Go With It
April 30, 2012
One of my counterparts in another state asked me last week, “How do you do it?” He meant, how do I find time to prepare two blog postings every week; and he also meant, how do I find topics for 104 postings each year; and he also meant, how do I go about the actual writing?
As for finding time, it’s no problem; because writing helps me think. It helps me clarify and prioritize. And going public with these thoughts helps me be more certain that I’m committed to the ideas. For me, writing daily is as important as breathing deeply.
As for finding topics, it’s rarely a problem. I find subject matter in what I read, what I hear and what I observe in everyday life and worldwide travel. And I’ve discovered that the richest sources for writing about school sports are often found the furthest from school sports.
And as for the actual technique, I go about it this way: I try to provide a plain circle, and then invite readers to color it however they wish, to use any shade they prefer, to color outside the lines if they think that’s most beneficial to their situation.
When we were children we were praised for coloring within the lines and utilizing the appropriate shades for sun, sky, grass and flowers. These days I just want to provide a blank circle and ask, “What can you do with that?” Not dictating what readers should do, but inviting readers to take an idea and do with it what they will where they live, work and play.
At least that’s what I want to do.
In An Instant
August 4, 2015
The icebergs that enter the harbors along Newfoundland’s north shore started to form thousands of years ago. They broke from ice flows 10 times their size and then got caught in a current that carried them on a 1,000-mile, two-year journey to “Iceberg Alley.” Some of them drift into harbors and, with seven-eighths of their mass below the surface, they get grounded. Eventually they break apart and disappear.
My wife and I “discovered” one of these grounded ‘bergs near the shore of cozy little Coffee Cove. After a 15-minute hike, we got closer to this sparkling monster than third base is to home plate. We each snapped dozens of pictures.
Just as we were turning to begin our hike back to “civilization,” we heard what we thought was a loud gunshot. But what actually occurred was a portion of the iceberg breaking off and falling into the water.
What we had taken pictures of moments earlier no longer existed as it had at that time. In an instant, the iceberg had changed, without respect for the thousands of years in the making and the hundreds of miles of traveling.
A few days after we returned to Michigan, Rich Tompkins died, apparently healthy, just after waterskiing. Death came without respect for the miles Rich had traveled to serve student-athletes and coaches, and without regard to all the victories his teams had earned and MHSAA championships they had won.
I last saw Rich on Valentine’s Day at the first-ever Fremont High School Hall of Fame induction banquet where Rich and many of his athletes were honored. The pictures taken that night are of people and circumstances that can never be reassembled.
We need to more fully appreciate the miracle of such moments. They can be gone in an instant.