Amazing

It never ceases to amaze me. I stand in ankle deep water as the ocean rushes in to the shore. The sound is deafening. Sometimes the water splashes higher toward my face or chest. I look straight ahead. All I see is water stretching endlessly into the horizon until, in some trick of the eye, it meets the sky in a distance that seems to be a million miles away. Another wave crashes in. My feet shuffle down as the sand beneath my feet slips away in various directions.

We have come to the beach for a few days away. It is hundreds of miles away from the care and concern of the day-to-day life we embrace. Now and again, we feel the need to get away. We need to feel the sun on our face. We need the sand between our toes. We smell like suntan lotion. Our hair goes unkempt for parts of a day. We go off our normal diet and eating schedule to eat trail mix and cheese sticks and Saltines.

We come here to take a deep breath. We leave our work world behind. We may take the time to start or finish a book. We may play cards. We may people-watch. We stick our feet in the deep end of the pool. We sit on the beach and just stare into the distance.

Every time though I find this moment where I stand in the ocean and lose myself, just for a moment. As the water surrounds my feet, I look ahead and see a sea of blue, water and sky. I am standing at the edge, just barely in the water. I consider all the water I can see then struggle to understand how I cannot really fathom how to ever measure it. Birds sometimes flutter by overhead or hop away from the white foam on the ground. Another wave curls then grows in the distance until it crashes into me. The sand beneath my feet melts away. I feel very small in the grand scheme of things but not worthless. I am always amazed.

The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.

~Genesis 1:2

Funny Does It

The older I become I more vividly realize how life seems to come faster than before. Maybe, I am just becoming more measured than before. Either way, life does not slow often enough these days. As a parent, this seems to be a constant yank-and-tug back and forth between the obligations you have committed to and the family who needs and expects your undivided loyalty. Don’t think I am complaining because I am not. I realize I am blessed with the life I share with my wife and daughter and with family and friends.

Still, the day-to-day sometimes weighs heavy on a body. Work and worry often spoil the good part of life while eating away at time and energy. Even though I feel I have been around long enough to know how life ebbs and flows, I am continually amazed how in a low moment something unexpected happens to make me refocus and better appreciate my life.

That said, recently one evening at home, we exercised our regular routine. Homework was completed while supper was cooked. Afterward, we sat at the dining room table to talk with each other while we ate a meal together. The kitchen then had to be cleaned and Hannah needed a bath before bedtime. This night though we were super-efficient. When I wiped off the last kitchen counter to walk into the living room, Hannah still had some time before getting ready for sleep. She then urged me to watch her perform some gymnastics.

I admit I was not sure what my role was to be in all this. Frankly, I was tired from a day at work and really wanted to just sit down for a few minutes. Hannah persisted. I soon found out I was nothing more than a semi-active spectator. She asked me what gymnastic moves I would like to see her attempt. I had to admit to her I wasn’t very informed about gymnastics lingo. She rattled off six or seven things she could do. I caught the name of maybe three things.

For the next few minutes, I called out the name of some maneuver so Hannah could attempt it. I found out I not only am unfamiliar with gymnastics terms but I also have no idea if she was performing those moves correctly. None of that seemed to really matter. She flipped this way, cartwheeled that way and balanced on her hands against the wall.

At one point though, she tried something and it went humorously wrong. She started laughing. This gave me permission to laugh as well, which at that moment was much easier to do than to hold the funny inside. We laughed for a few seconds. I soon realized that part of her laughter was watching and listening to me laugh.

She then looked at me and said, “I love to hear you laugh.” That hit close to home as making others laugh is one of my favorite things to do. She then proceeded to half-heartedly mock my laughter. We both laughed some more.

Time passed. It was soon time to get ready for sleep. After Hannah and Jennifer had turned in for the night, I sat alone with one solitary lamp lighting a corner of our living room. The busyness of just a few minutes earlier had faded into a peaceful quietness. Funny, how I was still tired but I felt somehow revived. I thought about that laughter we shared and that moment in time. I understood how laughter, as advertised, is good medicine. I was also very grateful our daughter embraced laughter enough, even at her own expense, to share it with me. I pray that no matter how old she gets she will understand how a good laugh will always be good for her soul.

Happiness is good medicine, but sorrow is a disease.
~Proverbs 17:22

Road Trip: Rear View Mirror

I’ve written about road trips a great deal the last few years. Getting in a car to go somewhere doesn’t seem to generate a great deal of excitement to some nowadays. Allow me now to get out my old man soap box to climb on so I can say back in my time going somewhere was usually some adventure. Folks once got in a car just to go on a Sunday afternoon drive. My generation drove our hometown from one end to other every weekend for years. It did not matter that the drive took no more than five minutes but it was something you just did back then. In our teen years, it sure seemed as if all of us were bursting at the seams to get our license to drive. It was a major deal. It no longer seems that way. We all have too many gadgets to get lost in these days. And some allow themselves to live off of generated fear to even consider living a normal life anymore.

I can recall that itch to drive when I wasn’t old enough to do so legally. In some way, learning to drive was intimidating. I remember driving backroads near where we lived just getting the feel of how a car operated. I could feel the power of the car just by having my foot on the gas pedal. I had to learn not to stomp on the brake pedal without giving others in the car a concussion. Then there was the challenge of a manual transmission. It became all about rhythm, a type of dance with the car on an asphalt dance floor. Deep down I just knew I could learn to drive but that this time learning, which seemed to last forever, was all that stood in my way from my own adventures behind the wheel.

At some point, I understood driving would just become part of what is done each day. I was right. It has. Of course, as with many things you imagine when you are still greener than grass and so wet behind your ears that it appears sweat has soaked your neck, I envisioned it all differently than what it became.

Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, I just knew I would live forever in faded blue jeans and flannel shirts. I knew I would somehow end up with a truck or some type of Jeep or International Harvester truck. I envisioned myself standing with one foot on the ground and the other on the entry into the vehicle. Behind me a creek flowed in the background deep in some woods somewhere. I could see myself barreling through the North Georgia mountains with the sun always positioned in a place where I would not need sunglasses so I could always see things in their true colors. The eight track player would be playing Bob Seger or The Allman Brothers.

Life, of course, turned out differently. I am not sure if somehow I had been able to live out that dream from long ago if I would have enjoyed it. You just never know some things. Nowadays when we load up for a road trip I pretty well know the plan. We share driving duties often. That, at times, is a bit of a change for me, as I tend to like being behind the wheel. Either way, as we ride down the highway and the hum of the tires on the road turn into some quiet melody, I envision myself riding through the sunny mountains. I have my window rolled down and my left arm on the top of the door as the wind tickles the hair on my arm. I tilt my head slightly to the left, look in my rear view mirror, and, somehow, return to the here and now.

Playlist for Road Trip: Rear View Mirror

The Allman Brothers Band "Ramblin' Man"
Lee Roy Parnell "On The Road"
Beck "The Golden Age"
The Pretenders "Middle of the Road"
Rolling Stones "I'm Gonna Drive"
Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band "Still The Same"
Alan Jackson "Drive (For Daddy Gene)"
Linda Ronstadt "Poor Poor Pitiful Me"
Eddie Rabbitt "Drivin' My Life Away"
The Doobie Brothers "Rockin' Down The Highway"
REM "Drive"
ZZ Top "I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide"

Slice of Life

Clouds moved in. Rain seemed eminent. Thunder sounded as if had just tumbled across the ground.

An overhead light in the form of three separate bulbs lit up our living room. The television was on but had been paused for homework to be completed. The actors stood frozen in time on the screen with their facial expressions locked in odd contortions. Our front door stood open with our glass door keeping the outside world from us but ajar enough so we could still spy into our yard.

On the couch, Hannah did school work. Her task was to read a book for twenty minutes. As she read her book out loud, she occasionally broke into song. The words of the book, thirty pages about dogs, became lyrics. Once I thought I recognized one page about beagles being set to the tune of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. It was still August but I hummed along anyway.

Startled by the thunder, Kayla, our cat, hopped off the stairs onto the living room floor. She had only taken one or two steps before our dog, Sadie, tauntingly pranced around her. Kayla, unamused at her nemesis, stopped to hiss a protest and take a half-hearted swat at the dog. Sadie barked, hopped on two legs then tried to engage the cat in playtime once more.

Jennifer, busy in the kitchen, stepped into the room to survey all that was going on at the moment. Fresh from assisting Hannah with math homework, her eyes briefly met mine. Her eyes and my eyes both seemed to glaze as if we were both a bit overwhelmed at the chaos of the moment.

We know each other well enough to know that the look was not one of giving up or turning away. It was a look of two people who understand how God has blessed as a family. This is what we wanted, what we prayed for, and now what we have. These are the days we once dreamed to live.

There are days when life is crazy. There are days when things seem to pile on top of each other. There are days when there is little fun to find, and, frankly, those days can be difficult to navigate.

There are days though when we listen above the noise and look over the disorder and cut past the worry. We realize there is so much more going on than noise, disorder and worry. It’s the slice of life that makes any unpleasant parts of life not seem so bad after all. It is a dream come true, and a dream that is better than we ever imagined.

Scenes From A Summer

Although the calendar and the weather may say otherwise for a few more weeks, summer, for this year, is over. The times when the sun rose early and stayed until deep in the evening are gone for now. I look back on the summers of my youth with plenty of fond remembrances. Now, as an adult, I measure summer by how many times I need to mow the lawn and how my work schedule becomes insanely busy for a few weeks. As parents, Jennifer and I also measure summer by how well Hannah’s summer goes. For this reason, this summer we tried to pay closer attention to summer so Hannah can remember some of this summer in the years ahead.

For us, summer started with a half day of school. That day ended with Hannah’s skinned knee from a fall in her friend’s yard down the street. It rained on that first summer Saturday. On Sunday, Jennifer got sick. Hannah stayed with Aunt Missy while I took Jennifer to the emergency room.

Things got better though. We celebrated Jennifer’s birthday at Mammaw and Pappaw’s house. Hannah played soccer in their backyard with cousin Sara’s friend, Rage.

Soon enough, summer camp started with Hannah making lots of new friends. She constantly needled counselors Seth and Caleb. She even made her first “boyfriend”. When I inquired about him I was told by her to not ask about him. Anyway, for the record, he was a young man whose name started with a Z and ended with a y. Hannah passed her camp swim test and generally enjoyed camp much more this year than ever before.

There was a week away in the Smoky Mountains. We stayed at a place with a pool just outside our second story balcony. The pool had a cool curved slide where Hannah became a pro quickly. We visited Dollywood where our meal at Aunt Granny’s was free when their computer system crashed. There were rides on swings and roller coasters. Then there was that one night we walked to a restaurant in the heat of the late afternoon. The walk took longer than we wanted but the food we consumed was very good. Of course, we had to walk back. By the time we left, we walked the twenty minutes back in a thunderstorm. We arrived back in our room with clothes soaked in wetness down to our skin all the while knowing how this was one trip we would always remember.

Some of our neighbors left during the summer for a multi-week extended holiday. Other neighbors added a new fluffy white puppy. Hannah spent plenty time turning cartwheels in Mrs. Barbara’s yard. There were other moments like rubberband bracelets, gymnastics, cheer camp, fake fingernails, potato chip sandwiches, and watching Independence Day fireworks from our front porch and back deck. There was Vacation Bible School under tents in the heat of June. There was the church outing where Hannah tossed cornhole with her friend Olivia. And another church outing where Hannah stood beside her grandmother and served food.

There was Hannah catching a tiny frog with her hands in the front yard. There were back-to-back visits from Mike the UPS guy who helped return a heavy, damaged delivery. There was unreal humidity and occasional thunderstorms. There was counting foggy mornings in August because Pappaw Dills's dad once said the number of foggy mornings in August will equal the number of snows in the upcoming winter. There was Kayla the cat napping on Hannah’s bed and Sadie the dog barking at deer in our backyard.

There was a visit to see grandparents and uncle Donny in Georgia. There was the annual July 4 trip to the lake with family with lots of food and swimming. Hannah even had the chance to see and hold one of her youngest cousins-one also with the name Hannah.

There was a countdown until Hannah’s birthday as she left nine behind for ten. Hannah’s birthday party was held at a rock-climbing place. She and her friends spent a few hours connected to ropes trying to pull themselves up the side of walls. Afterward, cake and presents were served.

Soon enough, it was school registration day where we found out details about the upcoming school year. While summer had been fun for her, Hannah indicated she was ready to get back to the classroom. I knew this when I took her to a cheerleading practice one afternoon late in the summer. She had not seen some of her school friends in months. When I walked her into the gym where they would all spend the next few hours together, I heard a gaggle of girls scream “Hannah!” They then all rushed together embracing her with hug after hug.

As I pulled this post together, I realized what a great summer we have had. For some, we may sound boring. For some, it may sound as if we are easily amused. No matter, this is a picture of us, and this one summer in time. Now, it will be tucked away safe in our memories for a cold, winter afternoon years from now when we will need to be warmed from the cold winds of time.

Scenes From A Summer soundtrack
Ella Fitzgerald "Summertime"
Keala Settle from "The Greatest Showman" "This Is Me" 
Francesca Battistelli featuring Staffany Gretzinger "Defender"
Bridgit Mendler "Hang In There, Baby"
Katrina & The Waves "Walking On Sunshine"
The Petersens "Take Me Home, Country Roads"
Mercy Me "Even If"
Louis Armstrong and Dave Brubeck "Summer Song"
David & The Giants "Just Started Living"
Rowan Blanchard and Sabrina Carpenter "Take On The World"

Road Trip: The Middle of Minnesota

This story involves work colleagues, airplanes, a white Cadillac, 1980s music, and a wide-open Minnesota highway. You know, another typical road story. Most names have been withheld out of courtesy.

I do not travel much for my work. There are and have been times though when I have had to travel. Most often this is by car to some central location for a meeting, or on occasion, for some extended event. A few times the traveling took me out of state to other places.

One such trip was to Duluth, Minnesota. A colleague and I left Chattanooga on a Sunday morning. We flew to Memphis. From Memphis, we flew to Minneapolis. In Minneapolis, we were slated to fly to Duluth. This is where the road trip came into play.

Our journey had been uneventful enough by the time we landed in Minneapolis. We had a layover, so we had to wait for a time. While we were waiting we noticed we knew some other people who would be boarding the plane to Duluth with us. These were folks who worked in other locations across Tennessee but performed work duties similar to what me and my colleague did where they lived. We knew them from meetings and phone calls over the previous couple of years. This was a good thing as we understood while we were all staying a few days in Minnesota we already knew some people who would also be there.

Then the first delay came. A thunderstorm blew through. I remember looking out a large plate glass window into the horizon while dark clouds descended, and lightning shot to the ground. Flights were grounded. We began to grow antsy wanting to get to our destination. Finally, the storm relented and we knew then it was only a matter of time before we would soon be on our way. After all, they let us board the plane. Except, we then waited and waited…and waited. We were then told that after the storm passed, the plane was inspected again before it could be cleared for takeoff. In this inspection, the plane was discovered to have a flat tire. Then it became worse.

We were then told our flight would not be taking off at all. It was late Sunday afternoon. The Duluth airport, although an international airport, had closed for the day. We missed our window to land there. The company who was hosting our meetings scrambled before agreeing to charter busses from Minneapolis to Duluth.

And this is the point where a plan for a road trip through Minnesota began to come together. One of our colleagues from Memphis located me and my Chattanooga colleague then spotted two others from Nashville. Our Memphis friend asked us if we would be willing to ride to Duluth if she rented a car big enough for all of us. The thoughts of a multi-hour ride on a bus were suddenly dashed with the hopes of us getting to our destination on our own terms. We all agreed. Our Memphis friend told us to grab our luggage then to meet her at a certain spot. She would rent a car then meet us there. Fearing others might have the same idea, our Memphis colleague, who only brought a carry-on bag, took off to where the rental car companies were located while we waited for our luggage to appear.

In time, the four of us retrieved our bags. We then made our way to meet our Memphis friend hoping and praying she was able to locate a large enough car for the five of us. As we walked to our meeting place, three of us noticed that one of our Nashville colleagues was busy talking to a college age woman who was following each step we all made. These two had apparently talked on the plane then continued their conversation through all the chaos that followed. Then, just as if it were planned for a movie, as soon as we arrived at our meeting place, our Memphis colleague came barreling around a corner in a big, white Cadillac. She popped open the trunk while we began shoving our luggage into the trunk of the car.

Our Nashville colleague noted that the young lady she was talking to was from Duluth. Her name was Jenny. She had attended a political rally in Washington, DC that weekend and was now trying to get home. She had made no plans how to get there if something happened to the plane or if the airport you need to get to has to close so everybody can go home. You know, like any of that would ever happen.

The five of us, not a one of us under forty years of age, looked at each other. We then asked Jenny if she needed a ride to Duluth. Of course, she did. We then somehow crammed her luggage into the Cadillac. I think one of us may have even jumped into the air to do a butt bounce on the trunk lid to make it close before we roared off into the evening.

We ripped out of Minneapolis headed north. I always like to know the route we are going but on this trip I did not care. Our Memphis friend, one Nashville friend and Jenny took the front seat while my Chattanooga colleague and the other Nashville colleague took the backseat. I was just glad to be moving in any direction and could only hope it was the right one.

The rainy weather cleared soon enough. I do remember the skies clearing enough so that we all enjoyed a nice sunset on the ride. We stopped to grab a sandwich and take a bathroom break along the way. Soon enough, we were back on the road again.

This trip consisted of a good deal of shop talk among the five of us who shared similar career paths. We talked about the upcoming week and plans we had when we returned to our home offices. No doubt Jenny was bewildered by our conversation lost in the language of work-speak.

Our front seat Nashville friend made an effort to find a radio station that played 1980s music. After all, five of us had lived through that decade and appreciated the music from then. As we listened to tune after tune of old familiar songs, we laughed along, sang along and shared memories of some of the songs we heard. I am not sure poor Jenny had heard any of the songs we knew so well.

We soon were in Duluth. We discovered some of us were in one hotel and the rest of us were in another hotel. And then there was Jenny. While our Memphis colleague left some of us at our hotel, she had to ask Jenny where she needed to go. It almost seemed like she did not want to go to her home. It was almost like she wanted to keep hanging out with us, you know the cool older people who knew every 1980s song ever heard and spoke in technical terms about the work they did. Maybe this one road trip had altered her life course. Those of us who were fortunate enough to find where we were staying learned soon enough that our new friend Jenny made it safely home despite her seeming reluctance to leave a group of strangers she shared two hours with in a long, white Cadillac.

This road trip was over. I though had one last trick up my sleeve. The next day, I took a small piece of paper, wrote on it then put it in my pocket. I then located our Nashville colleague who first befriended Jenny. We talked about the craziness of the trip. We talked about the randomness of meeting a total stranger who had no qualms about getting into a car with folks she did not know. We laughed about how we probably tortured Jenny with our insistence on listening to 1980s music during the entire trip.

Then I mentioned as I was walking into the room, someone handed me a message and asked me to deliver that message to her. I then added I was told it was from our friend, Jenny. It seems Jenny needed our Nashville colleague to call her. This brought a smile to her face. I then handed the paper over to her. She unfolded it then read it aloud, “Jenny, 867-5309.” We then both burst into laughter. The laughs the five of us shared over this road trip through the years still make me smile today.

“You can have Bemidji, and the rusty, dusty range, and Babbit and Aurora all the way to Coleraine, and you can have those cities: Minneapolis and St. Paul, ‘cause to tell you the truth, I like it in Duluth.”
-The Moose Wallow Ramblers

Road Trip: The Middle of Minnesota playlist:
Lenny Kravitz "Fly Away"
Husker Du "Private Plane"
Plain White T's "Airplane"
The Kinks "(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman"
Prince "Rock n Roll Is Alive (And It's Living in Minneapolis)"
Sonny Curtis "Love Is All Around"
Dwight Yoakam "Long White Cadillac"
Moors & Macumber "Welcome To Duluth"
Trampled By Turtles "Duluth"
The Moose Wallow Ramblers "I Like It In Duluth"
Bob Dylan "Jokerman"
Tommy Tutone "Jenny/867-5309"

Your Age/My Age

Our Hannah turns double digits this year. Ten years old. Yes, it seems like only yesterday when she was born. Yes, the time has flown by. Yes, it hasn’t always been easy. Yes, it has been worth every minute, even the tears, hurts, bumps and bruises.

A major part of why I continue this blog is to document life for her. It is a written accompaniment to the photos we take and memories we stick in our minds for later. With this blog, I want to remember moments Jennifer and I share with her. I want to tell her about both sides of her family. I want her to understand how loved she is. I do this so this record is there in case she ever doubts the depth and width of love we have for her.

Despite trying in so many ways to find the right words in the right order to say something memorable sometimes I still fall short. Sometimes I come across something that someone else says that hits closer to the heart than I can do.

I ran across the song below some time back. I stored it away looking for the right moment. Now as we celebrate Hannah’s latest birthday, I think the sentiments shared in this song ring true for me and her mom. We watch our lives speed before our eyes without being able to slow down time for any rhyme or reason. As Hannah grows physically and also grows more mature and smarter, it becomes more difficult to imagine us holding her in our arms wrapped in a blanket. It becomes easier to understand how we will always hold her in our hearts wrapped in our love for each other. One day maybe she will look back, listen to this song and understand how it makes us feel today and always.

Happy birthday, Hannah, Mom & I love you!

"When You're My Age"

When you're my age
I hope the world is kinder
Than it seems to be right now
And I hope the front page isn't just a reminder
Of how we keep lettin' each other down

When I was your age, things didn't seem to be this hard
Riding bikes out on the street, playing tag in the back yard

You'll outgrow your shoes
You'll outgrow your bed
You'll outgrow this house
Just don't forget
When you're all grown up
But you don't feel that way
You're still gonna be my baby
Even when you're my age

When you're my age
You'll still be full of questions
That I wish I had the answers to right now
And those dark times might make you second guess it
But I bet love will still be making the world go 'round

When I was your age, I didn't worry like I think you do
Back then innocence was something you could hold onto

You'll outgrow your shoes
You'll outgrow your bed
You'll outgrow this house
Just don't forget
When you're all grown up
But you don't feel that way
You're still gonna be my baby
Even when you're my age

When you have kids someday, I hope you teach them the Lord's Prayer
Before they go to bed at night
Like my daddy did for me and his mother before him
Well something about it just keeps you right
And I hope you don't work too much overtime
So you can be right there beside them when they close their little eyes

'Cause they'll outgrow their shoes
They'll outgrow their beds
They'll outgrow that house
And you can't stop it
Life will lie in your face
Time will turn the page
But they're still gonna be your babies
Just like you're still gonna be my baby
Even when you're my age
Even when you're my age

“When You’re My Age” written and performed by Lori McKenna, Liz Rose & Hillary Lindsey 

Dog Days

This time of year is known as the “dog days”. I have heard that phrase all my life. Recently as we were talking, my Dad even mentioned the "dog days". I don’t recall it ever being officially defined by those who used the phrase in my presence. I did come to understand how it more specifically meant the long hot days of summer such as a body can experience in July and August in the deep South. I imagine this particular use of the phrase came about when some folks who lived a harder life than I ever have looked up from working in such heat only to see a dog stretched out on the dirt as if it had given up, maybe even died from the scorching, unrelenting heat. That experience was enough to declare how the summer’s dog days had arrived.

Now, if you go to the National Geographic web site you will read how the Greeks and Romans watched the stars. This was probably more reliable than a phone app or the five o’clock forecast from the local TV station. Specifically, they watched the dog star, Sirius and how it was positioned in the sky. When Sirius rose before the sun, the Greeks and Romans referred to the time as the “dog days”. It coincided with the hottest days of the year, which just happened to begin in late July.

We don’t often look at the stars at our house. It’s not because it is not an interesting activity. It is just more an issue of time and opportunity. For the last nine months though, we have lived through some dog days.

Despite having Kayla the cat as a pet, Hannah wanted a puppy. After talking it over, Jennifer and I felt like we were ready to add another pet to our household. Of course, Hannah wanted a golden retriever or a black lab or German shepherd. We felt any of those were just too big for all of us, especially considering whatever dog we welcomed would have to spend a good deal of time indoors. It’s already hard enough to get a good seat on the couch with the three of us and the cat.

So, Jennifer began searching. One day in November, she sent me an email with a picture of a dog. She said she thought this was the one. The dog though was about 75 miles north of us in Tullahoma. She made inquiry about adopting the pup. The stars aligned and soon, she was on her way to locate this dog.

I picked Hannah up from school and we headed home. Once home, a snack and homework awaited. More was waiting for Hannah, she just did not know yet. As time slipped by and Jennifer was still not home, I had to keep Hannah occupied enough so that she would not ask too many questions about the change in routine. Since it was November, darkness came quickly that evening. Soon enough though, my phone lit up with a message. Jennifer and the dog were close.

The garage door opened. I told Hannah we needed to see if Jennifer needed any help carrying anything in from her car. As we walked down our basement stairs, Hannah began repeating “Please let it be a puppy, please let it be a puppy!” I am not sure what led her to say that but understanding what she was about to discover I captured on video the moment she laid eyes on the puppy. She began crying standing frozen in the moment unsure what to do. Jennifer told her to hold the puppy so Hannah did. She stopped a time or two though to hand her off so she could hug Jennifer or me.

As the excitement waned a bit, Hannah and I learned that the dog had been adopted briefly then returned when the adopter realized they could not care adequately for the puppy. Before they returned her though, they named her Josie and painted her toenails red. Undaunted, Hannah declared the dog had a new name, Sadie, and, then, Sadie, red toenails and all, had a new home.

Since that November evening, Sadie has become part of who we are. She desperately wants Kayla the cat to play with her but Kayla just growls at her, takes an occasional swat at her and I am sure if cats have any type of memory longs for the good ol’ days before the dog came to live at our house.

Sadie was a few months old when we adopted her. We are still in the puppy phase at this moment. We have already endured chewed up shoes, pens, tennis balls and stuffed animals. Somehow, she also has chewed through a couple of leashes and at least one harness. While we try to keep her away from Kayla’s food bowl, she is a sneaky one that will seemingly eat anything if given the opportunity.

Jennifer and I both sometimes call the dog Kayla and we sometimes call the cat Sadie. Sadie though has adapted because we also call her “dog”, “Josie” and my favorite, “Tullahoma Tina”. I called her this right after we got her then told her she should always remember where she came from. I not sure she understands but we do.

I hope I never forget that night Sadie came to our home. I hope I always remember the happy tears Hannah cried standing beside her Mom’s car on a November evening. Thinking about it all now, I remember then how I took a moment to drift into the future imagining Hannah coming home ten years from then to be greeted by this dog that she wanted so much.

Hopefully, there will be a lot of good moments for us all between those two memories. For now, we try to put things we don’t want destroyed by Sadie’s teeth out of reach. We have learned Sadie likes her tummy rubbed. We laugh when her ears flop backward. We smile when she lays on the couch and snores. We chuckle when she barks at a passing car. We are amazed at how happy she is when we come home after being gone even for a very short time.

So, in these dog days of summer, we walk Sadie through our yard. She stretches the limits of the leash we use to keep her away from the street. She sniffs every inch of the yard like a detective looking for clues to a crime. She stops now and then to furiously dig away at the ground with her two front paws. Almost every time she walks the yard though she plops down on the ground stretching her body out as far as she can from one end to the other. She lays there, flips over to her back, rolls from side to side a bit before stopping to lay still while soaking in as much sunshine as she can. Are these the dog days? You know it...just don't tell Kayla the cat.

Slow

I have rarely been one to rush things. I am content to be the one heading up the end of the line. I suppose if I were cast in some movie role, I would be the slow-talking, slow-moving, aw-shucks guy who would always be a bit late being clued in on the rest of the scene.

That does not mean that I don’t recognize how quickly life moves. I have my own obligations that nip away at time. Family obligations add to that mix as well. Throw in how the world operates today and soon enough life seems too full and too fast. There is always something to do. There is always someone that needs attention. There is always something for which to be anxious. Not all those things are bad but adding each together can wear a body down.

Sometimes it takes a deep breath to make it all better. Other times, someone reminds you to just slow down. Maybe a nap will provide a brief respite. Recently, for me, it was a chance to sit down for a moment while waiting to pick up Hannah from school.

I left my workplace making a short drive to Hannah’s school. Typical bumper-to-bumper traffic on multiple lanes of highway greeted me. Changing lanes while navigating the route needed to go occupied my thoughts. Quietly, the radio played an outdated traffic report. I approached a few red lights silently praying the light in my lane stayed green until I passed under. Soon enough, I was at the school searching for a parking space.

The sun was bright on this day. The weather had not yet yielded to summer, so the low humidity made this day in the month of May still feel like spring. The skies were as blue as blue can get. I made school officials know why I was there. They made me aware they would send Hannah soon.

On this day, Hannah had a strings lesson. I knew my wait would be a bit longer than any other day. I sat down on a bench to live out the wait. Of course, this meant I could pull out my phone to see what I had missed in the twenty minutes since I had last looked. Quickly, I noticed my phone battery was low. Playing it safe, I put my phone back in my pocket. I told myself how a body never knows I might need that extra battery life on the ride home. I sat on the bench determined to pass the time away without the assistance of modern technology.

Without warning, I sensed a breeze. It was slight but enough to tousle the very ends of my hair. In the distance, I could hear traffic, maybe even a siren from an emergency vehicle. It became hard to recall exactly each moment then. I could feel myself slipping away. I looked at the blue sky lost in its deepness. I realized then how the leaves in the trees were being brushed back by the wind. For a moment, I felt as if I were in some three dimensional event. Everything around me felt as if it kept moving forward while I stayed still, left behind while everything kept going. I tried to breathe it all in and hold as long as possible.

Soon enough, Hannah emerged from the building ready to go home. I stepped back into that well-worn, comfortable place that sometimes can become overgrown with stress. It was better now though. It was as if things had been reset. It felt more like the place where I belong.

When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.
~Psalm 94:19

Road Trip: Washington, DC

One of the more important road trips I ever made in my life was to Washington, DC. Yes, our nation's capital city. Of course, it is the home for the President, Vice-President and Congress. It is the seat of power for our country. It is where partnerships come together for a cause. That was why I was there.

It was the end of May 2003 and into the first few days of June when I was there. This was about a year and a half after the terror attacks on our country from September 11, 2001. The city was recovering from that brutal day still trying to locate some sense of normalcy. This meant some places were still inaccessible and other places still cautious. I was there for a cause though.

People go to Washington for causes all the time. Frankly, I don't see how anyone anymore can look at the various causes that take place there and not think how trite and unoriginal it all has become. Since it happens so much how can any of them have any true meaning anymore? Still, people create signs, work themselves into a fever, march through the streets spouting catchy phrases in a sing-song manner then gather in locations around the city for their cause.

On this trip, I had a cause. It was nothing political. It was nothing I had to lobby members of Congress to do something about. It was nothing I would attempt to meet with the President or any of his Cabinet about either. I packed sensible shoes. I did not make a sign. I did not have a catchy jingle to repeat. I probably said a few prayers though.

My cause on this trip was to get to know Jennifer's family better. It was still another ten months before we would marry. We weren't even engaged at the time. Jennifer and I had known each other for several years though. In this time I had grown to know her family some. This trip was in large part for the benefit of Jennifer's young nephew and niece. It was an opportunity for them to see where our nation's government worked and a chance to visit museums housing fascinating and important artifacts about our country. We visited memorials that were moving to visit and even more moving when watching others moved by the experience as it related to a loved one. It was also an opportunity for her family to check me out, and, an opportunity for me to check them out.

I remember the drive, both ways, was a long one. It wasn't because there were long awkward silences between any of us. It was just a long trip, close to six hundred miles. I can recall hoping I did not say something that would make Jennifer's family wonder what rock I crawled out from. I remember a couple of uncomfortable questions from her nephew and niece, which I look back on now as a foreshadowing of similar questions from my own child. There were enough of us traveling together that we had to take two vehicles. I marveled early on how the two drivers used walkie-talkies to communicate when bathroom breaks were needed or when a stop was necessary for refueling. Jennifer and her sister told me how no matter where they go their father will meet someone he knows. Low and behold on the steps of the Capitol Building, I looked over to see their Dad talking to someone who was also visiting Washington from Tennessee, but who lived about 45 minutes away from where we all lived.

As I write this post, it has been eighteen years since that trip to Washington. I guess if there was any test I had to pass on that trip that I passed it. Jennifer and I were married the following March. Since then, she and I have made many road trips of our own, including some with the same folks we traveled with on the trip to Washington. Things have changed. The nephew and niece are both grown now. We added Hannah to the mix a decade ago. When we travel in different vehicles now, we use text messages to communicate instead of walkie-talkies. Other things stay the same. Her dad never fails to meet someone he can't make some connection with on some level.

Through the years I heard some people say how when you marry you also marry your spouse's family. I think that is true. In my case, just how when I married Jennifer I married beyond any expectations, I did the same with her family. They have welcomed me into their circle as one of their own. My own family lives miles away and I only see them a few times each year, so Jennifer's family often fills some of that void. They don't replace my own flesh and blood but they do fill that void enough so that I never feel on the outside when we are together. While I have come to truly understand and appreciate this over time I recognize this truly began on a long road trip to Washington, DC. It was one cause that was truly worth it.

Playlist for Road Trip: Washington, DC:

Darryl Worley "Have You Forgotten?"
Fleetwood Mac "Silver Springs"
The Highwaymen "Highwayman"
Van Morrison "Bright Side of the Road"
Neil Diamond "America"
Lenny Kravitz "Are You Gonna Go My Way"
Jimmy Buffett "Cheeseburger in Paradise"
Elvis Presley "Treat Me Nice"
REM "Don't Go Back To Rockville" (live)
Natalie Merchant "Kind and Generous"
Roy Orbison "Dream Baby"
Randy Newman "She Chose Me"

Some Shadows Linger

He came from a poor farming family in the rocky north Georgia mountains. His family, my people, never had much except one another but that was enough to survive and thrive. From those beginnings, hard work and determination-enemies of so-called privilege, my Dad had a family of his own. While the world may look down at whatever he accomplishes in his time I understand the world spends much of its time judging intentions and not actions or results.

As a family we never lacked for anything we needed. We were not wealthy but we were rich in love. Dad was the one who provided so much of what we needed and wanted. He worked hard for years, rarely missing a day of work in a job most today would consider beneath their dignity.

As his son, I look back to see times when I wish I had paid better attention to what he said. Sometimes, I just wish I had paid attention. I wish I had made better use of the time we had together when we were both younger. I wish I had said some things. I wish I had not said other things. I wish I had understood how my tone of voice and facial expressions carry more weight sometimes than the words I say. Sometimes I wish he understood how his tone of voice and facial expressions carry their own weight, good and bad.

As a father now, I hope I can be as patient and understanding as I remember he was with me. I am sure he would say he never had to worry too much about me but I know he did worry some. That is just part of his love and concern, even if it was unspoken. I know there were times he let go knowing it was best to let go even when letting go was not his instinct at the time. I hope I have that courage and faith to do as he did when I am faced with the same.

A few short sentences will never detail what my Dad means to me. I do know as I have grown older I realize what a strong, quiet force for good he has been in my life from day one.

Some shadows fall long lingering into the fading light. My Dad casts such a shadow. I am content to remain in it as long as I can.

Art For The Heart

It was a special day. The entirety of the third grade at Hannah’s school had an art show. Each student named a local landmark to paint for the show. In the weeks prior to the show, the students tapped their creative sides to put paint to canvas providing their interpretation of a famous local location. They also spent time researching their chosen landmark to write a blurb that appeared alongside their painting. On the big day, we dressed up, entered the school library to see each student in Hannah’s class standing by their painting while also willing to sign autographs.

About a year earlier, Hannah’s grandparents and uncle took her to the Lookout Mountain Incline Railway. Lookout Mountain rests on the southern side of the city of Chattanooga. At the top of the mountain is a breathtaking view of the city. There, a rail car can lower you to the foot of the mountain into the St. Elmo neighborhood. Then, the rail car makes the climb to the top of the mountain. The trip is about one mile long, so the ride, both ways, is rather steep. Something about thinking about this excursion had Hannah hesitant to ride the incline initially. Once there though she embraced the opportunity. Months later, that venture had made such an impression on her that she decided to capture it on a painter’s canvas.

Her painting was bright and colorful and worthy of all the other wonderful words a parent could imagine. All the paintings were good. I was amazed at the detail some had. Others had a great mixture of colors. Each though was unique and special like the artist in each child.

After the art show exhibit, Hannah’s school day was over. Jennifer and I determined we would spend the time right after the event in some special way. We felt the way to celebrate was for the three of us to have brunch. Fortunately, the two adults outvoted the nine-year-old or we would have munched on something from McDonald’s. Instead, we went to downtown Chattanooga to a restaurant specializing mostly in breakfast items.

Then over omelets, bacon, biscuits, fruit, French toast and various types of coffee and water, we talked about the art show. We talked about Hannah’s classmates. We noted how much they have all changed in the past year, a quarantine casualty of not being able to get to know your child’s friends and their parents while waiting in car line or aftercare. After eating all we could hold, we shelled out enough money for a decent dinner all the while knowing the next meal would likely be much later in the afternoon. We walked out the door to locate our car and go home. Jennifer and Hannah had the rest of the day off while I worked from home.

There are a lot of things I recall about that day. Some of them I have already mentioned here. The biggest takeaway is how we were able to spend time together as a family while not being overwhelmed with work or school or worry over family and friends. Obviously, Hannah’s painting is one of those things to remember about the day. It will be a cherished memento from third grade for years to come. It will always be something memorable about this day. I am sure after the school year ends, it will hang on a wall.

For me though the other picture in this blog post is the one I will try to remember for the rest of my days.

As we left the restaurant, Jennifer and Hannah turned down the sidewalk toward the parking lot where our car was located. As is often the case, I was a few steps behind the two of them. Around us was the skyline of the city Jennifer grew up in, the city Hannah is growing up in, the city I have grown to love, and the city we will all grow old in. Hand in hand they walked into the landscape of concrete and steel with the backdrop of a clear blue sky with Lookout Mountain off in the distance. It just seemed like a moment that should be captured for remembering at some later time.

Now, removed from that moment, I understand I may not recall all the details of this special day. The names of Hannah’s classmates may fade from me with time. I probably won’t recall what I wore that day. Remembering the specific brunch items we shared may be a chore years from now, Hopefully though, I will recall this place we call home and many of the moments we shared together here. I especially hope my mind will always carry the image of Jennifer and Hannah, hand in hand, in this place at this time. I hope it will be painted onto the canvas of my memory for now and all time.

Road Trip: Bowling Green

At a certain time in my life, I put many miles on my truck traveling to Bowling Green, Kentucky. I first went to Bowling Green to be part of a friend’s wedding in the mid-1980s. Little did I know then how one day in the not-so-distant future I would live there for a time.

Fast-forward a few years and a college friend (hi, Kelly!) was working in Bowling Green for a company that produced video yearbooks for schools. With her connections, I soon interviewed with that company. I was then hired to work there.

I moved to Bowling Green in the late spring. I had an apartment just outside the city limits of Bowling Green near the Chevrolet Corvette manufacturing facility. I worked evenings so I well remember looking outside my front window during the day spending time watching new Corvettes being test driven by my apartment.

For much of the rest of that calendar year, Kentucky became my home. I had a number of friends who lived nearby so it was good to see them on occasion. Nashville was an hour south and other friends lived there. I was often on the road visiting Music City, USA on weekends. A few times, friends visited me for a weekend in Bowling Green.

My day-to-day world then was in the town that is the home to Western Kentucky University, Houchen’s Grocery, the Greenwood Mall, and Beech Bend Park. One of the local radio stations was the Beaver, WBVR. Another friend (hi, Christi!) worked for them. It was always nice to turn on the radio and listen to her.

I also recall Kentucky had some incredible sunsets. I have lived most of my life where sunsets slide behind mountains. In Bowling Green, the land was flat, so experiencing the sun slip slowly toward the ground was a nice change of pace.

I remember during one friend’s visit from Nashville how we visited a restaurant named Quincy’s. It was a steakhouse and featured a salad bar. I don’t recall what we ate when we went. I do remember laughing so hard that my friend nearly choked on his food. I never went back to Quincy’s after that because I imagine they might have met me at the door to turn me away.

I was always amazed how when I drove outside Bowling Green into the countryside. Yes, there were cattle and farmland there, but there were also small oil derricks. It seems that section of Kentucky had oil underneath the ground in certain locations, so a few folks could have been considered Kentucky oil barons.

Later that calendar year, the company that employed me made drastic changes breaking promises they made to a number of us who worked there. It became time to move on for me. So, I packed back up and moved back to Georgia for a time.

That road from Bowling Green south then back north to Bowling Green was one I traveled frequently for a time years ago. On either side of Nashville, the drive was smooth and free from the congestion of Tennessee’s capital city. I have driven enough to think I could do it with my eyes closed.

Recently, we spent a few days in Kentucky. Jennifer has an aunt and uncle who live about an hour east of Bowling Green. We have been there through the years to spend part of the Thanksgiving holiday with many of her family. On this trip we ventured closer to Bowling Green but still stayed east of the town. One day we did drive to a dairy farm in Barren County. Getting that close to some old haunts made me a bit reminiscent of the time I spent there.

It made me remember one trip I made when I lived in Bowling Green. I stopped at a gas station in Nashville to fill up the tank. Inside, I spotted this giant black and gold mug with the WKDF logo on it. WKDF was one of the hotter radio stations in Nashville at the time. I bought that mug and still have it to this day. It is one of the few things that have survived the years from my short time in Bowling Green. That mug reminds me of my time in Kentucky. I no longer drink out of that mug. Instead, it holds dozens of pennies. Still, I can’t quite part with it as it seems connected to a time and place that remains a special time in my life, even if it was for a very short time.

Road Trip: Bowling Green playlist:
Kentucky Headhunters “Walk Softly On This Heart Of Mine”
John Prine (with Marty Stuart) “Paradise”
Vince Gill “When I Call Your Name”
Loretta Lynn “Blue Kentucky Girl”
The Allman Brother Band “Good Clean Fun”
Bill Monroe “Blue Moon of Kentucky”
MC Hammer “U Can’t Touch This”
The Black Crowes “Jealous Again”
ZZ Top “Doubleback”
Patty Loveless and Ricky Skaggs “Close By”
Kentucky Headhunters “Dumas Walker”
The Everly Brothers “Bowling Green”

Some Call Me Timmy

Ever notice how many names you are known by? I have thought some about this from time to time. When you become a parent, you get a new identity. Hannah knows me as “Daddy”. Of all the names I am known by, it is my favorite name by far. Now to Hannah’s friends I am “Hannah’s daddy”. That one is okay, too. As I become older, I sometimes hear some younger folks refer to me as “Mr. Dills”. While I may feel that title should refer to my late grandfather or to my father, I try to temper that urge so that in some way I acknowledge younger people who have been raised with some respect for those older than they are.

For the most part though, most everyone I know calls me ‘Tim”. It is a shortened version of my given name, “Timothy”. The name means “honoring God”. So many of our names reach back to some meaning tied to God.

Some have varied my name throughout my life in some way. You know “Tiny Tim” was one. I have long been confused with that one since it could be Tiny Tim from A Christmas Carol from Charles Dickens, but it could also mean the person calling me that really liked the falsetto-singing, ukulele-playing pop culture star Tiny Tim best known in the 1960s and 1970s. A few called me “Timbo” from time to time although that one never stuck for long.

During the earliest part of my life, I was known as “Timmy”. I have no idea who first called me that or why. I then was known by “Timmy” by family and friends. At some point, I suppose I thought “Timmy” sounded too much like a little kid’s name, so I worked hard to let folks know I preferred to be called “Tim”. I don’t really recall any specific event that made me determine this is how I should be identified but it caught on. Now most all who know me call me by that shortened version of my given first name.

Except some still call me “Timmy”. I noticed this when I was in college. I was home one summer and attended a family reunion. I saw aunts, uncles, and cousins I had not seen in years. For some of them, the last time they had seen me was when I was called “Timmy”. I noted then how some called me by that name on that day especially when some who used that name followed it by saying how they had not seen me since I was “little”. When I returned to school in the fall, I joked with some of my friends about being called “Timmy”. When I hosted a radio show on the college radio station, I then began calling myself “Little Timmy”.

At some point, my nieces and nephews, and maybe even a few cousins, caught on to it all. They started calling me “Timmy” as well. They relished this since they thought it got under my skin some. And, maybe, for a time, it did. Even now when we are together at some point, one of them will purposely, or otherwise, call me “Timmy”.

I don’t hear the name “Timmy” often these days. At a recent family funeral though I heard it a few times. With so many years behind me now, I don’t always recognize the name when I hear it. Maybe it is just so much a part of me now that it skips by me when someone uses that name. On this day though prior to the funeral service, a few family members had told me one of my cousins that I had not seen in years was there. I had not run across him though. As the family gathered to walk into the funeral home chapel, I saw my cousin across the room. I broke the line, walked to him, grabbed his hand then looked him in the eyes. Sure enough, he gripped my hand back, looked me in the eyes and without hesitation said, “Timmy.”

For me, that is enough reason to always answer to that name.

The Sun Always Rises

Over the course of the past year the day-to-day routine has seemed more like a grind than ever before. We have been told to cover our faces and stay away from others. While the short-term benefits of such may have been well-intentioned, the long-term impact is something I fear will be something some will never get over.

The past year had to gone on though. We learned to adapt to do things we had to do every day just so things could seem as normal as possible. It was all the same but in a different way. Despite moving on in the best way we could, looking back, some things seem lost.

In this last, lost year, we lost friends and family, and because of fear, we could not grieve them as we normally would. How hard will that piece of being mortal, just being human, be to get back? We lost some civility during the past year, didn't we? We already had greatly squandered this commodity, mostly on politics, so losing more of it was something we should have really considered. We tested friendships over whether or not to wear masks. Was it a loss of freedom to have to wear a mask? Some seemed more than willing to report some one to the authorities over not wearing a mask than they were to report an actual crime.

Now and then I would see something that reminded me that not all is lost.

Working from home one recent morning, my day started with helping Jennifer and Hannah get out the door for work and school. After the rush-rush of that hour finished, I stood at the living room window. A moment later, I saw Jennifer's car, with the two of them inside, pull up to our street to leave. As they turned out of our driveway, my eyes followed them, There as the car drove away from our house, I noticed they were driving into a spectacular sunrise.

With a right turn onto another street, they disappeared from my sight. I could only keep looking at the sky. I opened the front door stepping onto our porch just so I could get a better glimpse of the view before my eyes. Maybe, I was outside in an attempt to get a bit closer to the source.

No matter how the past year has unfolded, it unfolded as it always has in some ways. One day always followed another day. One distinct season always followed another distinct season. Each morning, sunrise came, whether hidden behind clouds or unobstructed in front of a blue sky. Each evening, sunset came, cloudy or otherwise.

In all the bickering, vitriol, anger, and confusion our world seems to sink deeper into each day, that sunrise, and it's continual presence serves as a reminder that life goes on despite these things that easily distract us. It speaks how life is more than arguing a point of view, no matter how "right" a body thinks they are. It is more than just the routine someone exercises each day to get from point A to point B. It more than supersedes any new normal any one can claim. It is a shame how sometimes it has to nudge us in a spectacular way even though it is there every day without fail.

Because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."
~Luke 1: 78, 79

Road Trip: Jackson

After graduating college, I lived in Jackson, Tennessee, home of the Golden Circle, Casey Jones Village, the Red Dog Saloon, and Carl Perkins. I secured a job with a local television station working evenings on three live broadcasts five days a week. The pay wasn't much but, as is often said, my foot was in the door.

I had attended college about thirty minutes away, so I was familiar with Jackson. It was the weekend getaway from the books and studying. It was the place to take a date on a Friday night. So, when I actually moved there I became more aware of what the city offered. I already understood I was comfortable here, so if the work stayed steady then this could become home.

Work became the reason I left there. The station had some ongoing legal issues and seemed poorly operated on a few levels. The main problem for me, and many of my co-workers, was the parent company would issue our checks late every other Thursday. Often, they told us to hold the check until Monday because the account they were drawing money from might not have enough funds to cover payroll. This happened enough times that summer that a few of us rewrote the lyrics to Terence Trent D'Arby's song, "Sign Your Name (Across My Heart)" to "Sign Your Name (Across My Check)." So, just before Thanksgiving, having located a job in my hometown, I moved back to Georgia.

Still, looking back I had about six months in Jackson. I rented my first apartment. The lady I rented from was named Annette, except she pronounced her name A-net. For my job, I covered a rodeo in nearby Lexington. I also covered an election in Union City, and the world's largest milkshake at the start of my college's fall semester. I hung out with friends. I waved to Carl Perkins in a catfish restaurant once. I learned a lot about myself in those days.

There were times I made a few road trips. When I was searching for a new job, I took several trips back to Georgia. Most of these were trips I made overnight. When my work week ended on Friday night about 11, I had my car loaded for a weekend road trip. Fueled on Mountain Dew and Little Debbie snack cakes, I barreled down the interstate in the dark of the night. I suppose the great thing about being in your early-twenties then was how I never second-guessed the sanity of doing this. I am not sure I would try this now. Anyway, I would pull into my parents' driveway early Saturday morning. My Mom usually worked on Saturday and my Dad usually had chores to do, so I found a bed and crashed until midday. Over the weekend though, I enjoyed being back home and visiting family and friends there. Early Monday morning, I loaded up my car and made the trip back to Jackson, most of it in daylight.

There came a time when I gave notice to my employer. They owed me parts of pay for six weeks when I left (spoiler alert: they eventually paid all of us what we earned). I remember that final day of work. I recall calling a friend to say goodbye. I remember that day was rainy. Autumn's leaves stuck to the pavement in the wetness. I left for work early that day just so I could revisit some of the old haunts one last time, if only in a passing car. I drove by the movie theatre, the mall, the Siam Room Chinese restaurant ("Welcome back!"), the Mexican drive-thru I sometimes visited after work, and other places that have now blended into time and memory. I went to work for the final time there, and, later after work, made a trip back to Georgia.

I've been back to Jackson several times through the years even though it has been a long time since my last visit there. I remember that place and my time there fondly, and on occasion, I miss those days. Of course, that place has changed from the way I remember. I am grateful though I can remember that place the way I do, a nice stop along the way in my life's journey.

Playlist for Road Trip: Jackson
Johnny Cash and June Carter: "Jackson"
Carl Perkins "Blue Suede Shoes"
Rob Jungklas "Memphis Thing"
Dwight Yoakam and Buck Owens "Streets of Bakersfield"
John Kilzer "Memory in the Making"
Jimmy Davis and Junction "Kick The Wall"
Blue Tears "Rockin' With The Radio"
Rosanne Cash "Runaway Train"
Tracy Chapman "Fast Car"
Cheap Trick "The Flame"
Keith Richards: "Take It So Hard"
John Hiatt: "Drive South"

How We Do Friday Night

 A recent Friday night, 7:00 P.M.

We're in for the night here. Yep, we are calling it a day this early even if the weekend has just started. Now while I have never been much of weekend warrior, previous Friday nights played out differently than tonight.

In high school years, a Friday night might have meant a football game or driving through our hometown for hours on end. In college, it might have meant hanging out with the gang or an occasional date. At other times in my life, a Friday night meant work.

Friday nights now are about our family. Usually it means a collective sigh of relief that we have made it through another week of school and work. It might mean leftovers from the refrigerator or pizza delivered to our door. Sometimes it might mean a movie or family game night.

This particular Friday, Jennifer had to work late. This meant Hannah and I were on our own most of the evening. I picked up Hannah from school with plans already thought out. Since the little girl likes pizza and is usually famished at the end of a school day, I planned an early supper at a local pizza joint. Hannah was all for it.

We pulled into the pizza parlor parking lot while the sun was still a brilliant yellow in the sky. I had already envisioned several things about this venture. I knew how we had to order. I knew how we had to get our drinks. I knew we then had to locate a table or booth. Soon enough, all that went as planned.

I ordered a salad. I knew before ordering how my guest would most likely help me pick through it. I knew the good stuff, the cheese and the cucumbers were very likely to find their way into her grasp. Tonight, she also absconded with the mushrooms. Then, disaster struck.

She picked up her soft drink, which was in a paper cup with a plastic lid. The lid separated from the cup. Coca-Cola and ice splashed onto the table and into my lap. Some of the dark liquid made it's way into a small cup of ranch dressing. I imagine it took three dozen napkins to clear the mess. I had not planned for this yet I determined I would not allow such a mishap to ruin the time ahead.

Soon enough, our pizza arrived. I ordered Hannah two slices of cheese pizza. I ordered a large pizza for me, knowing much of it would be carried home so Jennifer could have a late Friday night dinner or we could all have a big lunch of leftovers Saturday. It was all delicious.

During our time eating, Hannah looked at me once and told me to ask her if she was having a good time. I asked her at that moment and received a thumbs up. After eating some on one of her slices, I asked Hannah if she wanted a slice of the big pizza. She did and she ate about half a slice. About that time, she reminded me to ask her again about whether she was having a good time or not. Another thumbs up.

It wasn't long before we were boxing up the leftover pizza and on our way home. We got here as the sun began sliding behind the mountains to the west. The rest of the evening was pretty basic, a Disney movie and a Hannah FaceTime call with one of her friends from school.

Meantime, I sat soaking in another Friday night. I flipped through past years thinking how this night of each week was magical in some way that at that moment meant so much. Now though looking back over this day I think about hearing Hannah tell me about her day. I think about the time at dinner when we laughed and ate. I think about how these days are so special, more special than I deserve and much more special than I ever imagined they could be. Thumbs up in every way.