Author: William Douthwaite

Posted in Life

You’re not going to let a little rain spoil the game, are you?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It was an amusing scene at the t-ball fields the other night. Ten soaking-wet little boys were standing on the diamond in the rain. No one looked very happy to be there.

The other team valiantly tried to hit the ball off the tee. When someone made contact, the ball didn’t go very far, slowed by the wet grass and infield mud.

On each side, fans got wetter and colder, crowded under umbrellas, wondering when the coaches would call the game.

The coaches kept running through the lineup, teeing up the ball as the darker clouds moved across the sky. Every once in a while, they would look at each other, shrug, and bring up the next batter.

Finally, one coach waved his hand across his neck to stop the game. The thankful crowd rushed toward their cars.

The excited players made a beeline for the snacks. That’s what they came for and they were not about to be denied, no matter how bad the weather!

Posted in Life

Look at all those helicopters!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Helicopters fill the skies. At least lately. With my grandson, a dog, and on a bike ride today, we’ve seen more helicopters lately. I hear them when they are far off. Sometimes they hover overhead. Other times they zip by in the air.

Sometimes it’s the medical helicopter going to a crash site or a trauma hospital. When I see or hear it, I always say a quick “Lord, have mercy” prayer. The folks who fly and staff those flights, as well as those they rescue, need our prayers.

Other times, it’s the local sheriff. Those helicopters fly slower, and circle around, usually looking for someone. I would not want to be one the run with someone up in the skies watching me.

Once in a while, some attack helicopters from the National Guard pass overhead. They move so fast that you’ll miss them if you aren’t paying attention. I am grateful for those who keep watch over our communities and nation.

I remember other helicopters that brought hundreds of gallons of water to put out fires near our community. It was a long time ago, but it was a scary time. I remember it well.

One day, I want to fly in a helicopter. I’ll probably be frightened out of my mind. But it will be really cool.

Posted in Life

“I was almost there”

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by FLY:D on Unsplash

The water felt wonderful as I stepped in. It felt as nice as I thought it would as I pushed off and glided through the water just a few inches from the bottom of the pool. Ribbons of sunlight made their way to the bottom of the pool as I blew out bubbles and sank closer to the hard pool surface below. I felt so relaxed as I floated along.

Just when I thought I had reached the far wall of the pool, I reached out and touched…nothing. The wall wasn’t there. So I reached out and brought my arms to my side, pushing myself forward into the blurry blue beyond. As I gently cut through the water, bursts of green and violet appeared as though someone were rinsing out a paintbrush. I drifted through clouds of color, no longer able to see the sunlight above or the bottom below.

Suddenly, it was as if a rainbow had exploded in the water. Colors were everywhere. I swam toward the teal, then the oranges, the indigo, and then the bright blue. I felt like I was trapped in a kaleidoscope, tumbling through every color and shape I ever knew. Up and down meant nothing. I reached towards the red, backed into the yellow, spun through the green, crawled along the blues.

I wanted to stay here forever. I felt something pulling at me, pulling backwards, pulling me away from this buffet of color. I tried to push the hands away. My lungs suddenly filled with air. I saw the sky, clouds, faces above me. “Are you OK?”

Reluctantly, I said, “Yes, I feel fine.” I laid there and said, “Am I OK?”

“We think you were down there for an hour. If the pool guy hadn’t seen you down there, you’d be…gone.”

I smiled. “No. I was almost there.”

Posted in fun

Is that a hippo?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I forgot to include this great moment from my trip to the zoo the other day.

As we walked around the African loop on our way to see the ostrich and rhinos, we spied a man fully outfitted in scuba gear, just about to enter the brown, muddy, murky, duckweed-covered water below. As he put on his mask and regulator, I couldn’t help but wonder, “What can he see down there?” I have no idea what was down there that needed repair.

Anyway, once we got a nice close-up view of one of the rhinos, we started walking toward the giraffes and saw lots of bubbles coming up from the brown, muddy, murky, duckweed-covered water. I knew it was the diver, but a few other people didn’t. I heard them wondering out loud, “What’s down there? What animal is that? Is it a hippo? I think it’s a hippo! Look, it’s a hippo!”

I kept my chuckles to myself. I guess they haven’t seen many hippos. They wouldn’t have seen them here since the Jacksonville Zoo doesn’t have any. And hippos don’t breathe underwater. If they are in the water, they typically wade or lay around with their eyes, nostrils, and ears just above the surface. Otherwise, the ones I’ve seen like to lay at the edge of the water.

I have seen hippos at other zoos and in the wild. We saw them on safari in Kenya. Since they are one of the most dangerous animals in Africa, armed guides kept an eye on them as we took pictures. If the hippos decided to get aggressive, we’d be escorted out of there. When they began bellowing at us, it was time to leave.

Now those are hippos

I did not spoil their fun and tell them about the scuba diver.

Posted in Life

More hair? I’ll pass.

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I don’t always look at the emails in my spam folder, but when I do, I’ll get a kick out of one of them. The most recent had this subject line: “Rapid and long-lasting hair growth.”

If you know me at all, you know that growing hair is the least of my worries. My hair was pretty much all gray by age fifty, but I have plenty of it. Every barber and stylist who cuts my hair comments on how much they have to comb though. My dermatologist comments, “We don’t have to worry about sunburn up here.” It’s easy to spot me in large group photos. I’m that guy with the thick head of gray.

I was at a friend’s birthday party and we all huddled up for a group shot. His family printed and framed the picture for him. When people looked at the picture, they would point to my gray-haired head and ask, “Who’s that?”

While most of them were born with peach fuzz, my children all grew up to have thick heads of hair. Most of the grandkids are keeping with that tradition. A couple of two-year-olds are taking their time, but they are working hard on the tradition.

The spam email went on to promise the regrowth of hair I thought was lost forever – just by taking a tablespoon of “this” every day. I don’t know what “this” was. I didn’t click that far into the advertisement. I know growing hair is a big business. Just not for me.

While most spam email is pretty good at knowing what you might be interested in, this algorithm got it all wrong. Kind of like the guy selling an ice maker to an eskimo, right?

Posted in Life

Today at the zoo: A predictable adventure

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My wife and I took our four-year-old grandson to the Jacksonville, Florida zoo today. It was a gorgeous day, with blue skies, in the 70s, nice breeze.

We have a family membership and have been there many times. Last night I predicted how the visit would go.

  • First, we stop to look at the flamingos and comment on how stinky they are.
  • As we walk through the African loop, we will look at the warthogs and also comment on how stinky they are.
  • We will look in vain for the cheetahs, see the ostrich, and then the rhinos.
  • After a quick pass through the snake house, we will pause to visit the elephants.
  • From there we’ll pass by the lions.
  • Next, we’ll go to the giraffe overlook and feed them a few branches.
  • Doubling back just a little, we’ll look to see how many manatees are in the recovery tank.
  • Back on the main drag, my grandson will point out the Kona Ice truck, just in case we had forgotten about it.
  • We’ll swing through the path that takes us by the bonobos and gorillas.
  • Next is the carousel. We’ll go on several rides with our enhanced experience wristbands.
  • After lunch, we’ll walk to the far end of the zoo to see the Komodo dragon and the tigers.
  • The train will take us back to the front of the park, and we’ll cover a cup of Kona Ice with every flavor of syrup.

I was spot on for everything except the dragon and tigers. We decided not to go all the way back there today.

“Well,” you might ask, “was there anything new at the zoo?”

Absolutely. No two trips are alike.

  • The elephants were standing much closer than they usually do, giving us a great view.
  • Most of the giraffes were a little standoffish, but one came over and my grandson and I got to feed her. No line at the giraffes, so we had several opportunities each. She was so close we could have reached right out and touched her. But that’s one of the things you cannot do.
  • One of the lionesses was relaxing in the sun on a huge rock just a few yards from the viewing area. She was beautiful.
  • One of the rhinos was very close to the raised walkway, too. They are usually all the way across the field from us.
  • On the way to see the manatees, the bald eagle was on the ground just on the other side of the fence. Probably the closest I’ve ever been to one.
  • We got to see Kevin, the two-year-old baby gorilla up close against the glass.
  • All the snakes in the snake house were out and visible. Usually many of them are hiding in the rocks.

So while the day was predictable, it was also an adventure. For me, zoos always are.

Posted in Life

I’m glad you all showed up

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Gabriel Benois on Unsplash

Yesterday’s post, as I hope many of my readers figured out, was just a bit of micro-fiction to wrap up April. My thoughts today are the real deal, fresh from a Zoom meeting with my Bible Study Fellowship group.

With just one more session to go before we break for the summer, we’re starting to evaluate the past thirty weeks we’ve spent together. We twenty or so men have prayed, studied, laughed, and gotten to know each other. These things only happened because these men showed up weekly to spend some time together.

It’s all voluntary. No one has to show up at all. There are no penalties for absence. And yet every week, most of the men join the room, prepared to talk about the past week’s study.

The group leader called it the “Covid-cloud silver lining.” Though Zoom has been around for more than a decade, it became a part of everyday life in 2020 when everyone was in quarantine. Worship, school, conventions, concerts, recitals, graduations, and reunions all happened virtually via Zoom.

On top of all that, people showed up for groups that never would have existed before. My group consists of men from Florida, California, Virginia, Iowa, Illinois, Kenya, and Ethiopia. Though thousands of miles apart, we were able to crowd ourselves into a thirteen-inch laptop screen.

I’m grateful for all who showed up each week. Each brought ideas and questions that never occurred, to me, stretching my understanding of the scripture we studied. The discussion filled the room with the joys and struggles of following Christ. Over time, a collection of strangers who showed up became friends. They made me want to show up, too.

I encourage you to show up, too. Some call it “being present.” Be there with someone who loves, encourages, challenges, and shows up to be with you.

Posted in flash fiction

A room full of emptiness

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Chris Montgomery on Unsplash

“I’m going to miss you guys.”

The final session of my online class had just ended. It was a group of guys who hailed from different states and a few who lived in other countries. Over the course of thirty weeks, we had gotten to know each other well, spending an hour together each week.

One by one each logged off. When the room was down to just me and one other person, I said, “The next time I’m up your way, I’ll reach out. Maybe I can stop by and we can grab a cup of coffee.”

He said “That sounds great.” And then I was there in the virtual room alone.

About an hour later, I got an email from the group leader discouraging me from trying to meet anyone from the group in person. When I asked why, he explained, “None of the people in this group actually exist. Everyone but you and I were generated and animated by artificial intelligence. It’s just a virtual group of guys.”

I read the email over and over. How could that be? When I signed up for a “virtual” class, I thought I’d learn with living, breathing people sitting at laptops just like me. There is no way that AI has come this far this fast!

I went back to the website where I signed up for the class. I read carefully through the terms and conditions until I reached a disclaimer that I had quickly skimmed and agreed to. “Augmented reality may be used to enhance discussion rooms.”

So none of this was real? None of the students exist? My classmates – and friends – were nothing more than sophisticated code and creative algorithms? On the one hand, the room was filled with some of the best friends I’ve ever had. On the other hand, it was an empty room.

I really am going to miss those guys.

Posted in Life

I don’t want to miss the storm

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by reza shayestehpour on Unsplash

Constant news updates warned of approaching storms. News feeds were filled with photos of hands gripping baseball-sized hail. The traffic update boards on the interstate alerted drivers to a tornado watch. The weather radar was lit with green, yellow, orange, and red-colored systems headed our way. Storm trackers were dotted with little lightning bolts. The radio station reported where the storms were most likely to hit next and when.

I wondered if our evening meeting would be canceled. People are like that, you know. Events are canceled when someone catches the scent of severe weather. I’m happy about this. I don’t want to be out on the road when the rain is so heavy I can hardly see the taillights of the car in front of me. I want to be inside if and when a funnel cloud decides to appear. I am thankful for a safe and secure home in which to wait out the storm.

This time the storms never reached our area. Very little rain, just a little wind, and no destructive winds. To be honest, I was disappointed. I’m glad no storms hurt my neighborhood (or any neighborhood).

But I missed the storm.

I missed the sheets of rain blowing across our street. I missed the dark clouds rushing by. I missed the thunder rumbling in the distance. I missed watching the trees swaying in the wind. I missed the sound of a million drops on the roof.

I missed the storm.

Rainy afternoons are great for naps. Sleep comes quickly with the soothing sound of the wind. The rumble of far-off thunder is nature’s subwoofer, with frequencies felt as much as heard. The steady tapping of drops on the roof is calming.

The best part about the storm? I know the One who made the storms and can control them. The storm reminds me of His power, His presence, and His promises.