Oh! Christmas Tree

‘Tis the season again, proving how time flies. It sure seems it was yesterday when I was pondering what to write about the holiday season. Of course, that was a year ago. But, alas, here we are again. In a year that has been upside-down and sideways, one size too large and one size too small at the same time, it is good to know how some things have not changed.

Last year in this season at our house we were in the middle of a renovation. Our dining room and deck were gone then. A skeleton of what they would become was taking form. Still, we forged ahead with our family traditions. We did what we normally did knowing the work ahead on our house would be finished soon.

Almost as soon as the renovation was completed, everything across our country closed. The virus visited our shores. Our leaders told us to wash our hands and put on masks to flatten a curve. Our instincts told us to buy toilet paper.

For me, I went from working from my office in a second-floor brick building a half-hour commute away to working from our dining room table, mere steps from the kitchen. It all happened so suddenly. My work was more challenging in some ways. Life, overall, was a bit more stressful than normal. To add to the workload, Hannah’s school finished the year remotely as well. Her summer camp was then canceled. Fortunately, Jennifer’s work scheduled continued mostly as it had before. We ended up with this different schedule for months. It was busy here every day. It seemed as if every moment was filled.

To add to all this, we could not get away for a break since travel was limited. This has meant we have seen little of my family in the past year. We have seen less of friends also. It is aggravating and disheartening to think about all the time lost in that regard. It is true we can now connect in many amazing and different ways; those ways though will never be the same as a hug from your mom or soaking in advice from your dad.

Hannah’s school opened again in August. I returned to my physical office in September. Jennifer continued her work routine as she had all along. In the new madness we learned to live through, it was good to know her schedule stayed steady as it seemed to provide an anchor so we didn’t drift too far from who we are as a family.

While the uncertainty of this virus caused changes to ripple into every day of our lives, a constant for us was gathering around our dining room table each night. It was good to have this. More than before, this time became more needed, more special. It became a time that allowed us to leave behind worries about viruses, vaccines, work-work, schoolwork, and the other concerns that creep into everyday living. Because of the different nature of this year though I think it caused a different focus at times. The changes came about so fast and so hard it was difficult to appreciate the remodeled surroundings.

This remodel project hit at the heart of who we are as a family. When we initially looked at this house, I am convinced Jennifer’s eyes lit up when we walked into that old dining area. The room featured three walls of huge windows. Our first visit was on a warm October day. The trees in the woods behind the house were changing colors. One of those windows was open allowing a breeze to pass through. It was all like a snapshot in a memory book. I am not saying that was the reason we bought this house, but I am satisfied it helped convince Jennifer that this is where we would settle. So, changing that room was a major thing.

Of course, when you live in a particular house for many years, you learn how some things just do not work out the way you thought they would initially. When we used the dining room on cold days, it was very cold. On summer afternoons, the old air-conditioning unit could not produce enough cool air to make a dent in the heat from the sunshine through the sixteen giant windows and two mostly glass doors. Then the roof leaked. I patched it. I had roofing experts patch it.  Still, heavy rain would fall and invariably leak onto the furniture.  We became fearful the roof would eventually just collapse.

And so, just after Thanksgiving 2019, this remodel started for us. We knew then we would not have the use of part of our house for a few months. That was okay though. We sacrificed that time understanding we would have a more useful house for the years ahead.

With all the craziness this year has brought, it has been hard to appreciate and enjoy these renovations. All the chaos just allowed us to do what we had to do and did not necessarily let us sit back, kick up our heels, and appreciate the changes.

Still, we have tried to maintain as many of the routine things as possible, so we don’t lose track of everything we once knew. One of those things is how we decorate for Christmas. We usually do this the Friday or Saturday after Thanksgiving. We were able to do this as a family again this year. I stretch out the multi-colored lightbulbs along our porch railing. I hang the strands of twinkling snowflakes from our porch overhang. I locate then connect power strips and extension cords to a timer that somehow magically illuminates the front of our house. While I do this, Jennifer and Hannah decorate the Christmas tree, then place the stockings on the fireplace mantle and add seasonal cheer in the form of various ornaments and charms throughout the house. By the time the day turned dark, our house slowly began to glow with Christmas lights inside and out.

We did vary one Christmas decorating tradition this year. Instead of placing the Christmas tree in our living room, we placed it in the dining room. It made sense. We have a bit more room there. We would not have to rearrange various pieces of furniture in the living room as we do every year.

Looking back I realize I have spent more time in our house this year day-to-day than any other year that we have lived here. Because of this, I now understand how I sometimes fail to see the obvious. For instance, recently we came home from a short adventure. It was raining this day. My first instinct was to walk into the dining room to see if the roof had a new leak. About a step into the room, I realized since the renovation I no longer need to be concerned with that.

More importantly, though, I thought about the changes in the past year late one night. Jennifer and Hannah had both gone to bed. I went through the house making sure doors were locked and lights were turned off. I stepped into the kitchen then looked ahead into the dining room. There, in a silhouette against our new windows between the dining room table and our new green couch, stood our illuminated Christmas tree.

It is the same tree we have had for years. Most of the decorations are ones we have accumulated over the years. The location of the tree was different. The room where it stood had changed from our other years here.

I stopped though for a moment. In the darkness, the tree looked remarkable. The new surroundings gave the tree a fresh backdrop in which to shine. For a moment, I thought about all the changes not just in this room but in life over the past year. I realized how blessed I am in ways I sometimes overlook.

‘Tis the season for sure, a season to reflect on the past but also a time to trust better days are ahead. I hope each of us can find and appreciate the good stuff in life.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Four Words of Annoyance

There are so many voices out there now. Yes, that is a good thing, in some respects. Of course, if everyone talks at the same time it can mean that no one is listening. Maybe one day we can get it all to work better than we do now.

Even with all that, our nine-year-old can do some talking. When she finds focus, she can tell a good yarn. We love to hear her retell something she finds funny as we sit together at our table each night for supper. Sometimes she surprises us by using words we think are a bit bigger than we thought her vocabulary to be. Maybe, at times, she uses some words without really knowing the meaning of the word. I can live with that. I know plenty of adults who do the same.

We have noticed this talky aspect of her personality comes with one annoyance. No, the voice she uses to tell us things is fine. It is the voice of an angel to us. It isn’t when she gets excited telling the story and leaves out a part by accident. We find that endearing.

The annoyance is the phrase “I beg to differ”. This comes about daily. It comes about often. It could be something as simple, ahem, as third grade math. One of us could be explaining the concept of ‘less than, greater than or equal to’ to her in order to complete homework. The idea that if the numbers being looked at aren’t the same then the symbol to use to answer the question means the larger number points to the smaller number can be met with “I beg to differ”. Sometimes this manifests itself without the “I beg to differ” phrase but shows up in other ways just the same. She can ask a question. One of us can provide an answer. That answer is met with the declaration of another answer from her leaving us puzzled as to why she even asked if she already knew the answer.

It can be maddening to know every answer we supply to her has a high probability to be parried back at us with her favorite four word phrase, ‘I beg to differ’. It is tough in so many ways to raise a child in today’s world. It can be even tougher when the child you are trying to raise has a wide stubborn streak by default.

Some will say it will work itself out in time. They may even toss out the old ‘it takes a village’ mantra. Yes, I believe there are others in her life outside of me and her mom who matter now and will matter immeasurably in the future, but have you taken a long hard look at the village, y’all? Ain’t none of them going to love and care for her the way we do and will. So, we just add this to the list of things we work through as a family unit.

We try to locate the bright side in matters that can be difficult. We believe there is a silver lining in it all. As frustrating as this can be we thank God for her tenacity, as obstinate as we sometimes feel it is. After all, I know as she grows, she will be right in the middle of things tossing her voice into the fray along with everyone else who has been told whatever they say needs to be heard. I see a time when others will have her ear when it comes to so many other things. I like to think then when some suggestion with not the best motives comes up that mulishness rears it’s then pretty little head to say ‘I beg to differ’.

Finding Thanks

It is getting so late in the year we can almost stretch out our arms and pull the next year up to us close and tight. What a year this one has been, huh? After all, I never thought I would ever walk into a bank with a mask on but I did several times this year. It’s been one for the books, and one, many of us would just as soon forget. Still, it’s Thanksgiving, and the year ain’t over yet.

It seems as if the year could be encapsulated in a scene from an old Thanksgiving episode of WKRP in Cincinnati. You probably have seen it but I will cut to the chase, turkeys, when tossed out of a helicopter, cannot fly. Here, see for yourselves.

I don’t know but 2020 seems like we all were employees of WKRP. I suppose that is better than being one of the turkeys.

While we near the end of the year, I hope you take some time to laugh. It is good medicine. If you can, spend some time with family. Bonus points if you can share a meal with them. Put down your phone. Facebook can wait. Twitter is a cesspool. Don’t be distracted by the façade social media projects. Take some time to be quiet and just reflect. Breathe in, exhale.

I hope when you take some time that you find people and things for which you are thankful. They are there if you choose to look. By the way, being thankful is something you determine each day. If you cannot find anything to be grateful for, then do something good for someone else, so they can be grateful for you.

Happy Thanksgiving. God bless us all.

And now we thank you, our God, and praise your glorious name. ~1 Chronicles 29:13

Road Trip: College Visits

Writing about various road trips I have experienced through the years has been an interesting journey. Several of these trips came to memory easily. Sometimes though the memory of one or two of them creeps in that had nearly slipped away.

As I get older, I find myself growing more nostalgic about days gone by. Those days weren’t probably as good as memory revisits them now. Still, they sure seemed good.

While some of those memories remain vivid as if they happened just yesterday, some things about such memories aren’t quite as close by to recall. After all if something happened when I was seventeen years old, it is hard for my now much more older body to recall what things were like then.

In hindsight, high school days went by very fast. It seemed as if they were over about as quickly as they started. When they ended, some of us weren’t sure what to do next.

What I do recall is how when we were seniors, we were granted three days so we could visit colleges. Looking back, I did not take these days seriously. I mean, you tell me how you plan to give me three days I do not have to attend classes and all you need is written confirmation I went on a campus tour. Sign me up.

Memory is hazy now on recalling who went on these trips. I have a good idea who was on at least two of the trips. Our friendship coupled with the time from high school into adulthood and parenthood for all of us makes me not even try to name any of them here. The statute of limitations may not be up for some of them, too. You just do that for longtime friends.

One trip was to a technical school about 45 minutes away. I don’t recall much about the visit other than it was rather short. We looked at a few things then it was over. The second trip was to a nice private college a few hours away. This one took a bit longer. The campus personnel may have looked us over and decided we weren’t future students but if they did we still saw their dog-and-pony show. I remember being bowled over at the beauty of the campus. I even looked over the printed material they gave us several times after the trip. The final trip was to a large state university over two hours away. It seemed like a great town but all of us knew none of us would be going to school here either. We were back on the road soon enough.

I do not remember a lot of specifics about the actual ride to these places. We made it there then back safely. At this point, that is what matters. The memories I have of those trips is just being with my friends. I remember us joking with each other. I remember laughing with them. Good times. Better friends.

I am not sure I would go back to being seventeen years old again. Looking back I see how green I was then. I understand how unprepared in many ways I was for the years ahead. I do know the teenage years can be awkward and tough as you go through them. It might be nice to be the weight I was then. It might be good to feel younger. It might even be nice to experience that feeling of knowing how the future was still wide open then. I know it would be good to have one more ride with those friends. It just ended too soon. It always does.

Playlist for Road Trip: College Visits
The Rolling Stones "Start Me Up"
Earth, Wind & Fire "Let's Groove"
Frankie & The Knockouts "Sweetheart"
Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band "Betty Lou's Gettin' Out Tonight"
Pat Benetar "Hit Me With Your Best Shot"
Boz Scaggs "Miss Sun"
The Who "You Better You Bet"
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers with Stevie Nicks "Insider"
Kim Carnes "Bette Davis Eyes"
Journey "Who's Crying Now?"
Steve Winwood "While You See A Chance"
George Harrison "All Those Years Ago"

Best Part

This morning I brushed my daughter’s hair. It’s blonde and falls below her shoulders. Today, it was a little tangled. The entire time I brushed her hair, she talked or she sang. My wife walked into the room, our eyes met then we talked about the hours and days ahead as the world around us started to wake.

On the way to work, between the chaos of bumper-to-bumper traffic, I looked to the eastern sky. There, the sun struggled to break free from the clouds leaving behind an interesting mix of pink, blue and gray. It was a masterpiece of the tallest order, even if it were through an automobile windshield.

Each day the world expects and demands a lot. It devours time, energy, strength. It always comes back for more. Always. It is never satisfied.

I can spend my time fretting over politics. I can stand up and fight the power of whatever evil a politician says needs fighting. I can divide and conquer and cancel then pat myself on the back with no mercy unaware I might need forgiveness one day. I can absorb myself in this season’s must see television show or movie. I can wrap myself in my work or pursuing more knowledge. I can lose myself in art or travel or status. I can read and surmise and cipher and ponder and hem and haw a way into making myself feel comfortable with who I know, what I know and how much I know.

At the end of the day though...

The three of us sat in our living room. We talked about the sunrise we all three had seen earlier in the day. Then, out of the corner of my eye I noticed something thin and long resting on my shirt sleeve. I zeroed in on it then grabbed at it with my fingers. I caught it, a golden hair. I raised it into the air, looked at my wife and daughter then without words, we laughed together.

That’s life. And, it’s the best part.

Strangers in a Mechanic's Wait Room

I took my car to a shop the other day. It needed an oil change and tune up. When I looked at the car’s mileage the fact that this is not the first car I have pushed across the 200,000 mile mark did not really resonate with me. I mean that should be some cause for celebration. Instead, I stood beside her wondering, hoping, I can get 200,000 more miles from her.

While my Dad and my brother know their way around cars like the back of their hands, I pretty much understand where the gas and brake pedals are and how to turn on the radio. This has meant I needed to locate someone trustworthy to take our cars. Jennifer, I believe, found this place and it is the place we have trusted our vehicles to for many years. When we pull in there, the manager knows our names, and, usually, can remember some of the history of the car we are driving.

During all these years, there have been times we have had to leave our cars with them for work to be completed. Other times, what they need to do may take about an hour, so we wait for the work to take place. When this happens, we retreat to a small waiting room, just steps off the garage.

On this day, the sky was gray and rain fell to the ground in big drops. There have been times when I waited here before when I might stand outside. There would be none of that on this day. Still living in the era of mouth and nose coverings, I pulled my mask over my mouth and nose then entered the room. Sitting in a corner was an older lady who when she recognized the door was opening, put a mask over her mouth and nose. When I stepped in the room, the action of putting on my mask and breathing caused my glasses to fog over. I laughed then mentioned how much I dislike wearing a mask. The lady laughed agreeably. She then noted she had heard someone say how if you roll up a Kleenex and place it at the top of your mask, you can prevent fogged up glasses. I said I would never have thought to do that then added how having a Kleenex that close could come in handy when allergies kicked in. The stranger laughed at my feeble attempt at humor.

I am not a brilliant conversationalist. I generally bore people to tears. I wish I could be witty, suave and loquacious, in a good way, of course, but instead I can make a person hopped up on a pot of coffee and Red Bull yawn within a minute after I begin talking in laborious detail about something as exciting as paint drying on a wall. This lady I encountered on this day though could talk and I tried to play along.

When she spoke it was evident she was not from Tennessee. Now, listen, for those who have not noticed, those of us from east Tennessee sound differently when we talk from those in, say, west Tennessee or middle Tennessee. The differences can be subtle but they do exist. This lady though clobbered subtle over a head with a big stick. She soon admitted she was from Chicago.

We talked about our cars and what needed to be done to them on this day. Her situation was up in the air. She needed to travel to Atlanta to visit a sick relative but was having issues with her oil light. She brought her car here for an investigation. The price could be $200 to fix or it could be $1700. Through it all we laughed at the predicament we both shared on this day.

She took a phone call. After hanging up, she told me her son was on his way over via Uber from the dentist’s office. He arrived shortly thereafter. He appeared in some pain. Once their car was ready, their first stop would be to pick up some medicine for him. After a time, he stood up and walked outside. Once the door closed behind him, his mother looked at me and said, “You think he’s dramatic, you ought to see his brother.” Unsure of what she meant, I laughed along with her.

Time moved on as the three of us sat waiting. I looked toward the garage area once to see a white cloud. I peered across the cars to see that smoke circled my car. I joked about it. We all laughed. The jokes continued for the next few minutes. I told them I felt relieved how no one rushed in to tell me my car had exploded. I added that the fire department, just down the street by the way, had not rushed over to put out a blaze.

Soon enough this lady’s car was ready. She got off with the cheaper fix this day. As she left, she wished me well and I did the same to her. I now sat in a quiet waiting room with nothing but my thoughts and the far off buzz of an overhead fluorescent light.

I thought how random this experience had been. Although I learned a bit about this lady and her family I have no idea how she felt about the many things used to divide us these days. I think if we had tried, this lady and I could have found things we disagreed on. We could have then spent the hour we waited together arguing or quietly seething at one another.

In another time, some of us would look at this experience then remark how funny things like this random experience are. These days the word “funny” is no longer the right word for this type of situation. Sad, or even disheartening, might fit better. The fact that such an encounter happens with more randomness these days is a pitiful mirror of life. It is pathetic how we now listen to others less but seem to think we always have to say what we think, without any filter, the instant we think it.

Road Trip: Sunday Drive Back To Georgia

In our previous Road Trip post, I had traveled with my parents to visit my sister’s family in South Carolina. These trips most often happened over a weekend. Of course, the weekend always ended, and we would return home.

On Sundays during a trip to visit family in South Carolina, we would rise early that morning and go to church. Over the years, we came to know many of the people at the church a few hundred miles away from our home by visiting with them. We came to understand how important these folks were to my sister’s family.

After church, we returned to the farm for lunch knowing in the back of our minds the visit was almost over. In the early years, I know we sometimes stopped to pick up lunch from Kentucky Fried Chicken. I recall this because my nephew once referred to it as Turkey Fried Chicken, a name I think of every time I see anything KFC related. Other times, we ate leftovers or my mom and sister whipped up something.

After eating, we began loading the car for our return trip to Georgia. Soon enough, the car was loaded, and we were pulling out the driveway on a four-hour trip home. We pulled away slowly from my sister’s house. Almost every time, my mom and sister shed a few tears. My sister’s family stood in their yard waving until we were out of sight. In our car we waved back until we passed the tree line where we could no longer see my sister’s family’s house.

So, it began. We retraced our route home through small towns and communities through the mountains of South Carolina and Georgia. We knew we were about halfway home when we crossed the state line into Georgia crossing over the Chattooga River, where the movie, “Deliverance”, was filmed.

A few minutes later, we usually made a stop at a convenience store. This store was locally owned. We stopped here to visit the restroom and pick up a snack. One time we pulled into the parking lot to the right side of the store. My dad saw a man walk out a door near the back of the building. There was something about the look on that man’s face or some other thing my dad noticed that made him believe that this store was selling illegal booze out the back door. I am sure he still believes this to this day. Maybe he was right. It was Sunday. It was a small town. Most small towns did not sell alcohol on Sundays, if at all. Anyway, this incident did not deter us from stopping there throughout the years. Once inside the store, Dad and I would usually pick up a candy bar and soft drink. My mom almost always chose a packaged fried pie. We made a stop here then continued our journey.

A few miles away we began our drive up a mountain. Near the very top was a roadside park area. We usually stopped here to sit at a concrete table to eat our snack. It was a nice change of pace from being stuck in the car for hours. Soon enough, we were back on the road to finish the last stretch of the ride home.

On all these trips I was always fascinated at the various road and street signs and billboards along the way. This last stretch home went by an area in a county east of our home county that pointed to a community called Ivy Log. When I was younger I actually thought John Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads” featured a line which said “to the place, Ivy Log, West Virginia.” Of course, the line is "to the place, I belong, West Virginia" but I just heard otherwise back then. I was sure he was singing about this “Ivy Log”. If he was singing about Ivy Log though I just never could figure the West Virginia part.

In the fall, we might pick up a football game on the static-filled AM radio. Sometimes, we stumbled across a station that provided a radio serial or show of some similar type. Mostly though, the AM radio signals bounced around providing nothing more than strange background noise.

We traveled on toward home. If Big Mama was with us, we drove her to her house. We helped her with her suitcase. We then hugged her looking forward to the next trip she would take with us.

Shortly thereafter, we pulled into our driveway about four hours or so after we left family in South Carolina. While we enjoyed being with family and being away for a short time, it was always good to be home. It never took very long to slip into the familiar and comfortable place that home provided. We unloaded the car. Usually Mom picked up the phone to call my sister to let her know we had safely made it home.

It was good to be home. Another road trip though would happen soon enough.

Playlist for "Road Trip: Sunday Drive Back To Georgia"

The Marcus King Band "Goodbye Carolina"
The B-52s "Roam"
Ricky Nelson "Travelin' Man"
The Allman Brothers Band "Ramblin' Man"
Sister Rosetta Tharpe "This Train"
Shaver "I've Been To Georgia On A Fast Train"
Levon Helm "Watermelon Time in Georgia"
Eric Weissburg and Deliverance "Dueling Banjos"
Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver "Country Store"
Ella Fitzgerald & The Duke Ellington Orchestra "Sweet Georgia Brown"
John Denver "Take Me Home Country Roads"
Flatt & Scruggs "Blue Ridge Mountain Home" 

The Sound

The morning air still had a bit of summer as an ingredient but the slow motion approach of autumn now mingled in the mix. The sunshine began a deliberate intrusion onto our back deck. A September Saturday was coming to life.

I came here with a bowl of cereal on this day. I ate this for my breakfast while looking out onto the still green leaves on the trees that served as the backdrop behind the deck screen. After finishing I sat alone with my thoughts.

There are always numerous things to think about whenever a quiet moment comes around. Concerns about family and friends find their way to the forefront. Work issues creep in at times. Sometimes some national or world issue presses down hard. Now and then, old memories march through.

During this time when the sun silently stretches its rays, sometimes it is simply good to sit and listen. I tried this on this Saturday.

I heard squirrels chase each other through the trees down in the woods. In the distance, a dog barked. He was up early I thought. Even further in the distance, what sounded like a motorcycle revved its engine. I tried to measure the distance it was away from me. I heard it for a good five minutes. It sounded like it was riding from one red light to the next red light, miles away. In between stops, the noise was nearly as if it were outside on the street. Since it sounded so loud miles away, I wondered how loud it sounded right next to it. Surely, the rider suffered from hearing loss once he got to his destination.

When the motorcycle faded away, an airplane passed overhead. A quiet, constant hum blended into the background almost as soon as it started. When it left, I could hear the wind ruffling the leaves on the trees a few times.

As time moved on, I knew I could not stay here all day. There were things to do. In time, the sun’s rays would warm up the deck. All the noises of the early morning would be replaced with more of what I had already heard along with other noises like lawnmowers and weed-eaters and more traffic and people outside talking and moving around.

I am not sure how long I sat there. It was no more than a few minutes though. While I tried to just relax, from time-to-time, some of those concerns from life, still showed up.

Another thing kept showing up during this time. The birds kept singing. They chirped. Some flew overhead outside. Sometimes, it sounded as if they were carrying on a conversation with each other. They did not seem to be weighed down with the world’s cares.

There is a lesson there somewhere, isn’t there?

Look at the birds. They don’t plant, harvest, or save food in barns, but your heavenly Father feeds them. Don’t you know you are worth much more than they are?
-Matthew 6:26

The Long Haul

It has been a long haul in one sense. The time covers parts of six different months, March, April, May, June, July, and now August. If I counted every one of the days between the two points the number would be over 150. Now, at least for the immediate days ahead, I can stop numbering them.

I was scheduled to return to work this week after being away from my physical office for over five months. An unexpected minor health issue kept me away where I continued to work from home. I am thankful I remained employed at this time. I am equally grateful I could work from home during this time. These extended days were different than all the ones which came before though.

Almost every one of these days from March into August, Hannah was home with me. Jennifer continued to report to her work, so most days it was me, her and our cat, Kayla. At first, Hannah had homework to do daily which divided my time and attention. Hannah’s niece was able to bear part of that load for a time, so we are eternally grateful for her help.

Later, after Hannah’s school year ended, her scheduled summer camp canceled. Suddenly, her summer vacation was here in our house. While I planned some fun things to do, we were limited by parks and businesses being closed. That mingled in with my daily workload. We had our moments though. We used sidewalk chalk to decorate a backyard stump. We made a homemade lamp with water, a waterproof light, and a jar of beads. We even cooked smores in the heat of July’s sun. Some days, her neighborhood friend came by to stay for a few hours. We had some fun and laughs. Hopefully, some of these times will be long remembered by Hannah. Still, I cannot help but think how difficult the loss of our routine was at times for all of us.

Now, though, Hannah has returned to school. She can see her friends once again. She can bond with her teachers. She can learn new things.

On the last day, we were together before these days at home ended, I was swamped with work. It seemed as if I could not keep from falling behind. Hannah took it easy watching some movies. I felt the same feeling I have felt for over 150 days. I was torn between family and work knowing there was no easy resolution to the guilt I felt since it is so hard to find just the correct balance in such a situation. On this day, the choice was the same as it was so many days behind us, I could not spend a lot of time with Hannah or else the work piled higher.

After a phone meeting, I knew our mail had probably been delivered. I thought, at least we could go to the mailbox together, as we had done most of the days we had shared through the summer. I walked into the living room, glanced out the window only to notice the rain was coming down outside.

So much for that, I thought. Or, maybe not.

I then asked Hannah if she wanted to go to the mailbox. She said yes. We walked to the porch where she finally noticed the rain. I asked if she still wanted to go to the mailbox. She said yes. She even suggested we run to the mailbox in our bare feet. We looked at each other, smiled then ambled down the front steps breaking into a trot down the walkway into the driveway before stopping at the mailbox. I heard Hannah laugh and squeal as we ran. Fortunately, we did not slide or fall or knock each other over.

I opened the mailbox. Junk mail. The rain continued to fall.

We then turned, making our way back up the driveway, walkway, and steps in our half running-half jog. We stopped on the porch, with drenched shirts and wet hair. We laughed at ourselves and at each other.

We then noticed our wet footprints. Of course, the initial footprints were made just by reaching the safety of the porch. We chuckled at the funny shapes the footprints made. Hannah placed her feet on top of my footprints amazed at the size difference. After we examined these first footprints, they began to dry and fade away. We then walked down the steps to wet our feet again. We made our way back onto the porch so we could make more footprints.

This was a nice break for ten minutes. For Hannah, the moment was over. There is only so much you can say about a wet footprint. For me, I sensed work piling up behind my back. The push-pull of the past five months was once again providing just enough tension to weigh heavily on me.

It is too early to tell how these few months will be remembered for our family unit. Surely, we will pick out some of the fun or odd times we all experienced so we can look back and laugh. Maybe, the strain and stress that was present will slip away over time.

Hannah is too young now to understand the daily struggle I felt to balance my workday with her life. I tried not to let that pressure show. Still, it was there. I also know that battle is a heavy memory I cannot turn loose yet. I will live with it until I can reconcile it in my heart and my head. Maybe, at some point, it will stop leaning on me as much as it does now.

I can only hope that maybe sometime in the future, Hannah will see her wet footprints again then remember these days just now passed. Maybe, for a moment, it will take her back to a muggy August afternoon when she raced her dad to the mailbox in a late summer rain. And, maybe, it will make her smile and think how those days were good ones. And, maybe, she will marvel how memories are often made with little notice. Maybe she will appreciate how the same memories can fade into time like wet footprints drying before your very eyes. And, maybe she will come to understand how these memories mysteriously remain for life's long haul lingering close by to be recalled when they are needed the most.

Road Trip: Cruising to Carolina

Growing up, I don't recall our family taking what some would consider a vacation. We rarely went to the beach or to some far-off city for a week away. That did not mean we stayed home all the time. Being the youngest child, and a bit younger than my siblings, our vacation was visiting family who had moved away.

When she was barely out of high school, my sister fell in love with a local boy who had already graduated college and started his own career. Even though he was local, his career took him into the pencil-thin tall pines of upstate South Carolina. When they married, my sister moved with him there, two hundred miles away. That four-hour trip by car soon became our several-time-a-year weekend trip away from home.

Through the years, my sister's family grew. First, a son, the first grandchild for my parents, then, a feisty daughter. My brother-in-law had dreams of his own. He wanted his own cattle farm. They bought land, built a brick house there and began putting up a fence to keep the cows from wandering too far away. These things alone were enough reason for my parents to want to visit there often. They could see their grandchildren, they could help on the house and farm, and, of course they could see their oldest child.

I do not recall how early in the week the planning was made for our journeys to South Carolina. I usually was clued in about it on Thursday sometime, a day ahead of when we would leave. For some reason now, years removed from then, whenever I hear the theme to the TV show, The Waltons, I think of going to visit my sister's family in South Carolina. I think that is because that show came on at 8 PM on Thursdays for years. It is probably around that time of day when my Mom told me to get whatever I planned to take with me on the trip together. Otherwise, she understood if she didn't give me some fair warning I would probably get home from school on Friday and just get in the car for the trip.

Most days, my Dad could be home from his job by 4 PM on a Friday. My Mom would have everything as ready as possible so that we could leave as soon as Dad got home. If we timed everything well enough, we could arrive at my sister's house by 8 PM on Friday evening.

Sometimes, my brother-in-law’s mother made the trip with us. She was like a third grandmother to me. She was a petite woman with a warm smile and infectious laugh. Despite her small size, everyone called her ‘Big Mama’. Her late husband, who had been a tall man, had been known as ‘Big Papa’. Often on these trips, Big Mama brought along an incredible stacked apple pie as desert. It had soft crust and the sweetest apple filling. It ranks as one of my favorite deserts ever. When I was old enough to go out on my own, Big Mama gifted me with a set of green dishes. One or two pieces of that set remain and I think of her every time I see them.

Once we were on our way, we traveled the same route for many years. Two lane roads across the mountains of north Georgia into the mountains of South Carolina. Most of the towns we drove through were just like our hometown. A few red lights here and there and a few places where the speed limit was reduced. The ride was amazing in autumn when the colors of the season were reflected in the trees. We kept plugging away. We rarely stopped for anything. We had a goal in mind and my Dad was determined to get us there safely but also as quickly as possible. It got us off the road but it also gave us precious time with family.

Once in South Carolina, we traveled through a few more towns and communities. Finally, we had to get on Interstate 75 for a time. A few miles down the road on the big freeway was a rest area. Nearly every trip I made with my parents we stopped at this rest area. It was bathroom break time but it was also time to eat. My mother, who was probably responsible for gathering together 98% of what we packed into our car had taken time to make egg salad sandwiches and to pack away a few "co-colas". This was supper. Then we loaded into the car and drove on for about another hour.

Soon we were pulling into the town that became home to my sister and her family. We looked for familiar guideposts along the way. We drove through town out to the farm. In the summer we got there before dark. We piled into their house where the air conditioning, a treat we did not have back home, sunk into our pores. It just always seemed hotter there than back home. In the winter, we might make the trip during the holidays. Between their visits back home and our visits there, we likely saw each other six or eight times during a year. We had to make the most of the time we shared.

After arriving, we visited for a time and made plans for Saturday. It could be any adventure the next day, riding motorcycles, chasing cows, deer hunting, going fishing, playing with my nephew and niece or riding to the nearby towns for shopping. We sometimes visited their neighbors, the sweet older couple down the road who adopted my sister's family as if they were their own or maybe the slightly cantankerous older lady across the road who was more soft around her edges than she often let others know.

As the day moved on, we usually had some sort of giant meal for supper. It could be steaks or chicken with fresh vegetables out of the garden. It was almost always topped off with a birthday cake if someone celebrated one around that time or watermelon or homemade ice cream or some other dessert my sister created or maybe some of Big Mama's apple pie.

As the day drew to a close, a slight feeling of the inevitable began creeping in. The next day was Sunday and that meant another road trip, this one from South Carolina back to our Georgia home.

Road Trip: Cruising to Carolina playlist:

Theme to The Waltons

Brett Shady "Waltz For A Girl In South Carolina"

Dionne Warwick "As Long As There's An Apple Tree"

Marshall Tucker Band "Heard It In A Love Song"

The Outlaws "South Carolina"

Goose Creek Symphony "Higher On The Mountain"

Reverend Gary Davis "I'll Fly Away"

Hootie and The Blowfish "Hold My Hand"

The Sandpipers "Come Saturday Morning"

John Fogerty "Almost Saturday Night"

Elf "Carolina County Ball"

James Taylor "Carolina In My Mind"