project that meant the most to me -- a Department of Energy land use planning activity, known as "The Common Ground Process" -- had been placed in a 'black hole' by the senior management at Oak Ridge.
Now, you would expect that someone who had spent 21-years working in and around the government would not have been so distressed over such asinine actions. Quite the opposite, however, was my reaction. For the first time in my own business I felt, not thought mind you at first that is, I felt as if my personal and professional self-esteem had been ripped from me. I felt as if the government and contracting associates, who were making such decisions were personally and professionally attacking me and my credibility as a person and professional. Combine these feelings with the painful losses I had not mourned from the death of my beloved Donna Walls and the anxiety I had for my Dad, Bert and Diane's health and you have some sense of my angst.
It wasn't as if I didn't have work and billable hours -- the most important aspects of working for yourself is the scared billable 60-minutes. The work continued at a slower pace, the bills could be met, and we weren't going to starve. What I didn't have -- it seemed to me-- was a voice, or a way in which to influence, educate, inform, and elucidate the importance of not screwing up such an important undertaking as this land use work. What I experienced again in my life --- I had experienced it before at TVA --- was government and its management pointing the proverbial gun at the foot and beginning to pull back on the trigger. Yet, this time my foot was within striking range and I damn well didn't like it!
Days and weeks dragged by while decisions weren't made and in reality avoided. Commitments to interact and involve the public began to fall to the side when government and contract managers began to realize that the efforts being undertaken could really mean that the taxpayer, the public, the stakeholder -- was indeed being asked to speak up and speak out about a subject that could impact them for years to come. "My gawd," as my dear friend Bob Mundy used to say, we were actually providing a forum for government and its contractor to not just play the game of public participation but to actually participate by listening and responding not in a "spin-control" way but rather in a true problem-solving, conflict resolving mode.
Before I proceed, let me state that I recognize that such a mode of operation is foreign to any government agency. Further, I understand that it makes absolutely no difference what the Secretary of a department says, or for that matter a President -- "the will bee's" ("we will be here long after any President or Secretary is gone") actually run government. I used to think like a 'will bee' and I knew the 'seemingly powerful' position that such a government manager thinks he has.
However, I had been optimistic enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, government really was changing it stripes. Now, in reality I should have known that when I was hired as a subcontractor -- the last of the food chain and lowest of the low in the contracting business – to ostensibly 'manage and coordinate' this project from a community relations viewpoint that the management of such a process was not possible. I had recognized early on the issues, problems and frustration associated with such an untenable position. Eventually I got myself from the middle of that position and into one where I could provide counsel, consult and practice those skills, which I could excel at.
Perhaps, it was the culmination of all this angst, frustration, and bafflement that ultimately led to the feelings that were about to erupt in me. Whatever, they simmered only briefly and then erupted in a fury. Questions of self-worth, self-respect, and self-esteem began to haunt my sleep and waking hours. My consumption of alcohol increased, sleep either evaded me or encompassed me, irritability, and anxiety became daily and constant companions.
Perhaps, it wasn't until the day that I knew beyond any doubt that the bullets for the rifle had to be locked in the storage house outside did I realize how deep a depression I had. That realization came to me one day when I found myself sitting alone in the floor in the guest bedroom rifle in hand.
I felt and believed for this period of time that I was totally and completely alone, unloved, uncared for, and lost. Kay's presence, nor the cats, or those occasions where our dear friends Robby and Diane visited changed that feeling. I found it made no difference what I did. I threw myself into what work I could focus on, I wrote some of my feelings down but that got too painful.
Some of you will recall that at the first of January I had spent a few days in the hospital. I began to drift back to that time and think about how cared for I was but that didn't help stop the spiraling downward depression from relentlessly attacking me.
Being the type of person who has never asked for help I found it was no easier when I was in such pain. I called friends under the pretense of checking on them. One night when Kay was gone to a meeting I drank very heavily and called to talk to Jim, Bert, and Marilyn. Jim was out, Bert and I visited a brief while but superficially, and at Marilyn's I got a recorded message. Still I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone I needed their help. I couldn't admit the need to Kay -- for the fear that I would be seen as weak and immature. Kay had warned me that one of the most difficult things I would experience working alone would be the loss of companionship. Those words haunted me as I tried to decide what was best for me, for her and my friends.
I honestly can tell you that I thought seriously about suicide. This had not been the first time in my life -- the other times, as I reflected, all had similar traits to this occasion. I had had similar thoughts as a teenager when my Dad left home, after my divorce, and after the aborted relationship I had with the married woman while I was single. Each of those times, however, I had been able to talk with someone that I worked with or a friend that was nearby and available that could provide me an objective perspective. This time I felt I had no such outlets. I considered seeking private counseling -- something that I have always suggested to my own clients and friends. Yet my ego wouldn't allow me the courage to ask for help from a stranger.
Then, one weekend when Kay and I were walking in the woods on the ridge behind Oak Ridge an 'angel' appeared in my life. To say that this angel saved my life wouldn't be an understatement. Like many people who experience angels I really didn't know what to make of the situation. I was scheduled to go on a trip to Vegas on business and frankly I just didn't feel I had time for an angel or anything else. But it seems the Universe and God had other intentions.
We still have this angel in our family. We call him 'Stempy.' Although Kay realized only after naming him that 'Stempy' is the cat in the cartoon series, 'Ren and Stempy.' His official name is H.J.D. Stempson -- at least that is what I say to any one who wants the 'official' name. That stands for "Happy Jumping Dog Stempson." He has brought a totally new meaning of joy, love, compassion and feeling to my life. I have named him the Chief Financial Officer for The Armstrong Group -- one bark for "yes" buy it or do it; two barks for "no" let's take a walk! More importantly, he has provided me a focus and a depth of understanding about myself that didn't previously exist.
You see this dog, a combination -- at least in my eyes-- of perhaps, wolf, coyote, shepherd, and husky brought perspective back to my life. I had dogs as a child -- cats too. Yet, as an only child, I always hesitated getting too close to them for fear that they would leave me. I always felt that to provide unconditional love to them would somehow end up hurting me. This is not to say that I wasn't warm and affectionate toward them, as I am toward many of my friends, yet it is to say that I still withheld a small part of me. Stempy would bear no quarter in letting me withhold anything. His soulful brown eyes and smiley face captured my heart and wormed its way into my very soul.
Somehow he helps me open up and talk again --- if just to him --- about those things which trouble me. He helps me to show genuine and uninhibited affection, attention, and generosity. He helps me better understand what sharing of the spirit can mean in feeling okay with yourself.
I love this dog unconditionally. Perhaps, more than I ever loved any other dog in my life. He has become my best friend and constant companion. My friend Bert reminded me this year at deer camp that we shouldn't get too close to our dogs since too often something happens to them. He's probably right. But for now in my life I want to be close to this dog. He listens to me and doesn't judge me. He shows me respect and kindness and he loves me back unconditionally.
Perhaps, the lesson that this funny little angel brought me was one that I have known all along but that needed reinforcement --- sometimes in life we must take risks and when we do sometimes we are generously rewarded --- we are at all times better for it because we are then and only then fully living life.
The feelings of depression began to subside when Stempy came into our home. My level of emotion and depth of feeling about life however is deeper and more meaningful to me than ever.
Perhaps, I have finally begun the slow and arduous process of forgiving myself for not being the perfect son and husband. Perhaps, I have recognized through this dog that life is too short to not live it too its fullest; that laughing and crying and feeling the depths of my emotional world are okay. And maybe I am learning that at 45 years old there is much more to life than just trying to make money, stay up with the Joneses, and be something that I was never cut out to be.
It is these life lessons that Stempy has helped bring into perspective. You may say that it is all part of going through the middle age crisis. Maybe it is. Yet, somewhere within me I know that angels do come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they are a funny little dog that makes you smile and laugh just thinking about him.
So, as we wrap up 1995 and plunge into 1996, we prayerfully hope that you and your families will be richly blessed. May you have the happiest and most prosperous of New Years' ever.
END
December, 1995
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
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Marilyn King, dear friend and psychotherapist,
San Francisco, CA, September, 1995
Lately I have been contemplating what my life will be like when my beloved dog “Stempy” passes on. Now, Stemp is not sick or anything but he is getting age on his old bones just like me. And for those of you who may not know or appreciate how much this dog has meant to me I share the following short story with you that was written in December 1995. Both Stempy and I were much younger. Enjoy. D.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When January, 1995 rolled onto the scene, things in my life were already less than satisfactory. Although my business had taken off and I had been quite pleased with the income and work load, the project that meant the most to me -- a Department of Energy land use planning activity, known as "The Common Ground Process" -- had been placed in a 'black hole' by the senior management at Oak Ridge.
Now, you would expect that someone who had spent 21-years working in and around the government would not have been so distressed over such asinine actions. Quite the opposite, however, was my reaction. For the first time in my own business I felt, not thought mind you at first that is, I felt as if my personal and professional self-esteem had been ripped from me. I felt as if the government and contracting associates, who were making such decisions were personally and professionally attacking me and my credibility as a person and professional. Combine these feelings with the painful losses I had not mourned from the death of my beloved Donna Walls and the anxiety I had for my Dad, Bert and Diane's health and you have some sense of my angst.
It wasn't as if I didn't have work and billable hours -- the most important aspects of working for yourself is the scared billable 60-minutes. The work continued at a slower pace, the bills could be met, and we weren't going to starve. What I didn't have -- it seemed to me-- was a voice, or a way in which to influence, educate, inform, and elucidate the importance of not screwing up such an important undertaking as this land use work. What I experienced again in my life --- I had experienced it before at TVA --- was government and its management pointing the proverbial gun at the foot and beginning to pull back on the trigger. Yet, this time my foot was within striking range and I damn well didn't like it!
Days and weeks dragged by while decisions weren't made and in reality avoided. Commitments to interact and involve the public began to fall to the side when government and contract managers began to realize that the efforts being undertaken could really mean that the taxpayer, the public, the stakeholder -- was indeed being asked to speak up and speak out about a subject that could impact them for years to come. "My gawd," as my dear friend Bob Mundy used to say, we were actually providing a forum for government and its contractor to not just play the game of public participation but to actually participate by listening and responding not in a "spin-control" way but rather in a true problem-solving, conflict resolving mode.
Before I proceed, let me state that I recognize that such a mode of operation is foreign to any government agency. Further, I understand that it makes absolutely no difference what the Secretary of a department says, or for that matter a President -- "the will bee's" ("we will be here long after any President or Secretary is gone") actually run government. I used to think like a 'will bee' and I knew the 'seemingly powerful' position that such a government manager thinks he has.
However, I had been optimistic enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, government really was changing it stripes. Now, in reality I should have known that when I was hired as a subcontractor -- the last of the food chain and lowest of the low in the contracting business – to ostensibly 'manage and coordinate' this project from a community relations viewpoint that the management of such a process was not possible. I had recognized early on the issues, problems and frustration associated with such an untenable position. Eventually I got myself from the middle of that position and into one where I could provide counsel, consult and practice those skills, which I could excel at.
Perhaps, it was the culmination of all this angst, frustration, and bafflement that ultimately led to the feelings that were about to erupt in me. Whatever, they simmered only briefly and then erupted in a fury. Questions of self-worth, self-respect, and self-esteem began to haunt my sleep and waking hours. My consumption of alcohol increased, sleep either evaded me or encompassed me, irritability, and anxiety became daily and constant companions.
Perhaps, it wasn't until the day that I knew beyond any doubt that the bullets for the rifle had to be locked in the storage house outside did I realize how deep a depression I had. That realization came to me one day when I found myself sitting alone in the floor in the guest bedroom rifle in hand.
I felt and believed for this period of time that I was totally and completely alone, unloved, uncared for, and lost. Kay's presence, nor the cats, or those occasions where our dear friends Robby and Diane visited changed that feeling. I found it made no difference what I did. I threw myself into what work I could focus on, I wrote some of my feelings down but that got too painful.
Some of you will recall that at the first of January I had spent a few days in the hospital. I began to drift back to that time and think about how cared for I was but that didn't help stop the spiraling downward depression from relentlessly attacking me.
Being the type of person who has never asked for help I found it was no easier when I was in such pain. I called friends under the pretense of checking on them. One night when Kay was gone to a meeting I drank very heavily and called to talk to Jim, Bert, and Marilyn. Jim was out, Bert and I visited a brief while but superficially, and at Marilyn's I got a recorded message. Still I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone I needed their help. I couldn't admit the need to Kay -- for the fear that I would be seen as weak and immature. Kay had warned me that one of the most difficult things I would experience working alone would be the loss of companionship. Those words haunted me as I tried to decide what was best for me, for her and my friends.
I honestly can tell you that I thought seriously about suicide. This had not been the first time in my life -- the other times, as I reflected, all had similar traits to this occasion. I had had similar thoughts as a teenager when my Dad left home, after my divorce, and after the aborted relationship I had with the married woman while I was single. Each of those times, however, I had been able to talk with someone that I worked with or a friend that was nearby and available that could provide me an objective perspective. This time I felt I had no such outlets. I considered seeking private counseling -- something that I have always suggested to my own clients and friends. Yet my ego wouldn't allow me the courage to ask for help from a stranger.
Then, one weekend when Kay and I were walking in the woods on the ridge behind Oak Ridge an 'angel' appeared in my life. To say that this angel saved my life wouldn't be an understatement. Like many people who experience angels I really didn't know what to make of the situation. I was scheduled to go on a trip to Vegas on business and frankly I just didn't feel I had time for an angel or anything else. But it seems the Universe and God had other intentions.
We still have this angel in our family. We call him 'Stempy.' Although Kay realized only after naming him that 'Stempy' is the cat in the cartoon series, 'Ren and Stempy.' His official name is H.J.D. Stempson -- at least that is what I say to any one who wants the 'official' name. That stands for "Happy Jumping Dog Stempson." He has brought a totally new meaning of joy, love, compassion and feeling to my life. I have named him the Chief Financial Officer for The Armstrong Group -- one bark for "yes" buy it or do it; two barks for "no" let's take a walk! More importantly, he has provided me a focus and a depth of understanding about myself that didn't previously exist.
You see this dog, a combination -- at least in my eyes-- of perhaps, wolf, coyote, shepherd, and husky brought perspective back to my life. I had dogs as a child -- cats too. Yet, as an only child, I always hesitated getting too close to them for fear that they would leave me. I always felt that to provide unconditional love to them would somehow end up hurting me. This is not to say that I wasn't warm and affectionate toward them, as I am toward many of my friends, yet it is to say that I still withheld a small part of me. Stempy would bear no quarter in letting me withhold anything. His soulful brown eyes and smiley face captured my heart and wormed its way into my very soul.
Somehow he helps me open up and talk again --- if just to him --- about those things which trouble me. He helps me to show genuine and uninhibited affection, attention, and generosity. He helps me better understand what sharing of the spirit can mean in feeling okay with yourself.
I love this dog unconditionally. Perhaps, more than I ever loved any other dog in my life. He has become my best friend and constant companion. My friend Bert reminded me this year at deer camp that we shouldn't get too close to our dogs since too often something happens to them. He's probably right. But for now in my life I want to be close to this dog. He listens to me and doesn't judge me. He shows me respect and kindness and he loves me back unconditionally.
Perhaps, the lesson that this funny little angel brought me was one that I have known all along but that needed reinforcement --- sometimes in life we must take risks and when we do sometimes we are generously rewarded --- we are at all times better for it because we are then and only then fully living life.
The feelings of depression began to subside when Stempy came into our home. My level of emotion and depth of feeling about life however is deeper and more meaningful to me than ever.
Perhaps, I have finally begun the slow and arduous process of forgiving myself for not being the perfect son and husband. Perhaps, I have recognized through this dog that life is too short to not live it too its fullest; that laughing and crying and feeling the depths of my emotional world are okay. And maybe I am learning that at 45 years old there is much more to life than just trying to make money, stay up with the Joneses, and be something that I was never cut out to be.
It is these life lessons that Stempy has helped bring into perspective. You may say that it is all part of going through the middle age crisis. Maybe it is. Yet, somewhere within me I know that angels do come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they are a funny little dog that makes you smile and laugh just thinking about him.
So, as we wrap up 1995 and plunge into 1996, we prayerfully hope that you and your families will be richly blessed. May you have the happiest and most prosperous of New Years' ever.
END
December, 1995
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
Spread the word
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Friday, September 14, 2007
Ten Peeves that Dogs Have About Humans
As most of you know, we share our home with three dogs that are very much like our children --- having never had children I am convinced that dogs are much more manageable and trainable.
So when my friend and former colleague, Chuck Howell shared the following with me I couldn't resist sharing it on my personal blog.
Enjoy and thanks Chuck.
10. Blaming your farts on me... not funny... not funny at all !!!
9. Yelling at me for barking.. I'M A FRIGGIN' DOG, YOU IDIOT!
8. Taking me for a walk, then not letting me check stuff out. Exactly whose walk is this anyway?
7. Any trick that involves balancing food on my nose...stop it!
6. Any haircut that involves bows or ribbons. Now you know why we chew your stuff up when you're not home.
5. The sleight of hand, fake fetch throw. You fooled a dog! Whoooo Hoooooooo what a proud moment for the top of the food chain.
4. Taking me to the vet for "the big snip", then acting surprised when I freak out every time we go back!!
3. Getting upset when I sniff the crotches of your guests. Sorry, but I haven't quite mastered that handshake thing yet.
2. Dog sweaters. Hello??? Haven't you noticed the fur?
And the Number 1. How you act disgusted when I lick myself. Look, we both know the truth; you're just jealous.
Now lay off me on some of these thing's, we both know who's boss here!!! You don't see me picking up your poop do you???
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
Spread the word
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So when my friend and former colleague, Chuck Howell shared the following with me I couldn't resist sharing it on my personal blog.
Enjoy and thanks Chuck.
10. Blaming your farts on me... not funny... not funny at all !!!
9. Yelling at me for barking.. I'M A FRIGGIN' DOG, YOU IDIOT!
8. Taking me for a walk, then not letting me check stuff out. Exactly whose walk is this anyway?
7. Any trick that involves balancing food on my nose...stop it!
6. Any haircut that involves bows or ribbons. Now you know why we chew your stuff up when you're not home.
5. The sleight of hand, fake fetch throw. You fooled a dog! Whoooo Hoooooooo what a proud moment for the top of the food chain.
4. Taking me to the vet for "the big snip", then acting surprised when I freak out every time we go back!!
3. Getting upset when I sniff the crotches of your guests. Sorry, but I haven't quite mastered that handshake thing yet.
2. Dog sweaters. Hello??? Haven't you noticed the fur?
And the Number 1. How you act disgusted when I lick myself. Look, we both know the truth; you're just jealous.
Now lay off me on some of these thing's, we both know who's boss here!!! You don't see me picking up your poop do you???
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
Spread the word
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Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Thoughts about growing older ...
Now and then you get one of these posts from a friend that summarizes better than anything you could write yourself how you feel. Since I just turned 57 this weekend I find this to be the case with the contribution I share with you today from my dear friend and colleague Gaye Stockman in Loveland, Co. Thanks Gaye. I could not improve on this at all. Love ya, Darryl
The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old. I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing my reaction, she was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let her know.
Old Age, I decided, is a gift.
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly.
As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.
They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face.So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become.
I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)
May our friendship never come apart especially when it's straight from the heart!
May you always have a rainbow of smiles on your face and in your heart forever and ever!
Friends forever!
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
Spread the word
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The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old. I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing my reaction, she was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let her know.
Old Age, I decided, is a gift.
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly.
As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.
They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face.So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become.
I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)
May our friendship never come apart especially when it's straight from the heart!
May you always have a rainbow of smiles on your face and in your heart forever and ever!
Friends forever!
Until next time.
Dr. Darryl
L. Darryl Armstrong
ARMSTRONG and Associates
Spread the word
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