I love the fall–it seems to be teasing me these days. In less than a week it we be here. The summer is stubborn and won’t give in to the cooler weather that I am longing for. As the air gets crisper and the grass and leaves start to lose moisture, the sun takes on a more orange hue. You can look right into it’s face during autumn as opposed to the summer sun, where your eyes seem to melt with the quickest glance.

Music, like smell, can jar memories and create soundtracks for reflection. Some songs have a distinct fall character. Fall songs have a more somber feel. It is at this time of year that I, as younger person, made the evaluation whether or not my summer (and life) was successful. It always meant that I had to wait for another year to get that chance for the girl, or the car, or the guitar. Today, as the summer is coming to an end, I make the customary evaluation and feel blessed and thankful that I have seen my greatest dreams fulfilled.

The comedian Kevin Nealon expresses my state-of-mind best when discussing one of his favorite songs, Life In A Northern Town. “There’s something about this song that evokes memories of my travels through Europe in my early twenties, finding my way and making new friends. In a weird way, it has to do with the position of the sun…I know, crazy.”

Lord, help us! I just saw a photo montage on a popular website that had the heading: When Movie Stars Lose Their Looks. Clicking through the pictures, I realized that I was older than many of the stars on the list. Brenda says women have always been aware that, when in public, someone is always watching and, God forbid, may be wielding a camera. So, as she asserts, if you don’t wanna get caught looking like a frump, go out in public with your makeup on.

I have been known to drag the trash cans to the curb in my pajamas. There is something acceptable about it (to me anyway…). I make it a rule, though, to never drive my car in night clothes because wearing them beyond the front yard is “trailer park” in my rule book. I am always amused to see ladies with curlers bouncing and slippers scraping the floor when I go to the store. Where does their radius of concern begin: 5 miles from home; 10 miles? I mean, how far into the public do some folks wander before they see the need to put on actual clothes?

Looking at the star photos, I am elated. Without makeup, fancy clothes and Photoshop, these people look pretty average. Some of these high-profile fame junkies need a rest, too. They think a big floppy hat and Jackie O sunglasses hide the real deal–giving them a few seconds out of their 15 minutes of fame to look skanky. Even if they try with all their might, their hands will tell the truth. It is tough to hide our real age from that part of our bodies (I like to look for women with the proverbial, Seinfeld-labeled “man hands.” You can pull your face back over your skull and tie it in a knot with plastic surgery, but it’s hard to fake youth when reality is right there, staring at you, on the top-side your weathered hands.)

There, I have vented this morning’s frustration. I am glad to know that to be human is to be imperfect. We all have blemishes–some more than others. It’s comforting to know that some of the most glamorous movie stars, away from all the smoke and mirrors, haven’t actually lost their looks, they just look their age.

A box was leaning against my front door the other day. It was a UPS delivery, reminding me that, even though I thought I was the unlucky Harvill brother, maybe my fortunes have turned.

When we were kids, Rob, Jon and I spent a few Saturdays at the Fox Fullerton theater, watching matinees. On one particular Saturday, dad drove us downtown to the theater to see a series of cartoon features. We were encouraged to put our names in for several prizes to be given away that afternoon. When we left the theater after the festivities ended, both Jon and Rob exited with toys under their arms. Unfortunately, I left empty-handed. It’s silly, but I think I took that experience with me into adulthood. I felt rejection, in a way, that day. A time or two since, I considered bad luck was the reason for not getting what I desired.

A few weeks ago, I was checking out a website dedicated to 70’s classic rock artists. On a side panel, I noticed an invitation to enter a drawing for a free electric guitar. The only requirement was to leave an email address and answer a seemingly simple classic rock trivia question about the singer, Meatloaf. The guitar was to be autographed by him. It was so easy–I thought it was a joke (everyone has seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show at a midnight showing as a teenager, right?).

I was surprised to receive an email a few weeks later stating that I answered the question correctly (I already knew that!), and then requested I confirm my address so they could ship me the Fender electric guitar I won. Quickly, my doubts kicked in and I thought this must be a scam. I realized after a quick visit back to the website that I wasn’t being hustled, and proceeded to confirm my address to procure my winnings. I kind of forgot about it all until Brenda saw the box at the door. I knew it was the Strat, sitting there waiting for me!

Even though the guitar isn’t worth very much, autograph notwithstanding, I received a wink from heaven that brought warmth to my heart. The Lord was letting me know that luck doesn’t exist. He reminded me that His goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life–that I am a blessed man. Just look at the proof in my life that God has given me so much. He was telling me that day, “Enjoy, Jamie!”

After I moved away from my hometown back in 1980, the memories slowly faded over the years into romantic watercolor pictures, replacing many of the stark realities that drew me away from there. Though I love my life in Tennessee, I have a fondness for my Orange County upbringing. There is a group on Facebook I visit every so often called Fullerton Memories. I can search for information there about my hometown, reading idyllic posts of others who once called it home. As an adult, things seem smaller than they did as a kid. Everything seemed so much bigger then. Sometimes our adult eyes spoil the charm of our recollections. Still, there are bigger-than-life memories that never change. We had this drive-thru grocery store, not even a quarter-mile from my home. To visit there was a treat, and a wonderful adventure for a kid like me.

Rockview Dairy was a staple for those too lazy to actually get out of the car for milk, bread or cigarettes. The idea was novel and basically preceded the burger eat-on-the-run phenomenon we take for granted today. The Rockview guy would greet you from the driver-side door at the opening of the enclosed breezeway to take your order. On the passenger-side you could watch the workers through a window filling clear glass bottles with milk, held neatly together in quads by metal wire carriers (The dairy also made deliveries to homes–but for some reason, the Harvills always journeyed out to procure our dairy needs). After the items were gathered, the bell on the manual cash register signaled the final heat of the adventure. After cash and coin were exchanged, we headed out of the breezeway, into the sun. On days when dad took us to the beach, leaving mom to a quiet house, we drove through Rockview for a gallon of their delectable fruit punch and a pound of frosted animal cookies.

One day, several years ago, I took a trip to visit my old neighborhood. As I drove down Orangethorpe, I noticed something missing on the left side of the street, across from where Owl Rexall used to be. I realized that Rockview Dairy was a vacant lot. It was gone…and nobody asked for my permission to tear it down. I guess some new project was more important to the property owner than the dairy. I will miss that old place. The concept of drive-thru grocery shopping still seems cutting edge to me. Maybe someone will resurrect the idea, serve the lazy masses, and create wonder in the eyes of children from a new generation.

Rockview Dairy on Orangethorpe in Fullerton, CA.
This photo was the last time I saw it in 2000.

Sometimes life brings on challenges that are not easily understood. We go back through the check list and try to find something that we left undone, causing the situation we are in. Other times, life can throw a sucker punch, leaving us reeling and trying to regain balance. In any event, life can overwhelm us to the point of despair. Sometimes we don’t always know how to respond with grace. Brenda and I, when confronted with certain things that come down the pike, look at each other and usually say, “What would ______ do?” Our response to difficulties show what we are really made of.

The standard “fill in the blank” would be, as you might guess, Jesus. But not always. Sometimes it is someone who we admire–an imperfect human who has shown grace under fire. Their response to an accusation or a difficult situation exposed an inward calm and class that turned adversity into a display of courage and private dignity. In this age of Jerry Springer, and the myriad of characters who insist on displaying their dirty laundry for the world to see, there seems to be a decreasing measure of propriety when responding to a hostile world. In Proverbs 17:28, the Bible says, “Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he holds his tongue.” The folks who show restraint are the ones I admire.

A few of the greatest examples of character from recent history for me to emulate are Jacqueline Kennedy, Coretta Scott King, Rev. Billy Graham and Ronald Reagan. In the case of Graham, I have watched his responses to sharp religious criticism on TV interviews with the dexterity of a well-trained athlete. We may not agree with everything these people have said or done, but one thing is clear: they have all displayed a sense of refinement when the glaring spotlight was upon them. The reason that I’m such an avid reader of history is so I can glean wisdom from lives well lived. We may get off the starting block a little shaky, but the important thing is that, in the end, we triumph.