Le Morte d'Elvis

Another “Dead Week” has come and gone.  “Dead Week,” as it is referred to by “ordinary” (those citizens who somehow do not share the lingering grief and angst as others), is the annual week long collection of events throughout Memphis marking the death, of Elvis Presley.  Elvis died on August 16, 1977 reportedly of a heart attack while sitting on the toilet in his Graceland mansion.  The real cause of death was probably an overdose on a cocktail of prescription medications, but we don’t really talk about that in Memphis – it’s bad for tourism.  Of course, there are those in Memphis and across the country who insist that Elvis is not dead, frequently tickets are left at the “will call” window for Elvis at sporting and music venues.

Each year, thousands of visitors from around the world descend on Memphis, many come year after year, to participate in a week long montage of Elvis movie reruns, multiple Elvis impersonator (excuse me, that should be tribute artist) contests, tours of Sun Studios (the tiny recording studio where Elvis made his first record), tours of the 

Elvis Presley Statue Near Beale St. in Memphis

Graceland mansion, tours of his planes, and tours of just about any other place Elvis ever went to in Memphis.  The streets are filled with tour busses.  As the throngs wait to get into the Graceland grounds, they write their names and remembrances on the stone wall that surrounds the estate.  The Graceland Wall may actually rival the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, literally and figuratively.  The week culminates in the night-long candle-light vigil which begins at the gate of Graceland at sunset and wanders through the grounds past the site, in the backyard by the pool, where Elvis and his parents are buried (for the record, I have never participated).  For a look at these “events” click here for the Elvis Week 2014 Survival Guide.  You may want to start planning your 2015 trip now!

So, another dead week has come and gone.  School is starting, the pennant races are in full swing, football season is only a week away, and the local TV stations have resumed regular broadcasting. Lest I seem ungrateful for all of the tourists who descend on our fair city and spend their money; as a tax paying citizen, I say, in the words of Elvis himself, “Ah, thank you.  Thank you very much.”

Well I gotta go and get ready for January – that’s “Birthday Week!”

There Goes Jesus . . .

Like all families, we have a long list of humorous, endearing, and enduring (at least to us) family colloquialisms.  Like the time when the upstairs toilet was overflowing through the vent into the kitchen and 4 year old Kate rounded the corner, took one look at the puddle and the cascading water and exclaimed, “I guess I better get the hell outta here.”  Then there’s the time 5 year old Charlie asked, “Dad, who’s George?”   “What are you talking about,” I asked.  He responded, “You know at the baseball game when the trumpet goes ‘da-da-da-da-da-duh’ every one yells ‘George.’”  I laughed so hard I almost ran off the road as I explained that everyone was yelling, “Charge.” To this day, almost 20 years later, the Marczynski’ s  still yell for “George”  at  baseball games and whenever something breaks, someone will remark about “getting the hell outta here.”  We can also recite almost the entire scripts of “A League of Their Own” and a “Christmas Story,” lines of which pepper our everyday conversations, but that’s another story.

Rainbow over the Tennessee River by Charlie Marczynski

One of our more poignant family sayings came to mind the other day, when a couple of ambulances flew by me on my way to work.  When an ambulance would go by us we told the kids, and reminded ourselves, to say a little prayer for the people who hurt - “Jesus help those people.”  Like shouting “George” at baseball games, this little prayer has now become a habit.  One day, when she was around 5 or 6, our daughter Sarah announced, “There goes Jesus.”  Not paying much attention and forgetting all about our little prayer, I asked her, what she was talking about.  She replied, “Jesus just drove by in an ambulance on the way to help someone.”  It was one of those “out of the mouth of babes” moments.  We ask Jesus to perform all kinds of miracles in our lives, but sometimes we do not see him in the very people who are already trying to help us and others.  As far as Sarah was concerned, that really was Jesus driving that ambulance.  I was the one who didn’t see him.

There is an old story/joke that illustrates our inability to recognize everyday miracles.   The river was rising and the sheriff cars rolled through the town telling everyone to evacuate, but one man told them he was not leaving because God would protect him.  Soon the water reached the man’s house and the sheriff came by with a boat to save the man.  “No, no the man cried, I believe God will save me.”  The water got so high he finally had to crawl out on his roof, and a helicopter circled overhead with a life rope dangling down, but the man insisted, “God will protect me.”  Soon the flood waters rose so high that the man was swept away and drowned.  When he got to heaven, the man addressed God, “You put the rainbow in the sky and told Noah you would never let another flood destroy everything and I believed you, so why didn’t you help me during the flood and save my life?  God smiled and replied, “Who do you think sent the sheriff, the boat and the helicopter?”

So, If we go looking for miracles let’s make sure we don’t let the people who bring them to us drive right by.

Gotta go, I have to pull over, I hear Jesus coming down the street.

It's FATHERS' Day - Period

Kate, Sarah and Charlie - The Reasons I am Proud To Be a Dad

We are driving into Father’s Day this Sunday and I thought I would share a few random thoughts on the meaning of this day in this postcard.  I may excite some folks, but that is not my intent.  My intent is to simply protest  attempts at redefining the day as anything else than a day to honor FATHERS (step-Fathers, single Fathers, divorced Fathers, unwed Fathers etc.) with the only caveat being, the honor should only be given to  men who are devoted to the care and nurturing of their children.

I recall when my children were younger and in pre-school and beyond, FATHERS’ Day was watered down, as are so many things, to designations such as “Special Guy Day” or “Great Guy Day.”  I was, and am, offended by these designations.  I want MY day.  I want a day that honors FATHERS.  My own father passed away when I was 5 years old and while I had the guidance of uncles, brother-in-laws, neighbors, etc.; all honorable men, all special guys, all great guys; they were not my father. My sisters and I missed not being able to honor our father in person. Often, the day meant a trip to the cemetery.   I was fortunate years later to have the honor of celebrating FATHERS’ Day with my step- father, who has served in the capacity of being my father for over forty years.   My point is simply this, a good FATHER is unique and deserves at least one day of the year to call his own – FATHERS’ DAY period.

And by the way, why do all the commercials knock ties as gifts?  Let it be known that I would be happy with a tie.  Of course the ultimate gift for any father, any time, is Old Spice.  I always ask for it and tell my daughters that if they ever date a guy who wears Old Spice, I remind them to subtly tell their suitors, “Oh, my dad wears Old Spice,” just to plant a seed!  Although one of my favorite gifts is from my son Charlie.  While all of the other kids were crafting pottery crosses, or boxes and the like for their fathers, Charlie made me a beer mug!!  It can hold two beers and keeps them ice cold! 
I think of him every time I use it.

So, to all of you uncles, brothers, neighbors, etc. – thanks for what you do, especially if the kids you are helping out have somehow lost their fathers.  I hope Hallmark and the powers that be will someday designate a “Special Guys’ Day.”  But as for this Sunday, let me say, HAPPPY FATHERS’ DAY to all the good, caring, and nurturing men who have been given the honor and privilege of caring for offspring!  To Sarah, Kate and Charlie, thanks for letting me be your Dad! And don’t forget the Old Spice.  To Henry Marczynski - thanks for giving me life and sharing your's albeit much too short.  And to Charlie Smith - thanks for being my dad. 

Gotta go!  One of my “adult” children needs something – so much for “empty nesting!”

I Love You Like Jesus Does . . .

Feelin' The Love at the UT-Chattanooga Homecoming



I used to think the best compliment I ever heard was in the movie “As Good As It Gets, when Jack Nicholson tells Helen Hunt, “You make me want to be a better man.”  A close second is a headstone which reads, “Here lies John Doe.  Although he is dead, it can be truthfully said, ‘His sins were scarlet and his books were read.’”  However, not long ago I heard an even better one. To share this new one, I must “come out of the closet” to reveal that after 33 years of living in Memphis, I have become a country music fan!  I am not sure; maybe it’s Memphis’ proximity to Nashville, or just great lyrics like “My eyes are the only things I don’t want to take off of you,” or the fact that no matter where you are you can always seem to tune in a country music station on the radio.  I bet you can tune one in on the far side of the moon.

Well now that it’s out, I can come clean and say that the best compliment I have ever heard comes from Eric Church in his song entitled, “Like Jesus Does.  Church (no pun intended) sings in the chorus:

All the crazy in my dreams,
And both my broken wings,
Every single piece of who I am,
Yeah, she knows the man I ain't,
She forgives me when I can't,
And the devil, man, no, he don't have a prayer,
'Cause she loves me like Jesus does.

When I first I heard those words, “she loves me like Jesus does,” I immediately thought, “Wow, that is not only the best way to feel, but it is the best thing to think and/or feel about someone else.”  I thought about these words and this sentiment in church on Easter Sunday.  I know I have crazy dreams, I can feel my broken wings, I have done things I cannot forgive myself for, and I could always be a better man; but fortunately I have someone (in fact a whole family) in my life that make this earth like heaven by loving me like he does.  If  I truly believe that Jesus’ life, death and resurrection is the epitome of love, then I have no choice, but to be that someone for others – I must love all of the other crazy dreamers with broken wings, unrealized potential and unforgiven sins – just like Jesus does.
Gotta go, time to tune in to a new station.

Meditation On Doin' the Hokey Pokey

"This Is What It's All About At The Marczynski's"

Today’s postcard is about The Hokey Pokey.  There is a story, I am not sure of its veracity, that when the author of The Hokey Pokey, Larry LaPrise, passed away the undertakers had a difficult time putting him in the coffin.  They would put his left leg in and then his left leg would come out; his right arm would go in and then it would go out . . . . But seriously, just maybe there is some deeper meaning to The Hokey Pokey.

After seeing the question, “What if The Hokey Pokey really is what it’s all about?” in a decorative frame in a psychologist’s office I began to wonder what if The Hokey Pokey really is what it’s all about?  Here are a few of the questions I invite you to ponder with me:  
Why do the lyrics never instruct us to “dance” The Hokey Pokey, but rather to “do” The Hokey Pokey?

The lyrics don’t tell us, so how do we know to form a circle when The Hokey Pokey music begins?

How do we know that “doing” the Hokey Pokey means to raise our hands in the air and carelessly twirl all around? Again, the lyrics don’t tell us.

Why is it that when we “do” The Hokey Pokey, we drop all defenses and pretenses and no one ever stops to notice how foolish the whole thing looks?

Why is it that when we get to “put your whole self in and shake it all about,” we do so with wild abandon and, like lemmings marching to the sea, we just do it, because the lyrics tell us to?

Given all of the personal angst these questions and observations have caused me and after spending way too much time thinking about them, I have come to believe that The Hokey Pokey contains a deep secret and lesson for life – "Sometimes The Hokey Pokey really is what it’s all about."  There are things in life that we are asked, or told, to do that don’t make a lot of sense, just like the lyrics of the song.  Sometimes we just have to do stuff without having to be on an endless pursuit for meaning or a never-ending quest to find “what it really is all about.”  Sometimes life is simply about carefree abandonment.  This doesn’t mean surrendering to a life devoid of meaning and purpose, but every now and then we have to appreciate life as simply being something to enjoy without thought and explanation.  Maybe that’s why kids are so good at doing The Hokey Pokey.

So, wherever you are and whatever you are doing, stop right now, close your eyes and start doing The Hokey Pokey, and for at least the next few minutes let “shaking yourself all about” really be “what it’s all about.” 

Gotta go, time for my Hokey Pokey Anonymous meeting – it’s a place to help turn myself around!

Jesus On Ice . . .



Crucifix in the LA Cathedral - R. Marczynski

About 20 years ago I made a Cursillo (meaning "short course"), part of a Catholic movement started in Spain to help Christians “revive” and recommit themselves to their faith.  The movement has spread to other denominations, referred to as “The Walk,” or “The Great Harvest.” 

In very simple terms, a Cursillo is an intense 3 day weekend retreat with a series of talks and activities given, for the most part, by lay leaders. I noticed, and was struck by the fact, that as each leader spoke, he held a Crucifix.  It seemed as though by clutching that Crucifix the speaker gained a greater sense of confidence, purpose and peace as they spoke.  At the close of the Cursillo weekend each participant is presented with a small Crucifix.  I carried mine in my pocket where I could feel it throughout the day (I swear sometimes it “poked” me when I was about to do something wrong!). 

A few months after making my Cursillo, a close friend faced a very serious personal and professional crisis that was breaking him.  I told him the story I related above and gave him my Crucifix to carry, hoping it would give him some peace.  My friend and his family made it through the crisis stronger than ever.  I bought another one and we traded, but each of us continued to carry our Crucifix daily. 

A couple years later he told me that it was his habit that when coming home from work each day, he would empty his pockets and put the contents in a little “letter holder” they kept on the top of their refrigerator.  One morning when he went to get his stuff, he noticed his Crucifix was missing.  He and his family looked around on top of the refrigerator, on the floor, in his pants, in his closet, but could never find it.   A few months later, they were cleaning and defrosting their freezer and there it was - the ice covered Crucifix buried in the back of the freezer.  Obviously, it had somehow fallen out of the letter holder and into the freezer without anyone noticing.  We referred to the experience as putting “Jesus on Ice.”

In a similar vein, one day on a family outing, I reached into my pocket and I couldn’t feel my Crucifix.  It was strange, but I became panicky.  After I made the whole family look for it for about a half an hour, we called off the search.  I took some solace hoping that maybe someone who “needed” it more than I did would find the Crucifix and it would help them through whatever struggles they were facing.  I simply bought another one. 

Over the years, I have lost several Crucifixes and have given some away.  After a while it can be expensive, and time consuming since there isn’t a Crucifix store on every corner, so I took to hooking one on my key chain, but somehow it just wasn’t the same.  So I went back, as often as I could, to carrying one in my pocket.  If I lose one I always hope that whomever finds it will gain the confidence, purpose, or peace that they may need. 

Even though I don’t spend my days paying much attention to it, simply throwing my Crucifix on my desk with the rest of my pocket trash;  it is nice to know that, like my friend,  I have “Jesus On Ice.”   I just need to remember that when I need a little extra boost, I just need brush off the lint from my pocket or let it thaw out and He’s still there – just for me. 

Next time you see a crucifix, think about this postcard and always remember, “Jesus loves you, but He still likes me best!”

Gotta go, I have to look for something.

I Got a Hole in My Soul, but Jesus in My Pocket . . .

Cross Atop Chapel at Franciscan Retreat Center by R. Marczynski

I did not mean my postcards to take necessarily take on a spiritual tone, but it seems that the times I feel I have something worthwhile sharing have been after some “spiritual” experience or insight.  I guess that is a good thing.

I serve as a “Minister to the Sick” and on the second Saturday of each month.  Today, March 8, was my turn to hold a Communion Service at a near-by nursing home and to visit with and distribute Communion to those unable to come to the service.  On some visits it can be a pretty dismal and depressing experience. Yet, I always leave a little more refreshed, if not grateful, and a little more faith-filled.  For these folks, receiving the Eucharist and praying with someone is truly the high point of the week.   It is humbling when someone grabs my hand and looks me in the eyes and keeps repeating, “Thank you for coming. Thank you.”   Their anticipation, joy and the peace that seems to come over them makes me feel a little embarrassed by my personal struggles with my faith and my doubts.  They never take someone coming to pray with them for granted.  For some residents, it literally may be the last time.   In fact, the first time I visited a patient at a nursing home, I found out that the man I visited died that night – I thought I killed him.  I thought, this Ministry to the Sick thing wasn’t starting off too hot.  It was truly humbling to know that I may have been the last person to say a prayer with him.

A Pyx

During the visits the consecrated hosts are carried in a small gold holder called a “pyx” that opens like a pocket watch or a brooch.  I usually go from room to room with the pyx and the consecrated hosts in my pocket.   I was visiting and joking with one of my favorite 95 year-old “girlfriends” one morning before giving her Communion.  I asked her if she was going dancing that night because she looked so good.  Mind you, she can barely get out of bed.  She laughed and said, “Oh, you’re just a big liar.”    I smiled back and asked her, “Now how could I be lying to you with Jesus in my pocket?  That just wouldn’t be right.”  We said a prayer, I gave her Communion, and told her I would see her next month and in the meantime not to go chasing any of the male residents.  She just laughed and waved me out.

As I left one day I thought about having Jesus in my pocket.  Sounds like a line from a country song, “I got a hole in my soul, but Jesus in my pocket!”  I wonder what I would be like and if my faith would be stronger, if every day, I had Jesus in my pocket.  

Gotta go, I have a hole that needs some mending!