Farewell to a good man

If you're like me, you fear and dread going to the dentist.

I've always been afraid of someone poking around in my mouth or drilling or yanking or filing.

Maybe it's because an Air Force dentist (during the Vietnam War era) hurt me way back when. Or maybe it goes back earlier than that--to my boyhood. Perhaps a dentist did me wrong. Inflicted pain and aching.

Dr. Mark Landrum of Piedmont Dental Partners in Rock Hill never hurt me. Always, with his caring, professional staff took excellent care of me. Consistently was gentle, careful, meticulous, professional, efficient.

But Dr. Landrum, who unfortunately died a few weeks ago at the age of 54, was even more than that. Many, including yours truly, will say he was the best, most skilled dentist they ever had. But we shouldn't also forget that, along with all that talent and professionalism, he treated his patients like people. He knew some of us were scared and loathed coming to the dentist. He knew we'd rather be someplace (any place) else. He knew we were babies when it came to getting our teeth taken care of.

But he put up with us. No, he did more than that. He REALLY CARED about us--about all his thousands of patients over the years--and made sure they went away happy, with excellent dental treatment.

Dr. Landrum, like so many dentists, I'm sure, bounced from treatment room to treatment room at his office on Constitution Avenue in Rock Hill (and now I wonder how on earth he did that!). But for all that bouncing around, he was GOOD. He always spoke to me (and to other patients in the other rooms). Always strived to put us at ease and make our dental visit the best it could be.

He and his staff succeeded like no other dentist and staff I've ever seen.

And I've been to a lot of dentists in my time. I'm 67 years old, but Dr. Landrum, my dentist for some 25 years, was the best.

I've been living in Johnson City, Tenn., about a four-hour drive from Rock Hill, since I retired from Winthrop University in 2012.

But you know what?

I always drove back to Rock Hill (more than 200 miles from Johnson City) to keep my appointments with Dr. Landrum.

People here tried to persuade me to find a dentist in Johnson City. "No way," I always told them. "I have the best dentist in the world in South Carolina!"

One more tidbit. Flashback to April 2008. I had double-bypass open heart surgery (scary stuff) at the VA hospital in Asheville, N.C. But before the surgery, the VA said I'd have to be looked at by their dentist. (Apparently there's a connection between dental health and the heart.) The VA dentist assessed my teeth and exclaimed that someone had taken REALLY GOOD CARE of them.

Thank you, Dr. Mark Landrum and your staff.

You were a GREAT DENTIST and a VERY GOOD man.

You will be missed.

(Photos of Dr. Mark Landrum and his staff courtesy of Piedmont Dental Partners website).

Is there life way out there 14,000 light years away?

Exciting, titillating news a few days ago about the discovery of a planet some 14,000 light years (8.4 quadrillion miles) away from Earth.

Planet “Kepler-452b” is thought to be hospitable to life—just like Earth.

Its temperatures are not frigid or scorching. And scientists think that if we could go there, we’d find liquid water, and who knows what else.

Of course, the million-dollar question is whether the planet sustains creatures (human-like, salamanders, deer, birds, dinosaurs or otherwise).

Wouldn’t it be amazing if that were the case?

Kepler-452b (where in the world--or out of this world--did they get that name?), in the constellation Cygnus, is about 60 percent bigger in diameter than Earth. It orbits a star that resembles our sun. It’s also in the “Goldilocks zone”—a place not too hot, nor too cold for life.

On another note, I heard a thought-provocative sermon today. It seems that an old man was whiling away his time on his front porch in one of those so-called iconic rocking chairs from Cracker Barrel.

More of the man’s life was behind him than in front of him. In fact, only a sliver of a few years remained before he would leave this world.

So there he rocked, and thought, and rocked, and pondered.

Rock, rock.

Creak, creak.

Eyes opened drowsily. Then eyes closed. Then back open drowsily.

Rock, rock.

Creak, creak.

These are some of the questions he asked himself:

1. Will I leave this world better than I found it?
2. Have I accomplished all that I want to?
3. Have I been faithful to the Almighty?
4. Been good to my family?
5. Used my money and gifts wisely?
6. Been kind and good-hearted?
7. Generous or greedy and selfish?
8. Made good and wise choices?
9. Been good to my dog?

(I added number 9!)

The preacher asserted that when we live our earthly life, there are no do overs. (No undo command like there is on a computer). That’s it. We die and come before the judgment seat of Christ. What we have done, how we’ve lived our life, what we’ve believed in. All these determine our eternal destiny.

If there are beings (of some sort) on planet Kepler-452b, are they rocking and harboring such thoughts?

I wonder.

Birthday blogger

I’m almost 67—very, very close.

On the verge.

Happy birthday to me (as if I needed to be reminded.)

Feeling the years.

Not as much energy as I once had.

A golfing partner told me recently that life is but a slow death.

Morbid but true.

So much stuff in my mail these days about long-term nursing care, pre-paid funerals and burial plots.

What is there left of my life?

Maybe a few more healthy, vibrant, happy years—if I’m lucky.

Need to really bear down during this homestretch of medicine-taking, frequently going to the VA Hospital (to something called, of all things, the “anticoagulation clinic"). Cynthia and Becky take care of me there, and I have a good, caring, supportive nurse, Barbara—who works on the same floor but on the opposite wing .

Must find God and religion. For I’ve always been a believing Christian but not a very faithful church goer.

Must finish writing this second novel, which Michael (my co-author) and I have titled “Justice For Toby.”

Must take good care of my dogs and my family.

Need to do a better job of expressing my true feelings. (I’ve always had a tough time with that).

Lots of places I yet want to visit. And I have a BUCKET LIST (rhymes, as President Obama recently noted) with F….LIST).

Books and other literature I want to read. Classics. Shakespearean plays. Poems. The New York Times. (Have always thought if I read that newspaper very day, I’d be smart as heck).

Babies to hold and spoil. Children to take good care of before I punch out.

Golf balls to hit. (I’ve never solved the mystery of playing golf but keep trying).

Fish to catch.

Music to listen to.

Walks to take. (I’ve been walking somewhat consistently—almost every day for about two miles—the past two years).

Songs to sing—or at least hum.

Freelance articles to write.

Old friends to reconnect with—especially in Virginia, South Carolina, Kentucky, Iowa, Georgia (Mark Staley, I hope you’re still reading my blog) and Tennessee.

Let the final home stretch begin.

Happy birthday, Larry C. Timbs Jr.!

Amazing Grace

Some folks took issue with President Barack Obama singing "Amazing Grace" yesterday at the funeral of the recently slain senator from Charleston.

But I thought our president deserved an "A+"

I have said this before: No one can hold a crowd like President Obama. No one can connect so skillfully, so closely.

And that's what he did yesterday afternoon in Charleston.

The conclusion of his eulogy for Senator Clementa Pinckney was truly amazing.

And beautiful.

And solemn.

And stirring.

And spiritual.

Yesterday at that service he was more preacher and gospel singer than president. Many of those who heard his words were hurting, grieving, devastated--their families ripped apart by a cold-blooded killer. These same families had offered healing grace to the one who so heinously killed their loved ones, and President Obama's singing was in that spirit.

I loved his rendition of "Amazing Grace."

In case you missed it, here's the clip:

TV commercial highlights our novel

Y'all might know by now that Michael Manuel and I have written (and gotten published in mid-2014) a novel titled "Fish Springs: Beneath the Surface."



Michael, working with an audiologist in Johnson City, recently created a catchy TV commercial that has been airing in East Tennessee. Have a look:

Looking back long ago...

I don't usually blog about myself, but for whatever reason I'm feeling a bit introspective and reminiscent today.

I found a few old photos of yours truly and so here they are--taken long ago.

I never knew how much I weighed when I entered this world, until someone mailed me the birth announcement (from my parents' possessions after they died a few years ago).

So I took my first breath--out of the womb, bloody, naked, screaming, thrashing about--weighing in at a whopping seven pounds!

The one of me looking happy and content in the crib was when I was two and one-half months old (this fact is scribbled on the back of the photo).

I'm standing in one picture next to my two grandfathers--Ed Jenkins (my mom's dad) on the left; James Avery Timbs (my Dad's dad) on the right.

Papaw Jenkins was an intensely religious man. He would sit alone on the porch and pray and recited Scripture every day and every night. He was good, gentle, caring--devoted to his church, Valley Forge Christian Church, which he helped found early in the 20th century. Papaw Timbs, a deputy sheriff in his younger days, liked to fish and hunt, and he loved to play games--horseshoes, checkers, card games such as setback and spades and rummy. I think maybe some of my playfulness derives from him. I cherished every day I had with him. He died in the late 1960s, when I was in the USAF, serving in the Philippines. So I never got a chance to say good-bye to him, something I regret to this day.

And, of course, that's me as an Indian (maybe I should say Native American??) with the knife in my mouth.

I loved playing cowboys and Indians.

I remember having guns and holsters and bows and arrows. And when I got older, I enjoyed watching westerns like Roy Rogers and the Lone Ranger and Gunsmoke and Have Gun Will Travel (with Wire Paladin). (And whatever happened, as the song says, to Randolph Scott?)

Today, I'm 66 years old (soon to be 67) and I dearly wish I could get that playfulness back!

As a bumper sticker prompted me the other day, I should be wagging more and barking less. No truer words were ever spake...

It's worthwhile to look back and try to figure out how I became the man I am today. Where did I come from? What forces (or people) shaped me? And then, of course, there's those inevitable questions dealing with finality: what happens now? Where do I go from here? What will be my legacy? Patrick Yeung, my son-in-law, has put that legacy question to me a few times.

I still don't know how to answer it.

Maybe some day.

Looking into a dog's eyes

I've been wondering about something I heard recently on National Public Radio.

As noted in a blog by Rachel Feltman, a researcher has concluded (not suprisingly, in my opinion) that dogs and humans can communicate very naturally and can easily become friends.

But much of this is all about the eyes--of the dog and the human.

Because locking eyes with a dog, according to the study, creates a tight bond between dog and man.

It has something to do with the oxytocin feedback loop in both the canine and human. Oxytocin is a hormone acting as a neuromodulator in the brain.

When you and your dog stare at each other for several seconds, even, in some cases, for minutes, human and dog each get a chemical boost that leaves both life forms better at bonding and reading social cues.

This only happens with canines and humans, not with wolves (even wolves raised as pets).

One researcher believes that the feedback loop (again facilitated when a dog owner stares into his dog's eyes) accounts for the positive feelings humans have for their dogs. Canines use this mechanism as a "shortcut to our hearts," he writes.

This makes complete sense to me--even though I had never heard of oxytocin. Because when my sheltie (Joe) or my bichon (Michael Jackson) locks eyes it does seem we are somehow bonded closely. And sometimes I believe my dogs can even sense how I feel (well, sick, up, down, depressed, happy, sad...).

I always knew my dogs were smart, perceptive and somehow could get inside my brain.

Now we have evidence.

Bark, bark!! Ruf, ruf!!