Month: March 2024

Let’s get this over—I struggle with Easter.

And if I’m not seen as much of a Christian because of my honesty about Easter, I understand.

My struggle is— I can’t figure out how a good man, in this case, Jesus, could be condemned and crucified on the cross for teaching people how to live a life grounded in love.

It is hard for me to consider celebrating the resurrection of Jesus when I don’t think he deserved to die.

Did he commit a murder?

Was he a thief?

Was he a liar?

Was he a fraud?

Was he evil?

No.

Seems to me that irrational, fear driven minds wanted Jesus condemned and crucified. The truth didn’t matter.

In James H. Cone’s book, The Cross And The Lynching Tree, he quotes Dr. Martin Luther King, and a comment he made after the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Dr. King told his wife: “This is what is going to happen to me also. I keep telling you this is such a sick society.”

Sadly, the sickness of our society has not gone away.

During March, the NCAA men’s and women’s basketball tournament generates lots of excitement across America. In the final seconds of an intense game, unexpected upsets can destroy a fan’s carefully constructed bracket. .

And unfortunately, for a team who earns a berth in the tournament, they can have their excitement disrupted by individuals who take pleasure in being disrespectful, hateful, and unkind.

On the evening of Thursday, March 21, as the University of Utah’s women’s basketball team was walking to dinner in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho “someone in a pickup truck displaying a confederate flag, yelled racial slurs, and revved the engine in a menacing way,” toward the team. (NBC, ABC, NPR, CNN)

Regrettably, this is another example of our “sick society.”

Bonnie Raitt is a gifted singer, songwriter, and guitarist. Perhaps, you have heard her Grammy winning song, “Just Like That.”

The song was inspired by a news story that Raitt had seen. A mother had donated the organs from her deceased child to help others. Because of this act of kindness, this courageous mother was able to meet the man who received her child’s heart.

Touched by the emotion of this meeting, Raitt wrote the beautiful song, “Just Like That.” I will admit, this is a song that makes tears well up in my old, weary eyes.

I am drawn to the song’s compelling lyrics, especially this line: “They say Jesus brings you peace and grace, well, he ain’t found me yet.”

In our “sick society,” we seemingly have many people who haven’t found Jesus, and his peace and grace. And truth be told, I have days when I wonder if I have his peace and grace.

As defeated as Jesus felt as he trudged toward his death on the cross, I can only imagine how he feels when he looks down on our “sick society.”

I have discouraging days too. Days, when I feel like giving up on scripture reading, pondering a devotional, and praying. On those days, I feel like the devil is a half step behind me.

And yet, something nudges me at the start of a new day to continue to read scripture, ponder a devotional, and pray.

My college roommate, H. D. Sherrill, Jr. is a graduate of Duke Divinity School. During his career, Reverend Sherrill had a variety of assignments in churches and local nonprofits. He is a very gifted storyteller.

Back in January, he shared a story, a conversation with one of his four grandsons. Reverend Sherrill wondered if this grandson might be interested in learning how to become an acolyte.

When he asked if the grandson had any interest, the grandson responded: “Pops, I’m not a churchy person.”

Reverend Sherrill accepted the honest answer.

A few weeks later, Reverend Sherrill noted that the not very churchy grandson was in the acolyte training class.

Curious, he asked his grandson why had he signed up for the class?

Reverend Sherrill received the best answer: “Pops, a person can change.”

Bonnie Raitt affirmed that in her song with this line: “And just like that your life can change.”

And even though as a so called Christian, I struggle with Easter, I will hold on to verse 21 of Romans 12: “Don’t be defeated by evil, but defeat evil with good.”

Happy Easter, love you all, Bill Pike

I have a hunch that no one looks forward to the preparation for a colonoscopy.

As I was working with my doctor’s office to finalize the appointment and confirm the prescription, I asked if the process for clearing my bowels had changed over the last nine years?

The scheduler who was working with me responded, “We can put a man on the moon, but the method for cleaning you out hasn’t changed.” I loved her humorous perspective.

When I went to the pharmacy to pickup my 1.5 liter jug of GoLytely, the clerk who checked me out, grinned at me and said, “have fun.”

On yes, I was looking to have lots of fun on Monday, February 26, and Tuesday, February 27.

With the help of my Commander Supreme, we read, and reread the dietary restrictions that I needed to follow prior to Monday. Then on Monday, my liquid diet began with bullion, jello, and the recommended beverages being slurped down at different times during the day.

I had already carefully mixed the intestinal clearing potion and added the lemon flavoring to the powdered mixture. Next, I stored this concoction in the refrigerator.

I wonder who sat around and figured out this whole miserable process?

My guess is these were deeply demented, mad medical researchers who worked for decades in a mysterious, subterranean lab in the catacombs of an unremarkable building out in the flatlands of America.

I wonder how they recruited the volunteers to test out these internal gutter clearing potions?

Wanted: Research project will pay for courageous, curious individuals who want to make a significant gastrointestinal contribution to mankind by testing the comfort level of toilet seats over a time frame of twelve hours.

Let me make this clear, there is nothing light about GoLytely once its activation started in my digestive tract. As my time on the toilet ticked along on Monday evening, I began to wonder if I would ever be able to go to sleep?

At some point close to midnight, the demons in my bowels said, “let’s shut this guy down for tonight, we’ll finish him up tomorrow, he is really overloaded with years of crap.”

In his book, The Patch and The Stream Where The American Fell, retired United States Air Force fighter pilot, Ed Sykes, describes an assortment of gauges that monitor the workings of the F-105 jet he flew during the Vietnam War.

Sykes discusses the exhaust gas temperature and the exhaust pressure ratio for the F-105 as these gases exited the engine. If those gauges had been part of monitoring my bowel clearing on Monday evening, the gauges would have broken. They would have become unreliable, inoperable.

Early on Tuesday morning, my intake of GoLytely continued and so did my toilet sitting. Yes, the cleansing continued. I had to finish the consumption of GoLytely by 10 a.m. Finally, my last fifteen minute interval arrived. I gulped down the last eight ounces of the this swill. Internally, I cheered.

At some point, my bowels said we’re done, I took a shower, and we made the short drive to St. Mary’s Hospital.

We parked in the deck. Made the quick walk to the main entrance to the hospital, and took an instant left into the registration area.

Once that was completed, a nice young lady walked us over to the waiting room for all who were enthusiastically anticipating their scoping procedure.

I don’t recall her words, but the receptionist used humor to try and calm us.

A lady sitting near us struck up a conversation with another patient. The lady who initiated the conversation with no hesitation started talking about recent legislation in Virginia related to medical marijuana. She was excited.

I overheard this chatter while my head was buried in Signed, Sealed, and Delivered The Soulful Journey of Stevie Wonder. My North Carolina, childhood friend, Joe Vanderford, and I are teaching a class on Stevie Wonder for the Osher Institute of Lifelong Learning at the University of Richmond in March.

At some point, the receptionist gave the Commander Supreme the scoop on how to read the monitors related to patient status, and then I heard my name called.

The Commander wished me luck, and I walked through the double doors with the nurse.

The first thing she asked me was my birth date. For some reason, I looked down at my wrist band. My birth date was incorrect on the wrist band.

Luckily, it did not take an act of our dysfunctional pals in Congress to have the required correction made.

I made one last trip to the restroom before changing into the hospital gown. Then, crawled on to the gurney that would be my home for the next couple of hours.

For several minutes, the nurse and I reviewed my medical history.

An IV was started on the top of my right hand.

Soon, the anesthesiologist introduced herself and walked me through how she was going to knock me out.

Just before I was wheeled into the invasion of the intestines room, the doctor, who looked to be about fifteen introduced himself and talked about the process.

As I was settled into my new location, more introductions from the people who would be taking care of me took place. Again, they verified that I was really me, and then I was out.

This brief period of snoozing was good, and at some point I started to wake up.

Nurses asked questions.

Gradually, a nurse gave me this startling update—the doctor removed five polyps from exploring my intestines. I was shocked at this news. This had never happened in previous invasions.

Eventually, I was awake enough to sip ginger ale and to get dressed. I received post-procedure orders, and then I was wheeled out to our car.

The commander confirmed her conversation with the doctor about the five polyps. Now, I had a two week wait for the lab analysis of those troubling tissues.

Back in 1992, when my mother died from throat cancer, I remember talking with our neighbor, Bennett Amick. I’ve never forgotten Mr. Amick’s words.

He said, “people ask me all the time—how are you doing? I tell them, I’m fine. But, the truth is—I really don’t know how my body is doing inside of me.”

Mr. Amick’s words resonated with me because I can seem to be fine, but I really don’t know what might be conspiring in the cells of my body for a collision.

And, I thought further about this purging, this temporary cleansing of my digestive tract.

Why can’t we cleanse ourselves of the evil that causes so many problems in our world today?

In our class for the Osher Institute, Joe and I will be taking a close look at three albums by Stevie Wonder. One of those albums Music of My Mind released in 1972 ends with a song titled “Evil.”

Lyricist Yvonne Wright ask a series of introspective questions about evil:

Evil, why have you engulfed so many hearts?
Evil, why have you destroyed so many minds?
Evil, why do you infest our purest thoughts with hatred?
Evil, why have you stolen so much love?
Evil, why have you taken over God’s children’s eyes?
Evil, why have you destroyed?

Here we are fifty two years later, and I’m afraid the questions raised by Wright about evil are even more prevalent in our world today. Why is that?

Well, my mind tells me there are multiple reasons.

Perhaps a reasonable starting point might be our inability to solve vicious generational challenges related to mental/physical health, housing, nutrition, unemployment, safety, justice, education, and equity. This is despite spending piles of money in these areas.

As a nation, we are more likely to spend billions—billions exploring space from every possible angle while America struggles to solve its fiscal, physical, and human infrastructure challenges.

Toss in our political divide, our inability to find common ground to work together, our nation’s spiritual decline, and we have a mess. But, if we are honest with ourselves, despite our good moments, America has always been a mess.

At some point in the last few weeks, we finally sat down and watched the movie, A Man Called Otto.

Yes, I will admit, Otto and I are very similar. We both excel in our grumpiness.

Essentially, Otto has three hearts.

Otto’s body heart suffers from a medical condition hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. This condition causes the heart muscle to thicken making it hard for the heart to pump blood.

His second heart, is heartbroken over the death of his wife.

Otto’s third heart is a heart that lives in isolation. This heart refuses to let love come into his life.

As the movie progresses, Otto’s third heart begins to change. His neighbors impact the changes in his heart.

Otto comes to understand their needs. He begins to understand how his skills, experiences, and his own stubborn persistence can help his neighbors and the significant challenges they face.

But, it is through the collective determined hearts of Otto and his neighbors that they push back a bit of evil.

I’m not going to lie to you.

Just like I was dreading my colonoscopy on February 27, there is part of me that dreads skimming the news headlines every day. Quite often, these headlines are tainted with evil.

For years, we have been unable to find a lasting peace in the Middle East.

For years, no matter whether a Democrat or a Republican has been our President, we have never been able to develop and implement an immigration policy that works.

For years, Putin in Russia has been a perfect example of an evil dictator with no heart or conscience.The war with Ukraine and the death of his leading opponent,
Alexei Navalny, are only two examples of his vicious villainous empty chest.

For years, America has been unwilling to solve our never-ending loss of life from the use of firearms.

For years, the world has been unable to solve the challenges in Haiti.

For years, Americans have been searching for the ultimate high and subsequently dying from drug overdoses.

For years, for years, for years, for years, our challenges have remained relentless in wearing America down and pushing us into a despicable, disrespectful divide that threatens the soul of our democracy.

Our hearts need immediate work.

I wonder if there is a GoLytely for hearts?

Our hearts need a purging, a cleansing.

Our hearts can’t continue to live like this.

And the truth of the matter is we know our hearts can’t continue down this path, and yet, we appear unwilling to change them.

Steve Jobs once said: “For the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: ‘If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?’ And whenever the answer has been ‘No’ for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.”

In A Man Called Otto, screenwriter, David Magee, carries us deeper into Otto’s world at a graveside conversation that he has with his deceased wife, Sonya.

Otto is concerned that a local real estate company, Dye & Merika, wants to buy up the homes in his neighborhood and turn the land into condos.

In the conversation with his lost love, Otto states: “Dye & Merika—what idiot thought that was a good name for a real estate company? Sounds like ‘dying America’…It is, I suppose.

‘Dying America…’ it is, I suppose.’

Deep in my heart, I have sensed this feeling “dying America” for a long, long, long time.

Look, this will not be simple or easy, but our hearts can’t let our democracy die.

On Thursday, March 14, I was reading the daily devotional from the Upper Room. The suggested scripture reading was Hebrews Chapter 11.

Reading from the New Oxford Annotated Bible Revised Standard Version published in 1973, verse 16 immediately resonated with me: “But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one.”

As I have stated many, many times, I’m no Biblical scholar. I’m not the person to give you the historical angles for this chapter in Hebrews, nor its significance.Yet, “they desire a better country” hit me.

I wonder how those words hit you?

Deep in our conflicted, divided, stubborn hearts isn’t that what we all want “ a better country” for all?

If you, me, we, us want to truly reclaim “a better country” for all, maybe we need to ponder more deeply in our hearts this quote from Winston Churchill: “All it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing.”

On the morning of Friday, January 26, 2024, I decided to take my second run in the Waialua neighborhood where we were staying. I wanted to see if I could complete a run that I had taken the last time we visited in Hawaii.

It looked to be another pretty day with more sunshine and blue sky. I made my way out to the Waialua Beach Road, and started my run.

My quads were still a bit touchy from my run on January 24. As I eased my way back on to the narrow single lane road that will carry me deeper into the neighborhood, I felt pretty good.

This is a nice place for an old guy to run as the road on this trek is flat. The only hills I see are the Waianae Mountains that form an appealing backdrop.

It is quiet back here. Occasionally, I hear the crow of a rooster, or a slowly passing car. But that’s it.

I enjoy running in a different environment. If I was back in Richmond taking a run on January 26, unless there was a significant winter warm up, I would not be running in shorts and a t-shirt.

My pacing is good, and I decide to push further into the neighborhood so that I can complete the full circuit. When I make my final left turn, I pass by a retreat center, Camp Homeland, that is run by the local Salvation Army. This center still appears to be in good shape since our visit to Hawaii in December 2021.

I work my way out of the neighborhood and end up on the asphalt trail. Gradually, I come to the street that takes me back to the house. I check the traffic and trot across the street. My run time clocks out at 38:15.

After breakfast, we figure out a plan for washing clothes, talk about our departure time for the port on Saturday morning, and coordinate our ride back into Haleiwa for some shopping and lunch.

Loaded in the van, we made the short drive into Haleiwa. We took advantage of the parking lots behind the shops.

We revisited some of the same shops, and made a few new stops too.

A unique shop is the Kokua General Store. The General Store is a part of the Kokua Hawaii Foundation. In 2003, the foundation was started by musician, Jack Johnson, and his wife, Kim.

A friendly staff and an array of unique products await visitors. The store prides itself as a “bulk, refill, and low-waste lifestyle product store.This space provides the community the tools needed to reduce waste in their lives.”(From website)

In close proximity to the Kokua General Store is the Waialua Courthouse. The courthouse opened in1913. The building became a part of the Hawaii Register of Historic Places in 1979. By 1989, the building was closed, and it fell into disrepair.

Thankfully, the Haleiwa Main Street Program helped to lead the renovation. By 1997, the restoration was completed. Now, the building is used for community meetings and native Hawaiian cultural activities. (Historical Marker)

Our shopping came to an end, and we walked to one of the parking areas where food trucks are located.

Betsy and I headed to the Crispy Grindz. Here, we ordered two Acai bowls loaded with fruit toppings.

After lunch, we drove back to the house. The washing of clothes continued, and more talk about Saturday took place.

Dan, Betsy, and I decided to take a walk down to the beach with the goal of taking a swim. Once on the beach, we walked in a westerly direction.

The water was exceptionally clear, and along the way we began to spot numerous turtles. In fact, there was a turtle up on the sandy shoreline.

And of course, neither Betsy, Dan, or I brought a camera or phone with us. So, we missed multiple opportunities for turtle photos.

We found a calm, pool of water between the reef breaking waves and the shallow shoreline. The Pacific’s water seems less salty than the Atlantic, but the clarity was unbelievable.

Refreshed from the swim, we reluctantly made the walk back to the house. The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly.

I did a bit of organizing for packing, and before we knew it, we were driving over to meet Brandy and Parker for dinner at the Haleiwa Beach House Restaurant.

Again, we had a delicious meal and enjoyable conversations. One of the nice things about this restaurant is its location.

The front of the restaurant runs parallel to the Kamehameha Highway, and just across this thoroughfare is the Haleiwa Harbor. With a little luck, diners are treated to some very pretty sunsets.

Our dining fun gradually came to an end. We said our goodbyes and thanks to Brandy and Parker for all of their hospitality during our visit.

Back at the house, the last of the laundry was being done, and the pace of the packing started to pickup.

My old body was asking for sleep.

Our last morning in Waialua would be here before I knew it.

And before dozing off, my mind wondered back to the short walk on the beach and the quick swim in the Pacific. I’m still amazed at the clarity of the water.

I imagine that clear water is critical for the survival of the turtles.

It would be my hope that we can continue to find ways to keep the water clean not only for the turtles, but all sea life, and ourselves too.

This week, the men’s Atlantic Coast Conference(ACC) basketball tournament has tipped off in Washington, D.C. at the Capital One Arena. Thus, the streets around the Greensboro Coliseum will be less hectic.

What was once the premier college basketball tournament in America has been diminished by illogical thinking and the lure of money.

When the conference was founded in 1953, there were eight teams. Six of those schools remain. Soon, the conference will expand to seventeen teams.

I wonder what ACC leaders might learn from this Marc Andreessen quote: “There is the opportunity to do more and better if you’re smaller and more nimble.”

So, ACC Commissioner Jim Phillips, remember, if the expansion isn’t the right fit for the new teams, the conference can invite Guilford College and Hampden-Sydney. Both will be playing in the NCAA Division 3 final four this week, and geographically, they fit.

Bill Pike
Richmond, VA

The writer grew up in Burlington.

This letter was published in the Wednesday, March 13, 2024 edition of the Greensboro News and Record.

On Monday, November 20, 2023, Barbara Osborne passed away. My friend, Bruce Bowen, called to tell me.

Bruce and I, like many others, had the privilege to work with Barbara at Hermitage High School. At Hermitage, Barbara was one of our essential and critical employees. She did the behind the scenes work to keep the school running.

Another Hermitage High School colleague, David Howe, reminded me that at one time, Barbara was the study hall czar. She organized and kept tabs on the students who were assigned to a study hall during the course of a school day. That was one tough job.

I also seem to recall that Barbara had something to do with the attendance office. Another nightmare of a job that required perfect record keeping and lots of interaction with parents and their students.
At some point, Barbara found what I believe was her permanent home in the school’s Guidance Department. Again, she was a keeper of records, this time those academic records for each student.

These records have traveled with a student from kindergarten to his/her current grade level. In working with these documents, Barbara had to know school system policies, state board of education protocols, and federal guidelines related to privacy.

She was the pivot point as the registrar for preparing and providing transcript requests made by students for college applications, employment, and military enlistments

One thing is very clear, no matter where Barbara Osborne served at Hermitage High School, she served with distinction, and grace, and dignity.

On the evening of Friday, February 23, I had the privilege of attending Barbara’s visitation at North Run Baptist Church. I viewed with interest tables holding photographs of Barbara, her late, beloved husband of sixty eight years, Bob, and their family. Those photographs captured the stories of their lives.

Those cherished photographs present happy faces. The photographs don’t captured the ups and downs, the sacrifices, and the hard, hard work it takes to sustain a family, but Barbara and Bob persevered. No matter what life tossed at them, they survived for this family.

During the visitation on Friday evening, I was able to interact with friends, family members, and two of Barbara’s three children. I wanted them to know that Barbara was one of the best human beings that God ever made. And I meant what I said—best human beings that God ever made.

In April of 1972, singer/songwriter, Neil Young, scored a hit record with a song he wrote titled “Heart of Gold.” In the song, Young writes about searching for a heart of gold.

Well, if Mr. Young had ever met Barbara Osborne, his search for a heart of gold would have come to an end.

I’m convinced that is why Barbara Osborne was such a special human being—she possessed a heart of gold.

In all of my years of working with her, I never heard a complaint, or an unkind word. If something went wrong(which it rarely did), Barbara took responsibility and learned.

Barbara was a people person.

No matter the setting, she knew the importance of attentive listening, and undoubtedly, she understood the significance for building relationships. A heart of gold allows a person to listen and build relationships.

In looking at those family photographs, it is also clear to me that everything Barbara and Bob did for each other, their families, and friends in the community was grounded in love.

And to be honest, I know Barbara wasn’t perfect. I’m sure she had some meltdowns. She’s human and not immune from imperfections, but I never saw those moments.

Scattered throughout the Bible are numerous verses of scripture related to love and prayer. My hunch is “you shall love your neighbor as yourself” and “rejoice in hope; be patient in affliction; persevere in prayer” formed the core of her daily walk through life.

Our missing of Barbara Osborne started on November 20, and hey God, that is why we need you to make us another Barbara Osborne.

But the truth be told God, we need you to make more than one of Barbara. The world would become a kinder and gentler place if we could share her with this conflicted world.

And at this very moment, this old world sure could use Barbara’s heart of gold.

By Thursday, January 25, my days are starting to run together. I can attribute the lack of detailing to the Hawaiian weather and our relaxed pace.

At some point after breakfast, we were driving toward the North Shore with our first stop to be the Waimea Valley Botanical Gardens. This is where we had attended the luau the night before.

Attending the luau guarantees you an entrance to the gardens. Because of the rain, we weren’t able to tour the grounds on Wednesday afternoon.

I love the Waimea Valley Botanical Gardens. No matter where I look, a bloom, a plant, a tree, a cultural display, and yes, the waterfall at the end of the path catch my attention.

The main trail is wide, flat, and smooth courtesy of asphalt. The walk to the falls is a gradual, rolling incline. But, the hike isn’t overly strenuous. Also, a one-way shuttle to the falls is available.

Additionally, there are short, well-placed off the main trail paths that give visitors access to other vistas and Hawaiian cultural sites. These cultural displays capture the early lives of the islanders. Resident artisans are a part of these learning centers too.

Again, I have an admiration for whoever had the vision to plot and map out the development of these gardens. It is amazing how the natural landscape was incorporated into the trail. The magnificent trees, the lush hills as a backdrop, and the colorful blooms make this trek very enjoyable.

At the top, the waterfall is the main attraction with many photo opportunities. If you are planning to take a dip into the lagoon beneath the water fall, be sure to read the guidelines carefully. If you forgot the gear you need for your splash, approved vendors are ready to rent you the equipment needed.

None of us opted for a splash, but on the way back down, we did enjoy cold and flavorful Hawaiian shaved ice.

When we left the gardens, we drove toward the North Shore. The goal was to walk out on one the famous beaches made popular by the seasonal big waves ridden by daring surfers.

Four beaches: Turtle, Waimea Bay, Pipeline, and Sunset are the core of this stretch of beautiful coastline. Surfers probably have an easier time finding a wave to ride than visitors do in finding a parking space. Eventually, we find a spot in a public lot.

Walking through the shaded path, we transition to the famous beach sand. The tinting of this sand reminds me of lightly toasted coconut. The bright sun highlights the white foam and turquoise hues of the Pacific, and we quickly notice the posted sign—Warning Strong Current.

In this spot, we didn’t find any surfers, but a few people were out enjoying a pretty January day on the beach. With an appreciation for this famous spot for surfers and beach lovers, we found our way back to the van headed for the Turtle Bay Resort.

Driving into the Turtle Bay Resort, the manicured grounds will catch your attention. But truthfully, this is what I admire about this resort— it is open to the public.

If Uncle Claiborne and his family from Wabash, Indiana want to spend a day at the beach here they can. The family doesn’t need an expensive room in the resort’s hotel.

Today, we opted to have lunch at one the resort’s dining areas—Beach House by Roy Yamaguchi. In shaded comfort, we ate outside and admired the beach view.

After lunch, we took a walk on the grounds and through the lobby of the hotel.

The walk on the grounds showcases the majestic Pacific Ocean, and the point of land where the resort sits. No matter the direction I look, my eyes love the aquamarine shades of the Pacific, and its raw power as it sends waves crashing into the lava rock shoreline.

With a bit of reluctance, we find our way back to the parking area, and soon our reliable driver arrives at our spot. Loaded up, we retrace our drive back home to Waialua.

Once back in Waialua, my brain recalls a quiet afternoon.

At some point, our stomachs reminded us about finding a place to eat dinner. We were curious about a restaurant named Killer Tacos, but the storefront gave the appearance of being closed.

We drove further into Haleiwa. It appeared that we had a craving for Mexican food, so we stopped at Jorge’s Mexican Restaurant and Bar. I ordered grilled fish tacos with the featured fish being striped marlin.

If you are ever in Haleiwa, and you stop at Jorge’s, and striped marlin is the grilled fish for the tacos, do not hesitate to place that order. Might be the best grilled fish tacos I’ve ever eaten.

We had a good day—lots of movement. That movement was good for my sore legs. I’m planning to take my second post eye surgery run on Friday morning. Hopefully, my old legs will let me go a bit further tomorrow.

And speaking of Friday, our focus will shift toward prepping to leave Waialua. On Saturday morning, we’ll drive back into Honolulu to board the cruise ship. I hope that adventure will be as good as our week in Waialua has been.

Before trying to find a few hours of sleep, my brain reminds me how lucky I am to be on this trip. Life doesn’t always present opportunities like this for everyone.

There are people in this world who will never have the privilege of seeing an ocean, nor these specks of land, these islands, that randomly dot its restless surface.

The birthing of these islands is a miraculous story. Their creation showcases the beauty that can come from nature’s violent tectonic collisions and molten eruptions deep below this endless blue ocean.

Speck that I am, I am humbled, and thankful.

Back in May of 1982, my wife and I moved into our first house on Stuart Hall Road. Three children later, we transitioned to our current home on Sweetbriar Road.

This subdivision, Rollingwood, has been good to our family. We’ve have cherished friends, our kids navigated elementary and middle school at the Tuckahoes, and graduated from Freeman. In the days of summer, Ridgetop was an enjoyable part of that mix, but I still say swim meets were overly long.

The neighborhood has endured harsh winter storms, hurricanes, microbursts, and healthy looking trees that decided to tumble down on pretty blue sky days. Its relatively quiet streets are a good place to walk, run, ride a bike, and for kids to explore and play.

We’ve seen deer, black snakes, blue herons, raccoons, opossums, scampering chipmunks, flitty bluebirds and goldfinches, heard the hoot of owls, and the squawk of the red-tailed hawks during our time here.

Through the years, we’ve enjoyed watching the construction of additions to houses, and in some instances, demolition of an old home so a whopping new one can take its place.

Since 1982, my only constant complaint is my annual battle with the leaves. Don’t get me wrong, I love our trees especially the grandeur of the colors they give us in the fall. But, clearing them from the yard, our borders, and the confines of shrubbery wears on me more now.

And, I’ll add two more whines, I’m always concerned when a driver barrels down one of our streets or fails to properly stop at our stop signs. My concern is—I don’t want the worse to happen.

Another selling point about Rollingwood is its close proximity to grocery stores, shopping centers, medical offices, schools, churches, and hospitals. Additionally, within easy hearing distance are a fire station and rescue squad.

In our years of living in Rollingwood, we’ve been very lucky—we’ve had no problems with crime at our home.

We’ve talked with next door and across the street neighbors who noticed their dog made quite a commotion one night, or some muddy human footprints appeared on backyard decking. Those footprints had not been there the previous afternoon.

From time to time, our own carelessness has allowed some stealthy person or persons to rummage through unlocked cars or walk away with an unsecured bicycle. A few times an intruder has entered a home, but not too frequently.

Once when we lived on Stuart Hall Road, I recall hearing the unsettling crunch of feet on our gravel driveway in the middle of the night. Another time, what turned out to be a stolen car sat on Stuart Hall Road for a few days before it was reported to the police.

Not even church property is immune from thievery. A few years ago during Christmas at Trinity, someone fully removed several copper gutters. Also, we had a catalytic converter cut out from a church van.

More recently, on the morning of Thursday, February 29, we learned through social media that unlocked cars had been intruded upon by someone who had nothing better to do than to disrupt the lives of nice people. The most concerning was the theft of a neighbor’s car where Stuart Hall and Sweetbriar roads meet.

Our bedroom is on the back of our house, so hearing the slightest noise from our front yard isn’t likely.

Yet, if you are like me, it absolutely amazes me that no one hears or sees these perpetrators. That’s a lot of territory to cover along Stuart Hall and Sweetbriar to not be detected. Of course, if you are desperate for coins or anything else of value from an unlocked car, you become skilled at how to quietly slither down a sleeping street undetected.

We can speculate about who watches our habits as we come and go from our homes. Our narrow streets are rarely without traffic, and yet, I would be interested to learn from Henrico Police how they think these noiseless thieves slink through the neighborhood.

I grew up in Burlington, North Carolina, and I still have an affection for the Andy Griffith Show. From the Hollywood script perspective, Sheriff Andy Taylor and Deputy Barney Fife were two of the best law enforcement officers ever created to watch over the fictional town Mayberry.

I know Rollingwood residents know this, but as nice as our neighborhood is, we aren’t living in Mayberry anymore. I’m sorry, but none of us have any immunity from something going wrong.

And from the perspective of a grumpy, old geezer, here’s what we really need to ask ourselves—why do we want our neighborhood to be seen as an easy target?

Why do we want to be part of this conversation among thieves who have no conscience—“Hey, that Henrico neighborhood off of Patterson Avenue, people who live there always leave their cars unlocked, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made a good haul.”

Maybe, if we didn’t leave valuable items in our cars and we kept them locked, maybe we wouldn’t be seen as an easy target.

Rollingwood is a good neighborhood, a nice place to live.

If we want Rollingwood to continue as a good place to live, then we can’t take that good for granted.

We must stop being known as an easy target.

Be safe.

Late on the afternoon of Monday, February 5, I was waiting in line at the Westhampton Branch of the United States Postal Service(USPS). I needed to express mail a document to Mebane, North Carolina. Mebane is 172 miles from Richmond.

With my envelope properly addressed, a clerk directed me to fill out another address label. This extra step allowed my document to fit inside a USPS envelope. I paid the $30.45 that guaranteed my document would arrive in Mebane by 6 p.m. on Tuesday, February 6. If the document wasn’t delivered by that time, I was promised a refund.

Tracking the document’s journey, I knew on the evening of February 6 that the 6 p.m. delivery deadline wasn’t met.

A postal employee in Mebane confirmed to me at 10:44 a.m. on Wednesday, February 7 that the document had arrived about 16 hours late. In truth, I wasn’t surprised.

On Wednesday afternoon, I went back to the Westhampton Post Office to report the failed delivery. Despite having my receipt, I was required to fill out another form. My refund was payed in cash rather than simply transferring the amount back to my debit card.

While waiting in line on Monday and Wednesday, I overheard multiple customer comments related to past frustrations with the USPS. This discontentment was grounded in delivery challenges.

One gentleman stated it took 17 days for his Richmond mailing to reach Greenville, South Carolina. Another lady referenced a simple mailing to Henrico County. Her mailing never arrived.

These delivery problems create a lack of trust in the system designed to meet our needs. It isn’t good when consumers lose trust.

On these two visits, I sensed that customers, myself included, are more impatient. A few customers waited for several minutes. Eventually, they gave up, and walked out displeased.

When I made my first visit on Monday afternoon, there was only one postal clerk working the counter. She apologized, and stated that a second clerk would appear within the next five minutes. It was probably longer than five minutes, but a second clerk did arrive.

The impatience surfaces in other ways. Sharing their frustrations, waiting customers whisper to each other, “I can’t believe this is taking so long.” Sometimes, grunts or groans of dissatisfaction are exhorted over the pace of transactions.

If customers are impatient and dissatisfied, I can only imagine how postal clerks might feel. Following USPS required regulations while attempting to meet the needs of a restless and irritated public is tough work. I wonder how many times during a shift a postal clerk asks if a package contains anything  liquid, fragile, perishable, or potentially hazardous?

Additionally, I question if the daily operations of the USPS are carefully thought out. While I was waiting on Wednesday afternoon, customers who wanted to pay in cash had to move away from the clerk who only accepted debit and credit cards.

Just like public education, I’m sure everyone has ideas on how to improve the USPS.

For this weary system with multiple challenges here are some thoughts:

Stop selling junk in your post offices that have nothing to do with the mail.

Improve your automated technology for consumer use. Ensure that the technology always works. Make these systems so user friendly that even a knucklehead like myself can use it.

Sit down and listen to your most irritated customers. And while your listening, what might be learned from talking with Amazon, UPS, and FEDEX?

When something goes wrong, determine the reason, and fix it immediately. Then overnight express the invoice to Congress.

Go ahead, get it over with, and raise the price of a letter stamp to one dollar.

Stop delivering the mail on Saturday, and my friend, Jim Crowder, believes delivering the mail every other day is worthy of consideration too.

There have been times in our neighborhood when the mail has arrived after 9 p.m. I’m sorry, but that’s not safe for the carriers. Do not allow your carriers to deliver mail after sundown. This isn’t good for morale. I sense USPS morale is already at the bottom of a ten bushel canvas mail cart.

And speaking of morale, what is your employee development plan? How do you help employees learn, improve, and grow? Might a development plan be a means for improving employee confidence and customer service?

Finally, talk and listen to your employees. Often really good ideas come from the people in the trenches who ask a zillion times during their careers—does your package contain anything liquid, fragile, perishable, or potentially hazardous?

I appreciate the patient USPS employees who assisted me.

Yet, I feel the USPS is acutely fragile in an already hazardous environment.

Without urgent and wise interventions, it will perish.

In the fading gray of a late winter day, Lent arrives. I’m a Lent pretender—never fully committed to its journey. A presumed Christian shouldn’t make that admission.

Even with regular church attendance growing up, Lent didn’t make much of an impression on me. But, I do remember Easter Sunday with the never forgotten family gathering for lunch.

Last year, I turned seventy. I think about the past and the future.

My trips into the past remind me of my mother and father. I know through their families, they learned from experience about hardships, sacrifice, and hope. I feel certain there were many days when Micah 7:7 was all they had: “But as for me, I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me.” Those words must have been embedded deep in their souls.

I wonder if Mary and Joseph understood the the last days of their son’s journey? I wonder if they lost the hope found in the words from Micah?

Some days, work overwhelms me. Hope disappears. I can say the same when a troubling news story breaks. My hope sinks.

But, then there are those out of the blue days, unexplainable days when something good happens, and my faith, my hope returns.

Why is that?

My answer—as troubling as we can be, God and Jesus never give up hope in us.

Prayer: God and Jesus, may we never lose our eternal hope. Amen

Bill Pike
Richmond, Virginia

Author’s note: I was honored to have this piece published in the Society of St. Andrew’s Daily Lenten Devotional on Monday, March 4, 2024.

Target generational challenges, not Kamras
CORRESPONDENT OF THE WEEK
Bill Pike. Henrico.

The Richmond Crusade For Voters recommended that Jason Kamras, superintendent of Richmond Public Schools, be fired (“Richmond Crusade for Voters calls for removal of Superintendent Jason Kamras,” Feb. 20).

I’m not surprised. Someone must take the blame when a school system encounters longstanding challenges that block success.

As a retired public school educator, I served five superintendents. Their personalities and leadership styles were like night and day. None had immunity from challenging situations and second-guessing.
If we think the superintendents from public school systems in Chesterfield, Goochland, Hanover and Henrico counties don’t have sleepless nights, and possibly a high intake of antacids — we are mistaken.

Managing a public school system is tough work. The easy Mayberry days of public schools are dead.

When school superintendents are criticized, rarely are fingers of blame pointed back to our inability to solve vicious generational challenges related to mental/physical health, housing, nutrition, unemployment, safety, justice and equity.

We have warehouses full of data about student performance and behavior. How much of our failings in student performance and behavior can be linked to these unending generational cycles?

Recently, a friend recommended I watch a scene from “Ted Lasso.” The scene focused on this quote: “Be curious, not judgmental.”

Instead of spending our time judging Kamras, what might we learn if we were more curious to understand what RPS students, parents and teachers need to reach sustainable success?

For example: Is the Richmond School Board offering the correct support? Has the Richmond Crusade for Voters spent a day in a school? How are successes within the school system communicated? When was the last time School Board office personnel interviewed critical support staff in schools?

Sure, fire Superintendent Kamras.

That dismissal won’t solve the school system’s challenges.

These longstanding, malignant issues will eagerly greet a new superintendent.

Author’s note: On Sunday, March 3, 2024, the Richmond Times-Dispatch announced the return of their “Correspondent of the Week” in the Commentary section of the newspaper. I was honored to have my Letter to the Editor chosen as the “Correspondent of the Week” in the March 3rd edition of the paper.