I ride my bicycle a lot, to get my exercise and to keep my sanity. You never know what you might see when cycling on the plains of west Texas.

Recently, I was riding my bike northbound on the I-27 access road between Cemetery Road and 4th Ave., when a rabbit did something unusual. He jumped from the brush beside the road onto the pavement and began running up the road ten yards ahead of me. To my surprise he stayed on the road and continued running ahead of me. After about 100 yards two more rabbits jumped onto the pavement and began running alongside him. Pretty soon another rabbit joined the peleton, and I had a four-rabbit escort as I rode the next quarter mile.

Then, as if on cue, all four of them took a hard right turn off the access road out into the pasture.

Although I was by myself I laughed aloud at this crazy animal behavior. What just happened? Why did those rabbits run with me? I’ve ridden past hundreds of them and never seen them do that. And why did four of them join the group? It would be less unusual if only one had run with me, but why three, then four? Plus, during our little together time we went past two or three others who chose not to join in.

What did the rabbits think of me? Not that they really think, but why did they react by running on the pavement ahead of me? Did they think I was a rabbit? A predator? Were they laughing at me because I seemed slow? Were they taunting me because I couldn’t run over them like cars do? In the end, the whole experience was probably a neuro-biological instinctive coincidence, neither calling for nor able to bear my philosophical questioning, but I believe God speaks to us through the creation. Perhaps God was smiling and whispering through the rabbits:

I am running with you.

All creation is on your side.

Life’s more fun when you share it with others.

Humans may be smart, but they can’t outrun much of anything.

Keep your eyes wide open. God works through his entire creation to draw you closer to Himself.

— — —

Clark Williams is a a husband, a dad, a lover of words, and a lover of life.

Clark is a guest writer for This Ordinary Day’s Sunday Specials. If you would like to participate in Sunday Specials, please click here.

This Ordinary Day remembers:

Karlene Garinger

My brother’s wife, Karlene Garinger, lost a 14-year battle with a killer disease last week. LAM, Lymphangioleiomyomatosis, is a rare disease that affects only women. It is characterized by an unusual type of smooth muscle cell that invades the tissues of the lungs and, over time, creates holes in the lungs, preventing them from providing oxygen to the rest of the body.

Two years ago, Karlene received the miracle of a double lung transplant. Three weeks ago, she caught a cold or the flu. As her body fought this minor illness, it went into overdrive and began attacking the lungs as well, resulting in rejection and finally death.

The previous two paragraphs don’t begin to capture the fight that Karlene has put up all these years. I wish each of you could have met her and been inspired by her as I was. She was the sister that, as a child, I had always envisioned.

This is the eulogy that I delivered at her memorial service on Saturday. It is the most difficult thing I have ever done.

— — —

I didn’t want to be here today.

I’m pretty sure none of us wanted to be here. In fact, I’m pretty mad that we have to be here.

When I heard that Karlene was in the hospital, I immediately sat down and prayed. A few days later, I heard that she had been taken off the ventilator and that she was home. My prayers had been answered.

But then came the news that she was back in the hospital. That she was back on the ventilator. This time, because I had just finished reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, I sat down and wrote a petition to God. Like the character in the book, this time I didn’t ask that God’s will be done. That’s what I always done in the past. Instead, I asked for what I wanted.

I was specific.

I wanted Him to give Karlene the strength to fight off this attack on her body once again. I wanted this attack to spur some kind of miraculous healing spree. A friend who had also read the book and I talked. I read the petition to her. Again, like the character in the book, she helped me think of all the people who would want to sign my petition if they could. Ned, Kenna, Nate, Jessica, Doreen, Carl, my mom, Brent and all of his family, my brother Steve and his family, Jeff and Jack, my family… David, Erika and John, Caitlyn, my mom, our family in Michigan: Aunt Jeanette, Ralph, Eric and Beth and their families, Aunt Thyra and Uncle Dick, Rolan and Kevin and their families, my friends Beth Janice, and Debbie…, the list was quite long… and we didn’t even list the people I hadn’t met yet, the lunch ladies, the high tech friends, all of Kenna and Nate’s friends… I knew that all of us would sign a petition to God on Karlene’s behalf. In fact, every time you prayed for Karlene, you were added to the petition.

I’m sure of it…

We all know how this story ends.

And I hurt, and I’m sad, and I’m mad.

Karlene officially became a member of our family 25 years ago. Honestly, she became a member of the family before she took the vows and put on the ring. She was forever a part of the family after the months she spent sitting at Ned’s side as he healed after a serious car accident.

Karlene became the gentle soul of our family. She was the one at a family reunion who you most wanted to just sit and talk to… she listened so carefully. She told you with her eyes that she really heard what you were saying. She asked questions that told you that what you said mattered to her. She never forgot a birthday or an important date.

But Karlene was sometimes hard to be around… she was just so darn perfect. She never yelled at her children (at least not in public). When they were in trouble, she would calmly tell them what was wrong or take them away from everyone… I guess only Nate and Kenna can tell you what happened in those moments. I was never the cool, calm parent that Karlene was. And what I learned from Karlene about giving birthday parties for children… well, let’s just say that the quality of Caitlyn’s birthday parties definitely improved after an idea session with Karlene.

And then there was the disease. LAM. The shortness of breath, watching her move slowly as she worked so hard and with little complaint to be a part of everything possible.

And there was the day she asked me how she should pick when to die. Should she have the transplant? She should wait longer? The clock starts ticking as soon as you have the transplant, she told me. The average lung transplant patient lives only five years. When should she start that clock?

I totally let her down. I had no advice. I cried and she comforted me.

She comforted me.

Oscar Wilde believed that there are only two tragedies in life: not getting what you pray for and getting it.

Actually, our prayers are always being answered. Karlene’s prayers and ours have been answered with a resounding “yes” so many times. We just don’t like to think that “no” is a reasonable response to our very reasonable requests. The deal is this… we don’t like “no”s… in fact we like “no”s from God less than any other no.

I guess what we need to remember is that the miracle I asked for, the petition you all signed with your hearts, couldn’t be granted because we had already received it. The miracle was Karlene and the many blessings she brought to each of us.

Today, as we reflect, we need to be thanking God for the blessing that was Karlene. We need to remember the ways that she touched each of our lives. She taught us to keep our families close. She taught us about fighting for your life. She taught us how to make the people we love feel important and cherished. We need to contemplate, remember and incorporate these lessons into our own lives and, in doing so, keep her memory alive and with us always.

One of my best friends lost her cousin to suicide last week. Suicide is something I don’t understand, and I don’t think many people do.

People think you should be able to see something like that coming. See the signs. There had to have been signs, right? But I met this guy, and although I had only met him once, he didn’t seem like the type. I don’t even know if there is a type.

This was a man who was loved. I’ve met his family, and I’m not even in the family and I feel loved. And this all got me thinking about love. Not if he felt loved, but how we express our love.

A lot of people don’t go around telling friends and family that they love them, but they show it. I would like to think that I show the people I love that I love them. I hope they can feel it. But I think it’s also important that they hear it.

One of my favorite things to do is dance. I realize this isn’t the manliest thing to admit. I think there’s even a Dane Cook joke* where he says when you’re out at the clubs, you never hear a buddy go, “Man, I just want to dance!” But sometimes, I just want to dance. There’s that saying that you should dance as if nobody is watching, and that’s what I do. I do my goofy white-boy moves as if nobody is watching — OK, sometimes I show off as if people are watching, because I’ve got some mean white-boy moves.

*For the record, I find Dane Cook not funny, but I guess that one joke is kind of funny. Even Shaq makes a free throw once in a while.

And the reason I love to dance — other than my sweet moves — is because it’s fun. And I really don’t care how goofy I look doing it. I think the less you care and the more you let yourself go, the better dancer you can be.

Writing is similar. I do not have the best grammar or the biggest vocabulary and I don’t expect to be the next Shakespeare. I even had to look up how to spell Shakespeare to make sure I spelled it right (I had left out the final E). But I write from the heart and I try not to hide behind words and I try to write honestly.

I try to live like this too. I really don’t care whether telling my friends I love them is the manly thing to do. I’m kind of a softy and I get sentimental sometimes — all my mom’s fault — but I’m not afraid to show it.

I understand if people don’t like to look goofy. But don’t be afraid to tell people how you feel.

During times of tragedy, we never really know the right thing to say. My friend called me when she found out about her cousin, and of course, I didn’t know what to say. So I listened. And the only thing I could think to say was, “I love you.” And I think that’s all she wanted to hear.

After someone dies, you always hear people saying, “Life is short. We should live each day like it’s our last.” Well, I don’t know if that’s true. If that was the case, I don’t think I would ever go to work.

But if that’s what it takes to get people to share with their friends and family how much they mean to them, then remember, life is short.

And if you just want to dance, then dance.

A friend of mine died a few months ago, and I didn’t take it so well.

Granted, it was just an iPod, but in so many ways, it was more than that. I had spent two years — a century in MP3 player terms — carrying it everywhere I went. At first it was a prized possession, never leaving my protective fingertips. Eventually, though, it joined me in the gym, got tossed into my backpack at the start of class and was generally taken for granted. It joined me for study sessions at the library, kept me company on campus and helped me make it through regular car rides home. I got cocky and started thinking it was built to be handled however I wanted and that it would never cut out. This was my iPod, somehow supreme to others like it and impervious to my 20-something bouts of recklessness.

Of course, there was nothing special about my iPod. It just happened to be my first, a 4^th generation that was pretty nifty at the time. It had 30 gigs of memory, most of which were devoted to music and a handful of photo albums. I gave up Limewire and other illegal downloading services when I got the iPod. Somehow it seemed too dignified for all that. But there was no issue of morality with borrowing a CD here, copying a playlist there. Soon it was full of music I loved but never would have owned (William Shatner), music I hated to admit I had (Dashboard Confessional) and music I’d never admit to loving or having (Spice Girls). My collection was full and dynamic. It was perfect.

And then…it was gone.

It started one day when I turned it on and was met with a completely blank library. It was like I’d opened it for the first time. In a sweat of panic, I reset the iPod and exhaled deeply when I was met with all the familiar songs. I thought I dodged a bullet, but I was denying the inevitability of it all. Countless friends had told me horror stories of dead batteries and broken spinwheels. I told myself that couldn’t happen to me, not to what had become nothing short of a friend. Of course, I was wrong.

When it happened, when it was really all over, I knew it. There was no blank screen this time, just a frowning triangle that told me to visit www.apple.com. Adding to the depression of losing the iPod itself, I was also without most of the music that had once been stored on it. In a cruel twist of technological fate, my equally crappy computer had crashed a few months earlier, robbing me of all the music I had ripped, borrowed and stolen over the previous two years. Sure, there was my CD collection, but that only covered so much ground. It assured me I still had most of my Ben Folds, David Bowie and Counting Crows collections —not to mention the Worst of Weezer (meaning everything after Pinkerton) and no fewer than two Tim McGraw albums.

I went through all the stages of grief.

Denial. Maybe it will kick back on. Maybe if I leave it sitting here on the edge of my desk, give it time to breathe…

It didn’t make sense, but if it did, I couldn’t call it denial, could I?

Anger. Stupid cheap piece of crap. Why would they make something so worthless? Who would buy such a stupid worthless effing piece of…damn it.

I’m not proud of it, but I fantasized about disposing of the hunk of metal in a way that would be both dramatic and suitable. I fought the urge once or twice to toss it out my car window at 65 mph, only because I was afraid I couldn’t properly view its final demise while also keeping my eyes on the road.

Bargaining. If I buy a new one, I’ll start all over. I’ll buy all the music, I’ll back it up and things will be OK again.

Nevermind the fact that some of that music just couldn’t be replaced. I couldn’t even remember what I had.

Depression. I miss you so much. I loved you. You were my best friend.

That last one was a really weird phase.

And finally, there was acceptance. Sort of.

As a last ditch effort, I decided I would crack the back off of my iPod in an effort to replace the battery myself, just in case it would help me at least retrieve the music. It was next to hopeless, but I didn’t have much more to rely on. With the smallest blade on a Swiss Army knife, I dug into the metal casing, and as I pried it up, I heard a click I hadn’t heard in months.

It clicked on. The damn thing clicked on. As if nothing ever happened, the screen came on and I shouted with glee. I hooked it up to the Bose and started charging it, all while frantically handwriting playlists. I shouted again. My friend was back.

The music is all backed up now, temporarily, until I can bring myself to buy a new one. The old one comes with me still, to work, in my backpack and on treadmill runs. There’s nothing more than a small indentation at its base to remind me of the time when I almost lost it — and of course I’m right back to taking it for granted. It is my iPod, after all.

For Veteran’s Day, the Student Council organization at my school sponsored an Open Media Contest. Students submitted artwork, videos or essays answering the question “What does Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness mean to you?” Student Council representatives introduced the question at an assembly last week. When the Student Council President read the “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness” part, it was as if I was no longer standing at YES North Central, but instead, I was standing in front of my eighth grade social studies class, reciting the Preamble to the Declaration of Independence.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal…”

Even in eighth grade, the language of the Preamble impressed me. Words like “Self-evident” were a drug to my nerdy and maladjusted self. When measuring myself against classmates, or against some self-constructed bar of success, I invariably found myself lacking in all physical categories; I had wavy hair, chubby cheeks, huge glasses and an awkward Southern accent while living in a Northern city. But where physical attributes let me down, mental acuity was a bastion of strength. So maybe it was petty to insult stronger, faster, better-looking and better-coordinated boys with words they had never heard of, but sometimes calling one a “narcissistic ignoramus” brought just the right amount of cheer to my life.

“that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and pursuit of Happiness…”

While I delighted in the sophisticated wording and the carefully-crafted arguments of the Preamble, my summary of its meaning fell somewhere between “Eff you King George” and “Eff you King George, this is our RIGHT.” The greater implications of the document were lost on me.

“That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”

The whole idea of idea of unalienable rights, of human dignity, was just not a concept that I had much experience with. The Education System was slowly working on reshaping my mind into a useful tool with respect to science and math and reading and writing, but in terms of understanding people, in terms of empathy, my progression was, well, slow.

“That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute a new Government…”

In ninth grade we read Lord of the Flies. I thought that book was so cool. I think I said “Sucks to your asthmar” practically a thousand times that year. It was almost as good as “That’s what she said,” just without the sexual overtones. That book was the genesis of my Empathy Movement. Talking about “Man’s inhumanity to Man,” especially with children as the main actors, forced me into cognitive dissonance. I suddenly was aware of heartache and suffering and abuse and sadness on a large scale, but I was not doing anything about it. In fact, since I was telling people they had a “malformed frontal lobe” I was contributing to the suffering and sadness, even if just by a little bit.

“laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.”

In 12th grade I worked toward my Boy Scout Eagle Award by organizing the construction of a gazebo at a nursing home. I managed other Boy Scouts; some were friends of mine; others were just screw-ups. I treated all of my helpers judiciously, even the boy whose claim to fame was peeing on his own shoulder during a camping trip. Even though I wanted to punch him in the face the entire time he was helping, I didn’t. The Empathy was building.

“Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes;”

In college, I volunteered at this organization called Love, INC. The organization consisted of one guy and something like five volunteers. We acted as a go-between for people in need and local churches. People would call and ask for help, and we would give them information so that they could help themselves through organizations like HUD. If they still needed help then we would call churches to try to raise support. There were a surprising number of families that could not afford to pay their water bills or rent, but could shell out $80 per month to get basic cable with HBO. I connected these people with churches and organizations, and always made a point to highlight the savings possible from eliminating the TV.

“and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.”

Now, I teach. I make students re-ask questions to include “May I…” and “please?” I greet my students with a smile and a handshake, even on the days that I did not get enough sleep. I congratulate them on their success, and challenge and support them in their failure.

“But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.”

Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness? What does that mean to me? To me, it means that I am able to provide future security to others. Security to grow and develop and walk the long road to self-awareness. This is the road that I am walking right now.

Unless you’re confident and well-adjusted, you probably cringe when you necessitate the phrase “YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT?!”

I’m no exception. As someone who wants desperately to be seen as sharp and intelligent, I cringe when, for example, I’m coming up to a word I don’t know how to pronounce (e.g., “eschew”). I also eschew conversations that would require me to know geography, history or politics, or keep the heat off by asking a lot of questions. I embarrass myself frequently, the kind that is stabbing shards of humiliation, as well as the one that burns slowly, and worsens with recollection. The embarrassment of not knowing something that everybody else knows can be both kinds of embarrassing, depending on how widespread the fact is.

However, in doing research for this piece (which meant bringing it up to three co-workers the day before I wrote it), I learned that everyone has these obvious pieces of common knowledge that somehow escape them for years — or decades. One co-worker told of a sister who thought Washington, D.C., was in a foreign county until she was 16.

So, in the interest in humility and making you feel smart, below is a list of way obvious things I didn’t know, along with the situation in which I learned them. They are in no particular order.

1. No Woman No Cry.

I didn’t know of the song No Woman No Cry until I was 21 or 22. This, despite: Many of my high school friends were instrument-playing, concert-attending music buffs. One, who drove me everywhere for like a year, had a car littered with CDs and guitar tabs printed off the Internet. My friend Erika taught herself how to play guitar and piano and had rabid music fanaticism spanning Korn, Matchbox 20 and the instrumental soundtrack to Titanic. Three of my three boyfriends were passionate about music and all taught me music stuff — the second could play guitar, bass, piano, most percussion instruments, and sing and write too. All this, and somehow didn’t know about No Woman No Cry until it came up on Boyfriend No. 3’s iPod in the car one day.

2. Bob Ross.

I didn’t know who the PBS painter with the ‘fro was until I was 20. Boyfriend No. 2 was responsible for that earth-shattering discovery. He mentioned Bob. I said, “Who?” and I think his first response was, “Bob Ross! You know, ‘We’ll put in a happy little tree, yes, there we go, what a happy little tree.’ ” The Bob Ross thing never fails to elicit a shocked “YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT?!”. It’s like a pathetic party trick. It can be explained by me almost never watching television as a child, a fact that could make this list endless.

3. Area rug.

The scene: Sophomore year of college, waiting for class to start, doing a crossword puzzle. The players: Me and my roommate Casey. I needed a 7-letter word for something like “it covers part of the floor,” and the fourth letter was A. Casey looked at me like I was an idiot. “Area rug,” she said. “Huh? Never heard of it.” I knew of areas, and I knew of rugs, but I didn’t know there was a breed of rug with the distinguishing “area.” Casey was appalled. I still think it’s stupid. What, “area” rug as opposed to perimeter rug?

4. That move from the Thriller music video (where you hold your arms to the side, one higher than the other, hands in claws).

OK, the “no TV” explains this one too — but seriously, it is probably the most famous music video of all time; you’d think it would have come up. Boyfriend No. 2 is responsible for this discovery too. We had one super awesome MJ All-Day bash wherein he taught me the basics, we watched the videos online (that day I also saw Black or White and Billie Jean videos for the first time) and ran a bunch of errands blaring the greatest hits. It was a really great day, one of the more gentle ways I learned something everybody else already knew.

5. The pronunciation of “daschund.”

I was nearly 23 when I learned that one. I talking about a roommate I found on Craigslist. “She’s my age, she has a real job and a fiance and apparently she’s way into her dash-hund.” My sister Niki caught this one and howled. “DASH-HUNNNNNND?!” Pet fan I ain’t, but still — how do you go nearly 23 years and not observe the correct pronunciation of the technical name for weiner dogs? Weiner dogs! Niki still texts me whenever she sees a dox-in.

In the interest of your time and TOD’s space, perhaps I’ll save for another day “How I Realized I Totally Had the Wrong Idea of What ‘Foreskin’ Means” and “When I Discovered the Internet in 2002.” In the meantime — beat that.