resurrecting dad

The Westbrook Experience at Forrest Cemetery, 10/13/13.

Several months ago I was invited by Sherry Clayton of A Walk Through Time to portray my father, Henry Westbrook Finlayson.  I knew when I was asked that it was something that I was supposed to do.  I enjoy performing, but not acting.  I'd rather have a guitar and sing.

I knew from the start that I wasn't going to write and try to memorize a script.  I knew a good bit about dad's life and figured that I would just shave my beard, borrow a wheelchair and ad-lib it.

Back in the early eighties, dad and I were on a trip.  Mom had flown to California to visit family there.  It was the first time they had ever been away from each other for an extended period of time.  While driving to Columbia, SC, I asked dad about his band days.  It was something he rarely talked about.  His past was a mystery to me.  He seemed to have lived this entirely different life before he met and married mom.  It was a wonderful trip.  I sat there and drove our blue Malibu toward South Carolina and let dad unfold his entire story.  That trip, that moment is a special memory for me. 

I knew enough to ad-lib dad's story.  I had plenty of material stored in my head.  It wasn't going to be hard to fill a few minutes.  The hard part was keeping it short.

Taking on the part meant shaving my beard. Dad wasn't a facial hair kind of guy.  I haven't shaved my beard in over twenty years.  That was the sacrifice for me. I waited until the night before to shave it.  I found some glasses similar to the ones dad use to wear and donned a hat to cover my bald head.  Westbrook after all had a full head of handsome hair throughout his life. If I was going to be dad, I had to cover the shiny dome.

Gina was downstairs after I shaved and dressed the part for the first time.  I sat in the chair and rolled up to her.  She looked up from what she was doing and her mouth dropped.  "How do I look?" I asked.  She said, "You look exactly like your dad," she replied.  So much so that it weirded her out.  So much so that she's not going to be hugging or kissing me until my beard grows back.

Truth is, I didn't realize the strong resemblance.  I got out of the chair, leaving the hat and glasses on and walked to the bathroom mirror.  There in the mirror was my dad looking back at me.  It was unsettling.  Almost every facial feature was dad. I gasped.

I got up early Sunday morning.  I got dressed and pulled together my props.  At the last minute I remembered I had dad's wristwatch.  I pulled it out of the drawer and put it on.  It was strange seeing it on my wrist.  Even my hands look like dads.  I loaded the car and drove down to Forrest Cemetery.  I rarely go to dad's grave because I never felt the need to visit a place where he isn't.  I knew the general area of the cemetery, but had to walk around a bit to finally find his marker.

It was a beautiful morning and I enjoyed conversations with other reenactors and event hosts before the gates were opened for the public.  As I sat there in the wheelchair, it felt surreal and awkward.  The more I sat there in the quiet and peaceful setting, 
the more I relaxed and started to enjoy the day and the moment.  I read a little scripture out of dad's Bible.  I watched people strolling across the cemetery in the distance in their period costumes.  They looked so real and the moment so believable.  I thought of the Thorton Wilder's play 'Our Town'.  The cemetery scene in the play is my favorite scene.  Outside the Forrest gates the real world became distant and the world of the past began to spin into motion.

Two o'clock came and I glimpsed the first visitors walking down the road.  I prayed, asking God to give me some seed to cast.  If I were going to portray my dad, it had to be a testament, it's what he would've done.  I wanted dad to be remembered and give the kind of talk he would've given.  I did alright, even though he was a more eloquent speaker than I am.  Though he accomplished all he wanted to accomplish in his life, his greatest pursuit was The Kingdom.
 
I captured his image.  I captured his mannerisms.  I told his story in an entertaining way.  My voice isn't anything like my father's voice.  I couldn't sing like my dad sang, but I did represent in a way that one could believe the man once fronted an orchestra.  I ended each presentation with the chorus of a song dad sang often when he preached, 'Til I Become Like Thee'. 

Like Thee, Like Thee, 'til I become like Thee,
Have though thy way in all my life
'til I become like Thee.


I love you dad.

tragic time

generation after generation

Americans have come and gone
good men and women

 have lived and toiled

generation after generation

leaving life a little better
path a little higher

for their children to come

generation after generation
laboring toiling climbing
to their ceiling
hoping to become the floor
for their little ones to come

generation after generation
laboring toiling climbing

for their children to have what they had

and more

praying that the following generations
will have the same heart
the same hope
as they

generation after generation
laboring toiling climbing
trusting those who follow
follow in the path they have made
the legacy left
to increase
and give again

generation after generation
laboring toiling climbing
praying trusting
the following genernations

would never stray
praying
that following generations
would never be

so spoiled

so selfish
so entitled

to serve themselves
leave nothing else
but the tab
for those who follow

generation after generation
laboring toiling climbing
praying the following generations
would never be so greedy
so inward
so hopeless
so bent
to spend all
that which was bought
at a price paid so dearly for

to destroy
trample
trod over a legacy so precious

the gifts of their fathers

their father's before
something that took so long to achieve
wasted
wasted
the ceiling becomes a pit
they came took left

leaving little

or nothing

for their children
and children's children
they came took left
leaving nothing

but a world of hurt
 their father's debt to pay

we are living in a day
of takers
we are living in tragic time

wine and cheese

i am an artist

i like wine
i like cheese
yet

i can not endure

wine and cheese

arty fart crowds
faking frivilous fawners
i like to express
see expression
i like art
yet
rather experience it
sans superficisal
pompus
pretentious
postering
pretenders
rooms where
nothing is real
on the wall
nor meeting in the hall
c'est une pipe
c'est une people
i will have my wine and cheese
at home please

showing the way

I believe all Americans can learn a lesson from these old WWII vets storming the barricades in Washington. This great generation has seen it before. This great generation knows how to deal with tyrants.

They led the way then ~ they are leading the way now!

somewhere between

i have been to those places

places with no end
no compass
no direction
without clear path

places contrived by the mind

or images planted by God

Escheresque landscapes
a futile passage

through which there is
no way out

of forests dense

surrounded by chasms deep

plateau upon plateau
separated by plateaus

no visible logical means

of returning
home
endless endless
corridors that are the same
same doors
leading looping back again
to the same doors
to the same corridors again
spiraling stairs up down
twisted sceneries
no script
no scenarios
just ceaseless movement
ceaseless activities
constant journeys
through places only
the inner eternal soul can percieve
places stolen from reality
or places of deja vu
bending stretching warping
yet for some unknown reason
for those moments
i accept as my reality
sleeping sojourner
not realizing
it is just my mind playing with me
stealing me there
time and time again
like an ancient dusty record
playing round and round
again again

i have been to those places

been there a thousand nights
places fabricated
seemingly real

lands created
somewhere between

right and left hemisphere

trying to tell me something

or nothing at all
visions prophecies fables
random tangible
electrical impulses
thoughts memories
clashing randomly between
my mind's deep sleep
different stages
different plays
acted out
by those living
those dead
of those i knew
or now know
or never met
i am in it
always there
talking walking seeing touching
yet finding no way no answers
moving about
without chosen method
 minus conscious decisions
moving about the eternal
without a route
 no out
out
always in
no hope of end
no out
out
no knob
nor exit
no exit only
until i wake
only escape
when i wake

grace forgiveness given

Jesus Christ 
God's only son
God's only way
God's only mediator
came lived died
returned
so that we might believe on him
so that we may be reborn
new creatures
new men
to let the old man die
become transformed
into new creatures
grace given
his righteousness shared
so that we may pursue him
so that we may live in him
and he in us
grace forgiveness given
so that we are not just excused of our sin
but rather we become free from it
so that we may depart from it
that which destroys us
learn to step away
become stronger
set apart
taking on the character of Christ
adopted sons of God
with family traits
not wallowing in our sin
mere animals with excuses
with a free pass from hell to heaven
rather
a straight way to become
sons of God
not wallow
not stay in our sin
to continue
in the same ways
of death to death
mercy grace given
so that we may grow
and walk with our Creator
as in the garden
as God originally intended
for the pleasure of his company
as in the garden
believe receive walk
away from bondage
death
believe receive walk
toward light and life
use his grace given
for the means
it was originally intended
believe receive walk
let us walk together
with God
toward holiness

Therefore, brothers and sisters, we have an obligation - but it is not to the flesh, to live according to it.  For if you live according to the flesh, you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live.
-Romans 8: 12-13

Ina's big love

Ina and her oldest son Fred.

We all said goodbye to Ina a year ago.  She had been through a great deal physically, but her spirit never wavered, nor weakened.  My aunt Ina was a strong and unchanging presence in  all of our lives.  She was full of love and full of spunk  She never held back what was on her heart and on her mind.  She'd give you her two cents worth and a quarter to boot.

She never took guff off anyone.  A straight shooter that Ina, but it was always straight from her heart, a heart full of an honest love.  Ina Chunn was a wonderful human being.  I couldn't be in the same room with her without her demanding a hug and some sugar.  From childhood to adulthood, I could not escape her wanting sugar, and never wanted to.

Even during the trials of her final years, her spirit remained strong.  Ina was Ina and our world was richer having known her.  I know when I see her again, she'll want a hug and a little more sugar.

You are missed dear aunt Ina, and will always be remembered.  We will never forget your big love.

near the music

sitting in the back seat
dad driving down the street
to where ever we were going
like a thousand times before
seeing
the back of his head
his eyes
looking forward
in the rear view mirror
he sang
he sang and we  all joined in
i liked being in this family
near the love
near the music
always music
where ever we went

older sister
older brother
learned to play those guitars
learned to play well and they could sing

there were wooden instruments everywhere
leaning against the walls
leaning against the chairs
every where we were
every where we went
before i ever ventured to learn
i'd often pick one up
feel the texture
sounds of those bronze strings
wishing i could
wishing I could
and knew one day i would
play
compose
sing
pour it out
pour it out
i wanted nothing more
nothing more
than always live
near the music

i hung around you
drawn to you
any every time
i heard your voice
i would follow
ask to tag along
plead if I had to
just to be near you

i would
carry the cases
the speakers the stands the amps
i'd go to just sit in the corner
just to be present
and listen
just to be near you

I eventually took hold
determined to not let go
learn some chords
put them together
throw in some worlds
actually learned
i took a guitar
and never left her
learned to write
word by word
melodies
lyric and rhythm
wasn't easy
didn't come easy
but worth the trouble
time and the callouses
i worked until the work became craft
labored until songs were born
born with my name

all those years ago
all those songs ago
older greyer
yet the heart feels young
yet the songs are young
maybe forever
maybe eternal

older greyer
i will travel on
until i can travel no further
singing like my father once sang
looking forward
going where ever
always near the music
ever going
always with a song
until i can no longer
i will always be behind you
always behind you
just to be near you
near the music

Somewhere in England

Dearest Mother and Papa,

Your letter of September 8 finally reached me today--the first piece of mail I've received in almost two weeks--or rather it was yesterday that I got it, and I haven't received any since.

It was a bad surprise to learn that Dr. McKissick had died.  Evidently you had mentioned it in a preceding letter which I have not yet received.  I dislike getting mail in improper sequence, for it is confusing at times--but it is far better than not getting any mail at all--so I shouldn't complain.

Is Murd at home yet?  If he is, I'll bet his mouth is eternally going.  Make him write me, by all means, and give me the full dope.  I wonder if Zeigler and Flynn went back.  I just can't get used to the fact that Murdoch has left me.

Glenn Miller had Sam Donahue's navy band on his program Thursday night, and both of their bands sounded wonderful.  Donahue played on of his newest arrangements which he dedicated to the Amphibious branch of the navy (his band is in the Amphibs)--the title: "LST Party".  It was a  hot swing number and reminded me so much of the good parties we had aboard in Londonderry.  Wells would go to the galley (kitchen), break out the ham and eggs, and cook to his heart's content--and we'd have the biggest feasts in the wardroom.  I'd sing "Easter Parade" for all the girls, and McRae would snicker on the sly to make me self-conscious and get me tickled.  He reminded  me a lot of Jennie Llew sometimes.  We all had such good times together--we were like one big happy family.

Do you remember my writing you that Wells took a truck to get supplies the day before the accident, and all of us rode in the city with him.  He let us out, and I haven't him since.  Well, today I learned something new.  While talking to one of our boys, I found out that Wells got recreational and welfare equipment for the ship that day and spent practically all of the ship's service sum.  He brought back a ping pong set, some baseball hats, ball mitts and gloves, and about $300 worth of phonograph records (all types, popular and symphonic), dart games, and everything imaginable.  Of course, all this stuff was lost before I got a chance to even see it.  I didn't know this until today.  But just think what a good time I would have had if nothing had happened. This would have been the pleasant surprise waiting for me instead of the unpleasant one that actually occurred.  Now I remember Wells mentions that he was going to get some stuff like that, and I suggested to him that he try to get a movie projector if possible, so we could have our own movies aboard ship.  That was an awful thing.

I hope Edith is all right by now.  let me know all about her.  Is she still in the hospital?

Sunday Afternoon 17:30

I heard some news today that has pepped me up considerably.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  Still no more mail.

Lots of love,
Ainsworth
* Bill McRae and Ainsworth (Pat) Finlayson in photo.

woe is me

Several months ago I injured my shoulder.  I seem to feel it in the infraspinatus and teres minor muscles of the scapula.  At first the pain radiated to the anterior, which caused me to wonder the original source of the pain.  I haven't been giving massages lately to give my shoulder time to heal.  Every time I seem to be getting better, I re-injure it.  Darn it!  I was feeling better up until yesterday.  I must have turned wrong in the night and re-injured it.  I really doesn't take much.

About three weeks ago, on our last day of vacation in Panama City, my friend Donnie noticed that my left eye was shutting.  Sure enough, by the time I got home, my eye had completely swollen shut.  The eye doctor said that I had either an infection or some kind of allergic reaction.  She prescribed some steroid cream to rub over the upper part of my eyelid for the first two weeks.  I did, and it got a little better.

Last time I saw her, she instructed me to stop using the steroids because it was causing my eye to swell.  The cream travels through the lid and reached the eye.  I wish that I could use it again because my eye was opening up while using it.  It was affecting my vision.  Three weeks later and my eye is closing again.  The closed lid is also affecting my vision.

When driving around town, I find it easier to drive by going ahead and closing my affected eye.  I've been letting Katie drive as much as possible.  Sometimes I have to drive and so I do.  If this thing doesn't get better soon, I'm going out and buying an eye patch.  My family has been ribbing me that "Daddy looks like a pirate" anyway.

I started my an algebra class a few weeks ago.  I've been having a hard time seeing the overheads and doing the homework.  I kind of wish that I had gotten better before jumping back into the classroom.  It's been kind of crazy as of late.

Other physical problems kept me in bed on my birthday August 19th.  Gina and I were both under the weather on our Anniversary on the 1st.  We didn't do anything but crash, hardly talked to each other.  Fifty-five so far hasn't been working out for me so far.  Boo-hoo.

The good news is that my family still loves me and I'm not dead yet.