It was an early Sunday morning. Jennifer and I had taken a few days to escape to the mountains. Before we knew it, time had raced by and now it was time to head toward home. On this Sunday, we had an hour and a half ride ahead of us before we reached the church where my Mom attends as we had planned to stop and spend some time with family before making the last part of the trip back home.
The towns and communities we drove through are rather familiar to me as I have passed through them for most of my life having grown up a few counties to the west. We drove through small towns, some with names derived from the Native Americans who once ruled the area, and communities, some seemingly no larger than the two or three houses your eye sees but no doubt have become endeared in the hearts of some who know the place as deeply and firmly as their first true love. Since I have seen these places many times before, the scenery is not that new to me although it is still spectacular at times. On this Sunday, things seemed different.
Autumn fog clung to the trees on the mountains temporarily veiling the kaleidoscope of colors the rain and cooler weather is producing. The morning sun chased us westward toward our destination and began to cut through the mist on the mountains to reveal a gorgeous, crisp fall morning. As the vapor lifted even more, a grander picture of mountains sitting in the distance seemingly stacked against one another came into view. The low hum of a CD set a steady rhythm in the background as the miles clicked away. The car’s heater provided enough warmth along with the rays of sunshine to keep the two of us toasty on our trip. Although I have traveled these roads many times before I sensed there was something slightly different about the journey on this day.
Most likely it all felt so different because this was a Sunday morning. The road was less cluttered with traffic but the times I have been on this road through these towns have mostly been during the week or late on a weekend. That was partly the reason things felt different on this day. The other thing that struck me was how unrushed the whole world seemed on the drive. It just seemed as if everything was less anxious, less uptight, more calm, more reasonable. It wasn’t just those things the senses could experience that felt that way then but that feeling just seemed to extend to the whole world at large at that moment. Those out traveling around didn’t seem to be in such a rush. It all seemed to make me think this is really how it is here when so many of the things that bear down and beat you down every day are stripped away for a time.
I felt if I slowed down enough or even stopped and began looking around I suspected I could locate a couple of good old boys hitching up a flat-bottomed boat to a beat-up old pick-up as a day of fishing and tall tales were just ahead for them. I imagined an older lady peeking out her window with the smell of coffee percolating in the next room as she pulled her shades open before sitting down to open her well-worn King James Bible, taped at the spine after years of correction and reflection, to begin her day. I visualized an older man, decked out in a ragged flannel shirt, faded denim jeans, old work boots and a frayed cap from a local auto parts dealer tossing out scratch to his chickens as a floppy-eared hound watched from a distance.
Knowing that a return to the usual hubbub of life’s routine waited in the week ahead, it made me want to stop the world at that instant. I wanted to find a front porch surrounded by enough trees so that small slivers of sunshine slid through onto the wooden planks beneath my feet while the leaves quietly rustled in the breeze. Our car though rolled westward toward our destination, toward the return of our day-to-day world as a Sunday morning came down.
10.28.2009
10.21.2009
The Steps
Few things seem to last. You know this is true once you buy a house. If you are a homeowner you know all too well how quickly you can begin to feel that the house you bought, the place where you plan to plant roots, make memories and live until someone plots your move to some facility where prune jello and warm milk are the soup of the day is nothing more than a place to shovel whatever money you might, or might not, have. Some days this is truly how I feel, despite all the good things that home buying brings.
I suppose this feeling deepens when I realize I am no handyman. It's the house exterior or the dishwasher or the toilet or the yard or the carpet or the heating system or dozens of other things that sooner or later bend, break, give up or die. There are some things I can handle without much problem but other things tend to crop up that baffle me, other things appear that terrorize me and still other things emerge that seem to live to taunt me in regards to the upkeep of a house. Top my ineptitude off with the fact that spending money to fix the problem gets thrown in the equation and you have a recipe for certain indigestion.
Ultimately, things have to be fixed despite my own incompetence and my own frugality.
A few months back, Jennifer almost took a tumble down our front steps. Well, okay, tumble sounds dramatic and life-threatening. I suppose if I were part of the news media these days, I would choose the word “tumble” to describe the fact that the front part of the bottom step, two inches from the ground, finally gave way. The step and it’s co-horts had been beginning to fade for some time prior to this fateful day. My attempts at nailing the boards back down and praying and hoping that my effort in preserving those steps a little longer would be enough to be make it all better came to a grinding stop that day. So, I began to ponder what I should do regarding the steps. And for a few weeks our front steps stood damaged but still usable.
As I pondered, Mom and Dad came to town. Before the day was over the steps were almost replaced totally with Dad taking charge of the project at hand. As we worked our way through the task the thought came into my head that I might have been able to have done this job by myself after all. Maybe. Maybe not. I’m glad I didn’t attempt it though. I would have missed the time I spent with Dad. Yes, maybe I could have replaced the steps without his help but I would have missed the teamwork, the jokes, the little hints here and there about how to tackle and defeat such a chore. I would have missed the little things I see in him that I sometimes see reflected in me, the slow yet steady pace that drives some people crazy, the slight hesitation before pounding a nail into the wood just so you can measure one last time how close to hold the nail without placing your fingers in too much danger and even something as simple as recognizing the sound I make when I clear my throat sounds just like him when he clears his throat.
Today marks my Dad’s birthday. As I grow older I find myself continually amazed at how he quietly serves as the rock of our family. I stand in wonder as stray dogs and cats follow him around as if he were a long lost friend. I smile remembering the nicknames he gave every grandchild. I marvel at how his great-grandchildren always want to be near him, how they reach out their arms for him when their eyes lock in on him from across the room. I nervously chuckle at his stubbornness because that is an inherited trait that hits a little close to home. I smile thinking about times watching him laugh so hard he could barely catch his breath and thinking how I always want to be able to remember that happy moment. I am touched knowing how he looks after Mom as her health slowly becomes a battle they will have to wage together. I am amazed that he still plants and tends a garden every summer. I am terrified knowing his eyesight is not what it once was and worry what will happen if it fades away more than what it already has. Today, I am glad we built a set of steps together.
There are so many memories I could relate at this moment. Some things though I like to hold near and hang on to a little longer. I do wonder though if one day in the future, way, way, way in the future, if I will be sitting on the front porch of this very house, where my roots are now planted and where new memories are being made, waiting for some folks in some medical coats to come to carry me down the road to a new residence. And as they tell me about the shuffleboard games and the tantalizing evening meal of strained carrots and unsweetened tea that await me I can imagine interrupting them to tell them to take it easy as they haul me down the steps because me and my Dad built them a long time ago. And we built them to last.
Happy birthday, Dad. And many, many more.
I suppose this feeling deepens when I realize I am no handyman. It's the house exterior or the dishwasher or the toilet or the yard or the carpet or the heating system or dozens of other things that sooner or later bend, break, give up or die. There are some things I can handle without much problem but other things tend to crop up that baffle me, other things appear that terrorize me and still other things emerge that seem to live to taunt me in regards to the upkeep of a house. Top my ineptitude off with the fact that spending money to fix the problem gets thrown in the equation and you have a recipe for certain indigestion.
Ultimately, things have to be fixed despite my own incompetence and my own frugality.
A few months back, Jennifer almost took a tumble down our front steps. Well, okay, tumble sounds dramatic and life-threatening. I suppose if I were part of the news media these days, I would choose the word “tumble” to describe the fact that the front part of the bottom step, two inches from the ground, finally gave way. The step and it’s co-horts had been beginning to fade for some time prior to this fateful day. My attempts at nailing the boards back down and praying and hoping that my effort in preserving those steps a little longer would be enough to be make it all better came to a grinding stop that day. So, I began to ponder what I should do regarding the steps. And for a few weeks our front steps stood damaged but still usable.
As I pondered, Mom and Dad came to town. Before the day was over the steps were almost replaced totally with Dad taking charge of the project at hand. As we worked our way through the task the thought came into my head that I might have been able to have done this job by myself after all. Maybe. Maybe not. I’m glad I didn’t attempt it though. I would have missed the time I spent with Dad. Yes, maybe I could have replaced the steps without his help but I would have missed the teamwork, the jokes, the little hints here and there about how to tackle and defeat such a chore. I would have missed the little things I see in him that I sometimes see reflected in me, the slow yet steady pace that drives some people crazy, the slight hesitation before pounding a nail into the wood just so you can measure one last time how close to hold the nail without placing your fingers in too much danger and even something as simple as recognizing the sound I make when I clear my throat sounds just like him when he clears his throat.
Today marks my Dad’s birthday. As I grow older I find myself continually amazed at how he quietly serves as the rock of our family. I stand in wonder as stray dogs and cats follow him around as if he were a long lost friend. I smile remembering the nicknames he gave every grandchild. I marvel at how his great-grandchildren always want to be near him, how they reach out their arms for him when their eyes lock in on him from across the room. I nervously chuckle at his stubbornness because that is an inherited trait that hits a little close to home. I smile thinking about times watching him laugh so hard he could barely catch his breath and thinking how I always want to be able to remember that happy moment. I am touched knowing how he looks after Mom as her health slowly becomes a battle they will have to wage together. I am amazed that he still plants and tends a garden every summer. I am terrified knowing his eyesight is not what it once was and worry what will happen if it fades away more than what it already has. Today, I am glad we built a set of steps together.
There are so many memories I could relate at this moment. Some things though I like to hold near and hang on to a little longer. I do wonder though if one day in the future, way, way, way in the future, if I will be sitting on the front porch of this very house, where my roots are now planted and where new memories are being made, waiting for some folks in some medical coats to come to carry me down the road to a new residence. And as they tell me about the shuffleboard games and the tantalizing evening meal of strained carrots and unsweetened tea that await me I can imagine interrupting them to tell them to take it easy as they haul me down the steps because me and my Dad built them a long time ago. And we built them to last.
Happy birthday, Dad. And many, many more.
10.07.2009
October 2009: Chicken Fingers For The Soul or Random Thoughts Floating Through My Mind Like High Puffy Clouds On A Clear Day
Random thoughts from today:
I took a short van ride this morning with a giant black Great Dane. The dog struggled to get his big body into a spot not inhabited by others. His face was accented by the graying hair on his chin. When I looked into the dog’s eyes he looked back the way an old friend looks back at you after having not seen you for a long time. I now wish that ride had lasted just a little longer.
My car radio presets get a good workout some days. This morning as I traveled to work and played radio station roulette, I landed on a “classic” country music station playing the 1970s Crystal Gayle hit, “You Never Miss A Real Good Thing”. Now that song is stuck in my mind. It's made me wonder if I underestimated the music of Crystal Gayle. Of course, the irony of it all is not lost on me...if I did not appreciate her music before then I did miss a real good thing.
I recently saw a young woman with a low cut top. It was one of those tops with strings that tie on the top of the shoulders. After she walked by I noticed on her left shoulder was a tattoo. The tattoo was a barcode. I know there are some things you cannot put a price on but I guess there are some things folks do try to put a price on, I just never expected it to be the left shoulder of a young woman.
I also recently saw an older woman, probably in her mid or late fifties. She was wearing a shirt with the word “Flirt” on it. I just hope this wasn’t a gift from her grandkids. And if it was, Granny, you didn’t have to wear it outside the house and you should have held out for a "World's Greatest Grandma" shirt.
Who designs the parking lots in larger shopping complexes? Do they ever return and park in these places? And why can’t some people learn to drive in parking lots, you know between the rows and up and down the correct way in the rows? And when some folks stop driving around the parking lot why can’t they park correctly, you know in between the two lines evenly?
If an atheist takes God's name in vain does that make him a hypocrite?
One of the best dinners I had recently was splitting a Subway sandwich with my wife while we sat side by side at a picnic table overlooking the river. The sun eased behind a bridge then lowered itself behind a mountain in the distance while we caught up on the day's events. The food was okay but the setting, the company and the timing was perfect.
Why do I have five name tags on my desk at work?
Isn't it amazing how some of the nicest automobiles apparently do not come equipped with turn signals?
I often walk around seemingly lost in my own thoughts. It used to be so nice because it seemed I wasn't alone in that habit. Now though I don’t get to do that very often as most people walk around with a cell phone stuck to their ear detailing their lives to some poor soul on the other end of the phone line. Of course they are loud enough so that anyone close enough can hear most of what is said. I do find some comfort in this phenomenon because from what I am able to determine by hearing one side of these calls, most people lead very uninteresting lives.
I am amazed that the button I spent 45 minutes sewing back on to a pair of my pants one recent Saturday morning is still attached to the thread and the pants. Now if I can just work up the courage to wear the pants somewhere.
Crayola does a great job with their colors. Still, they cannot match the blue of a clear sky in October.
I took a short van ride this morning with a giant black Great Dane. The dog struggled to get his big body into a spot not inhabited by others. His face was accented by the graying hair on his chin. When I looked into the dog’s eyes he looked back the way an old friend looks back at you after having not seen you for a long time. I now wish that ride had lasted just a little longer.
My car radio presets get a good workout some days. This morning as I traveled to work and played radio station roulette, I landed on a “classic” country music station playing the 1970s Crystal Gayle hit, “You Never Miss A Real Good Thing”. Now that song is stuck in my mind. It's made me wonder if I underestimated the music of Crystal Gayle. Of course, the irony of it all is not lost on me...if I did not appreciate her music before then I did miss a real good thing.
I recently saw a young woman with a low cut top. It was one of those tops with strings that tie on the top of the shoulders. After she walked by I noticed on her left shoulder was a tattoo. The tattoo was a barcode. I know there are some things you cannot put a price on but I guess there are some things folks do try to put a price on, I just never expected it to be the left shoulder of a young woman.
I also recently saw an older woman, probably in her mid or late fifties. She was wearing a shirt with the word “Flirt” on it. I just hope this wasn’t a gift from her grandkids. And if it was, Granny, you didn’t have to wear it outside the house and you should have held out for a "World's Greatest Grandma" shirt.
Who designs the parking lots in larger shopping complexes? Do they ever return and park in these places? And why can’t some people learn to drive in parking lots, you know between the rows and up and down the correct way in the rows? And when some folks stop driving around the parking lot why can’t they park correctly, you know in between the two lines evenly?
If an atheist takes God's name in vain does that make him a hypocrite?
One of the best dinners I had recently was splitting a Subway sandwich with my wife while we sat side by side at a picnic table overlooking the river. The sun eased behind a bridge then lowered itself behind a mountain in the distance while we caught up on the day's events. The food was okay but the setting, the company and the timing was perfect.
Why do I have five name tags on my desk at work?
Isn't it amazing how some of the nicest automobiles apparently do not come equipped with turn signals?
I often walk around seemingly lost in my own thoughts. It used to be so nice because it seemed I wasn't alone in that habit. Now though I don’t get to do that very often as most people walk around with a cell phone stuck to their ear detailing their lives to some poor soul on the other end of the phone line. Of course they are loud enough so that anyone close enough can hear most of what is said. I do find some comfort in this phenomenon because from what I am able to determine by hearing one side of these calls, most people lead very uninteresting lives.
I am amazed that the button I spent 45 minutes sewing back on to a pair of my pants one recent Saturday morning is still attached to the thread and the pants. Now if I can just work up the courage to wear the pants somewhere.
Crayola does a great job with their colors. Still, they cannot match the blue of a clear sky in October.
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