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"

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.

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.

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.

Not Always Easy

A part of life that never changes is how life is always changing. Since much of this type of change is gradual, most of us live with some understanding that we live in the time between we realize such changes. Some change takes place, we realize the change and react.

When I think about my life, I seem to end up measuring the way life is now with how it was when I first can recall. This takes me back to my childhood. At this time, I began putting the puzzle pieces together of who I was, and who was in my family. God blessed me with a wonderful immediate family. Beyond that He also blessed me with amazing aunts, uncles, and cousins.

As life moved on, changes came about. Family members moved away. Some drifted away. Some died.

I was one of those who moved away. Granted, it is just a few hours away but still the distance and time is great enough to make it difficult to get there easily at times.

Still, there are days when I wish I could go back to the way it was when I first understood how those pieces of the puzzle fit together so that all the family I have ever known would still be together. Of course, such wishing can never make such a thing happen. This leads to another part of life, when change happens we react in some way. Hopefully, we all adapt, you know, change, in some way and move forward.

Recently, a couple of those extended family members died. Under normal circumstances, juggling work and family schedules here would determine how I could pay my respects. After all, being part of such a close and large family taught me to honor and respect those of us who pass away when that time comes. With the added weight of global pandemic, that decision became harder.

As I waited to hear details of visitation and service, the inclusion of the virus added to the equation of attending. When the details became available, it became clear I would not be able to attend. Work and family matters here would not bend enough to allow me to be present.

Living away from most of my family means this happens at times. Each time I grapple with this, I end up feeling guilty. I feel as if I am not properly remembering and honoring what these family members have meant, still mean and will forever mean to me.

To some who read this, what I say here may not mean much. To some family does not matter very much for various reasons. To some stopping to reflect when someone dies is a waste of time, after all, life goes on for the living. For me, I cannot understand that type of thinking. I was raised differently I suppose.

Part of life is also about making hard choices then living with the consequences of those decisions. When I moved here over twenty-five years ago, I knew then how losing family members to death would be something that would bother me. Knowing I could not always be on hand to share tears, laughs and memories of loved ones with those family members who will always be a part of who I am is something I knew I had to accept at some level. I am not sure I have been successful at finding that place. I am not sure I really want to ever find that place. I know now when it happens, it is never an easy thing to go through. That is one thing that does not seem to change.

Road Trip: The Yellow Rose

In this space, I have written about several road trips I have taken over the years. Once or twice I have taken a side trip in these stories. This is another side trip.

A few years after I learned to drive, my parents helped me buy a car. It was an early 1970s Road Runner. Sorry, I can’t recall the model year although I want to say it was 1973. The car had bucket seats and an eight-track player. My brother, who made a living using Bondo, sandpaper, water and paint to become an excellent paint and body man, used his talent to transform the car from Tootsie lollipop brown with a black stripe to black with a white stripe. Somewhere I have a photograph of the finished product.

I did not keep the car for long. You see there was a drinking problem. The car liked to drink oil and gas. When I went away to college, I did not drive it there so it sat for several months. In my first summer home, I sold the car and bought a late 1970s Datsun car. It was canary yellow with a black stripe. It was a much more sensible option for me. College was a seven-hour trip one way so the car with the better gas mileage seemed to be a no-brainer.

During my college years, that yellow car, sometimes referred to as the Yellow Rose, was my primary means of getting from Point A to Point B. While the car was reliable much of the time, it had its moments of frustrating unreliability. One trip back to college, it sputtered while leaving a rest area. The car ran okay as long as I kept my foot on the gas. When we stopped for lunch, I told a friend who was driving his Chevy Luv truck to not leave me since my car was sputtering at times. My friend did as I asked. Somehow, I made it safely through Nashville. A few hours later, I had to exit the interstate. At the end of the ramp, I would have to stop for traffic. I was not sure I could come to a complete stop without the car quitting. So, I closed one eye, did not stop, and made the left turn safely. I got in the car the next day and it ran like a top.

There were other such incidents. She sputtered and quit under a red light on a Saturday night in Jackson. That incident involved a tow truck and a ride back to campus in the back of a pick-up on a cold autumn night. Another time I parked in a restricted campus parking lot to pick up my friend, Roger. In my haste to not get a ticket, I backed directly into a concrete barrier centering the trunk. For years after this, every time Roger rode with me, he looked at me, grinned then held his neck.

Most of my friends had such cars during college. Ligon had a Studebaker. Gordo had a huge blue Dodge we called the Tank. I joked once that car was so big if you were in the backseat and needed to talk to someone in the front seat you had to place a long-distance phone call. Not to be outdone, Skip owned a huge beige car we referred to as the Banana Boat. Hester had the Im-puh-luh. Young had a Cadillac. Others had Monte Carlos, Pintos, Volvos, Suburus, K-Cars, and pick-up trucks. Most of these vehicles seemed to be held together with duct tape, spit, chewing gum, and a prayer. Still, they did what they had to do when we needed them.

I traveled many miles in that yellow car, most of them during my college years. Less than a year after my graduation, it stalled on the side of the road about an hour away from my parents' home. I called my Dad and he called a longtime family friend with a tow truck who hauled that old yellow car home. We worked on it and got it running again. I sold it. For a time I lived in my hometown, then later not too far away. It became commonplace for me to see that car around town.

One day I pulled into a gas station in my hometown. I looked at the pump in front of me, and there she was. I knew it was her. She still had an old college parking sticker attached to the back bumper. I could not resist. I walked over to the driver. I told him I once owned the car he was driving. I asked him how it was working for him. He replied he had never had a lick of trouble from the car. At that moment, I relived moments when I stood on the side of the road because the car quit. I had never wanted to kick that car more than I did at that moment. I wished him well and went on my way.

There were a lot of road trips in that old yellow car, Jackson, Nashville, home, jaunts around west Tennessee, and a few times down nearby backroads in an attempt to just clear my mind. There is a Thom Schulyer song popularized by Dan Seals called “My Old Yellow Car”. While every line in that song doesn’t fit my experience I must admit when I hear the song these lines somehow speak to me:
“There was no road too winding and nowhere too far
With two bucks of gas and my old yellow car.
Somewhere in a pile of rubber and steel
There’s a rusty old shell of an automobile
And if engines could run on desire alone
That old yellow car would be driving me home.”

Playlist for "Road Trip: The Yellow Rose"
Dan Seals "My Old Yellow Car"
Emmylou Harris "White Line"
The Cars "Drive"
Gary Numan "Cars"
Steve Earle "Copperhead Road"
Lone Justice "Ways To Be Wicked"
Creedence Clearwater Revival "Keep On Chooglin'"
Ronnie Milsap "She Loves My Car"
Jason and the Scorchers "Absolutely Sweet Marie"
Georgia Satellites "Keep Your Hands To Yourself"
Don Henley "The Boys of Summer"
John Hiatt "Riding With The King"

That Song Is Driving Me Crazy

As parents of a young child, Jennifer and I have experienced our fair share of songs from television shows and movies. We have "Set It All Free". We put that sunshine in our pockets so that we "Can't Stop the Feeling." Of course, we also "Let It Go." Times and moments, pardon the pin, frozen in time. Sometimes, we have seen these movies and shows so many times that the songs seem to play in an endless loop in our brains.

And, that is the true downside to all this. These songs are so catchy. These tunes are such delicious ear candy that one cannot simply hear them once then forget them. Risk devoting time coupled with the least bit of energy and soon you will find the song playing over and over in your head.

Now and then though, you win one.

I drove Hannah to school recently. During the ride, she and I mostly talked. This was great as I love hearing her carry a conversation. As we drew nearer to school, the conversation grew quieter. Maybe Hannah sensed we were near the school. Maybe we had exhausted what we had to say.

In the background, I had on the car radio. At any given time, that radio could be set to any type of station. Mostly though, the radio is set to some type of music from back in my day. It could the "hits of the 70s, 80s and 90s". It could be classic rock. Some days it is classic country.

This particular morning, the station was a classic country music station. Softly, in the background, the early 1980s hit, "You're The Reason God Made Oklahoma." was playing. As the silence continued, I slowly increased the volume of the radio.

Looking in the rearview mirror, I could see Hannah eyeing me

realizing the music was becoming louder. Then, at just the right moment I began singing along with the song. Glancing back in the mirror, I could see Hannah laughing.

As the song continued to play, Hannah began singing along with the radio. We laughed as we finished the song. As the song ended, I turned down the radio. From the backseat, Hannah spoke up, "Great, now that song will be in my head the rest of the day."

Her spoken realization made me laugh. For all the Disney songs that have infiltrated my brain during the last decade I felt like I had won one for all the mom and dads who find themselves during some quiet moment mindlessly humming something from "Beauty and the Beast", "Toy Story" or "The Lion King". For all of you who have endured such moments, "You're Welcome." Sorry, I know, that's from "Moana".

Road Trip: Away To College

One January Saturday morning, my parents drove me to college. It was a road trip that forever changed my life. They left me well over three hundred miles away from the home I had known all my life. This new place was a small room with two roommates and a dorm full of characters who became among the closest friends I have ever known. I did not see that coming when we pulled out of the family driveway that Saturday morning.

I don’t recall much about the actual trip. It was cold and sunny. The trip seemed to take forever. We finally got there and mostly unpacked. Soon enough, it was midday Sunday and my parents were leaving to return to Georgia while I was staying behind in a place where I only knew a handful of people.

Life suddenly was different. While I had good roommates and made good friends then, I was still homesick. Within a few days of my arrival, I had the days counted until spring break. I remember thinking if I could just make it to that time when I could go home to visit, I could come back for the seven or so weeks remaining to finish out the semester and then never return.

So, I waited for mid-March. It came in the form of a Friday. My classes ended around lunchtime. I was riding back to Georgia though with a friend whose classes did not end until later in the afternoon. By the time we were joined by a third rider, we were leaving campus later than I hoped but we were finally on the road.

I remember some things about that trip. I know we took turns driving. It seemed to take a long time to get where we wanted to be. The one major thing that sticks out to me about that trip was a great realization that I loved my parents and family more than I ever understood. I remember looking out the car window into the velvety darkness thinking about my life and what I planned to do with it. I knew what I was doing was not easy but I think I then began to understand it was something I had to do.

I finally got back into Mom and Dad’s house after midnight. It was good to be back there. Soon enough, I would see other family members during the week. The week ended though. Before I was ready, we were on our way back to college.

The remaining weeks at school seemed to pass quicker than those first few weeks. It wasn’t long before my parents came to pick me up and we drove home for my summer break. At one point in that recent past, I was certain if I could make it to those first few days of May then I would never go back. When we left that day in May though, I knew deep down in my heart I would be back. I just did not see that coming when this journey started on a sunny, cold January Saturday morning.

Playlist for "Road Trip: Away To College"
Van Halen "Panama"
Nena "99 Luft Balloons"
Christine McVie "Got A Hold On Me"
Oak Ridge Boys "I Guess It Never Hurts To Hurt Sometimes"
Cyndi Lauper "Time After Time"
Elton John "I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues"
John Mellencamp "Pink Houses"
Jackson Browne "For A Rocker"
The Cars "You Might Think"
The Go-Gos "Head Over Heels"
The Pretenders "Middle of the Road"
Tony Carey "A Fine, Fine Day"

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!