The Post Office

To all my friends who have taken the time to read my blog, to those who have taken the time to leave wonderful feedback and to my friends who have encouraged me in this endeavor: I want to give a great big heartfelt thank you to all of you. This blog, though short lived, has been fun and I have enjoyed sharing my life, my stories, my essays and photos with you. It was an experiment that took a bit of an unexpected turn for me. Originally I had not intended to use it as an outlet for so much writing. I love to write but there is no way I can keep up with a blog set up for short stories and essays. This will be my final entry. Once again I would like to thank all of you who have taken the time to read my rambling blog entries.

So, my final post:

As usual my mind has been focused on perspective or more accurately my lack of perspective. Those of you who know me personally will know that from time to time I have a bit of a physical issue I deal with. Nothing huge, insurmountable or even worthy of writing about. I do however let things get the best of me and I find myself frustrated at times. Recently I found myself, tired, frustrated and way out of perspective. As will often be the case however, life has a way of hitting me right between the eyes with a reality check.

I was pulling into the post office almost a week ago and due to the Christmas rush the parking lot was a little crowded. Not overly so but I wasn't feeling well and it was more crowded then I was in the mood to deal with. There was a parking space relatively close and I noticed there was a handicap parking space open. I would never park in a handicap parking space but there are times when I would love to be able to. I saw a car pulling into the handicap space and I did not immediately see a special placard in the car or see a special license plate entitling the driver to park there.

Now this is where I have a rambling flashback and need to give you some history. The year was, well the year was a long, long time ago and let’s just leave it at that. I was one of three cars pulling into a doctor’s office parking lot. The first car parked in the handicap parking space, the second car parked in a parking space quite a bit further from the entrance to the office. I parked just a little further out. The weather was very cold, there was slush coming down and there was a lot of ice on the parking lot.

Out of the handicap parked car bounds a young, apparently healthy man. He didn’t limp, walk slow or seem to have any trouble moving. I got out of my car and was slipping and sliding on the ice. I was in pain and at the time due to an injury and I was having a hard time walking. As I was walking to across the parking lot, the people in the second car had gotten out and were trying to negotiate the ice, wind and rain. Much to my dismay, sadness and outrage at the driver of the first car, the man and woman in the second car were about 75 years old or older. The man was feeble and had a hard time walking. The woman was not much better off and she was trying to support the man with her wiry little frame.

I hurried toward them to help them both but before I was able to get to them, the man slipped on the ice and the woman fell with him as she was trying to keep him up. My heart ripped in two as I saw them. They had struggled to their knees by the time I was able to help them. This was a small medical complex with about four different offices in it. The older couple and I were going to the same doctor so I helped them inside my doctor’s office and told the receptionist that they had both fallen. They ended up calling an ambulance for the man, I never found out if he was o.k.

I waited outside for the driver in the car that parked in the handicapped space to come out of his appointment. I yelled at him and cussed at him and finally grabbed him by the jacket and even though I was in pain, seriously contemplated throwing him down on the ice but thought better of it and just walked away. He probably thought I was crazy because he backed away and did not come after me. It was stupid on my part to get so out of control but I was so outraged at what happened to the two older people.

So with that in mind, back to my original story. As I parked I saw a car park in the only open handicap space available but it didn’t look like the car was legally entitled to be there. My son was with me and I almost grumbled about the person but thought better of it. The world around us often has more then enough bitterness in it and I try to be the last place on earth that my son hears bitterness from.

We got out of the car and started walking toward the door. Much to my dismay the person in the car seemed to be trying to get my attention. I knew I was in a bad mood and I really didn’t want to deal with this person but I knew I could not just ignore him. As I got closer I looked up at the person who had rolled his window down by this time. He had two letters in his hand and he was asking me if I could go mail them for him. He also had a cane, he was hooked up to an oxygen bottle and he appeared to be missing a leg.

I answered him with a very humble yes sir and took the letters. He was very relieved and started trying to explain why he was asking. He was afraid he had missed the outside mail pick up time and these were important letters for him. I told him it would absolutely be my pleasure and I told him I was happy I could do this for him. I felt like such a self centered, self pitying, idiot. My initial reaction to seeing the car pull into that space before I ever even saw the driver, sadly, spoke volumes about the state of my heart at that point.

I went into the post office and mailed the letters. My son who is generally a constant fixture at my side did not follow me when I went to check my post office box. When I retrieved my mail and turned around my son was walking over to me with a bounce in his step and a huge grin. He told me the reason he had not followed me was because he saw a “Grandma” carrying a lot of mail and she looked sad. That is how we describe elders, as Grandmas or Grandpas. He opened the door for her in hopes that it would help her and maker her happy. He said he wasn’t sure if it made her happy or not but he wanted to make people happy like I do.

On our way out of the post office the woman stopped us, she had waited for us to walk by and she told me what a kind son I have. She had a bright smile and she touched his face tenderly. His smile lit up like the sun and we both said thank you to her. I told him he had done a great job of making her happy and this thrilled him.

I got into the car and even though it was a rainy day I put my sun glasses on. I drove home with tears in my eyes. I had such bitterness in my heart at the onset of this entire incident. I had gotten frustrated and bitter with a person for no reason and hadn’t even met the person. Then I got an instant reality check when I saw the person needed help. Who am I to take myself so seriously and to focus on my own petty issues when people are in true need? Yet my son, with innocent eyes, wanted to be like me. As is often the case my son’s pure, sweet heart melted mine and put my own heart and mind into perspective.

Otter

Grandpa and his cats

Those of you who have read some of my posts on LE about my grandfather know that although he passed away years ago, he is still my hero and always will be. It is important for me to keep the memory of my grandfather alive. As hard as my poor grandfather tried, I am sure I learned very little of what he tried to teach me. I do want to pass on what knowledge and wisdom I managed to gain from him though. To this end and to honor my grandfather, I tell my son stories and anecdotes about him frequently.

My grandfather was not a well educated man but he was probably the most intelligent man I have ever known. He did not study philosophy or the great schools of thought but he was the wisest man I have ever known. He was practical, provincial and immensely patient. All of these characteristics added up to the greatest mentor a boy could ever have. I am fortunate to have had him at my side as I grew up. He may be gone these many years but to me, he is still at my side and I will do my best to make sure he is at my son’s side as he grows up as well.

My grandfather was a great problem solver. He could take family disputes and find equitable resolutions. He could take an emotional difficulty and with a story or words of encouragement, could strengthen your spirit and resolve. He could take a mechanical problem, apply some thought to it and find a solution even though many people may have already tried and failed to work it out.

Fast forward from my grandfather to my 11 year old son a few days ago. He and I were working on modifying a piece of furniture for his room. If I was resourceful and could figure out this modification it would make a nice addition to his room and it would make my wife very happy... always a plus.

I knew it could be done or at least I figured it could be done without too much of a fuss but I just couldn’t quite formulate a plan. Part of the issue were very small nails already driven into the piece that I wanted to remove. They had been driven almost completely into the wood, there was no way to remove them that didn’t damage the wood.

As my son and I went about this, I became stumped I said out loud, “come on grandpa, help me out”. I knew that my grandfather would easily find a solution. I could tell it amused my son when I said this so as any good parent will do, I seized on something that made my son smile and used it repeatedly.

I really needed to remove the nails without damaging the piece. I also needed to plan out the last of the technical details for constructing this piece and I was starting to wonder if I could get this done and make it look nice. Again I said “come on grandpa, help me out”. This time my son said something that surprised me and made me happy also. He said “I bet you wish you had some of his cats right now”.

Well, in reality my grandfather’s cats were there. They were there because my son had, in that moment, summoned something from my past. Something that my grandfather used to say when I was growing up. One of his little sayings that proved to be very true. Something I had told my son several times and always hoped the he would someday understand. Still knowing he has no idea the full scope of the saying, never the less he has taken it to heart and understands the basic idea.

Now back to those cats of my grandfather’s. My grandfather would often allow me to try and do things on my own. He would watch as I would try and try something the same way over and over and not be able to get it done. Then he would gently offer his advice that came from a lifetime of experience. The way he would often offer his advice was to get me to start using my brain.....something I frequently forgot to engage.

His introductory saying to a situation I was trying to solve would always be.... “there is more then one way to skin a cat”. I would just like to say now that no cats were harmed in the making of this provincial saying. Nor did my grandfather go around actually skinning, actual cats. What he did do was teach a young, headstrong boy to stop and consider difficulties, obstacles and problems from more then one angle. What I have done is realize he was talking in a much broader sense then what I originally gleaned from this saying.

He taught me to stop, to think and to apply my mind to the world around me. To things I may encounter that may appear to need resolving. To look at situations from something as simple as wiring a light switch to as complex as getting along with your fellow human being through this simple saying. I learned there really is more then one way to skin a cat. There really is often more then one solution, more then one way of doing things, more then one opinion. Sometimes opening your eyes and your mind to a solution you might not think of at the outset is better then being stubborn working twice as hard and not using your intellect.

Here is the fly in this cat ointment however, in the midst of my toil my grandfather might very well tell me “there is more then one way to skin a cat”. He would just be checking to see if I had weighed my options in coming to the solution I was working on. Sometimes I had thought about what I was doing, sometimes I hadn’t. Sometimes I was doing it the right way, sometimes I wasn’t. Sometimes I was doing it the easy way but my grandfather would show me that the “easy way” wasn’t necessarily the “right way”.

Forethought and insight are required before you jump into action and “fix” something, only to discover your solution caused more problems in the long run because you took a short cut. Sometimes doing things the right way is harder then doing them the easy way. As I was growing up my grandfather had his hand on my shoulder guiding me in that respect. Sometimes I took the hard road because it was the right thing to do. Sometimes I took the hard road because I was thoughtless and stubborn.

As my son is growing up and we work on projects together, when we come to an impasse or we come to an unforeseen problem, I will ask his input. I will usually tell him a story of my grandfather telling me “there is more then one way to skin a cat”. He laughs, out of amusement or obligation I don’t know. I know we work well together and he is always quick to learn a new skill. I know he enjoys solving problems with me. It made my heart happy when he chimed in about my grandpa’s cats. I knew, at least for a moment, that a lesson my grandfather started me on many, many years ago is now taking hold in my son.

I know, as a father, I walk that fine line of letting him test his wings and come up with solutions and of spreading my own wings and catching him safely as I guide him gently to the correct answer when needed. I also know that as I raise up my son, I have hopes and dreams he will be a good man. He will be kind, loving, compassionate and intelligent. He will treat others with dignity and respect. He will know how to use his mind. I have hopes and dreams he will know, even though it may not be the easy thing, when and how to do what is right. I know through out my son’s growing years and probably into his adult years I will be saying inwardly, “come on grandpa, help me out”. I am just as sure, inwardly, it will be answered by my youngest son’s happy, loving voice saying “I bet you wish you had some of his cats right now”.

Veterans Day: Monday November 12, 2007

I have tried and tried since yesterday to write something appropriate for today's post but I cannot come up with anything. For all my ability to blather on in mind numbing fashion about things that are generally not important, I fall flat on my face in failure as I try and express my feelings today. I just keep thinking about my very dear friend Bill. I guess everything I have to say is etched in the scars of his face from an explosion that almost took his life.

Today I should be interviewing someone for a story. I just don’t have the internal fortitude. But today, Bill, I think about the first time I saw you. I think about that smile of yours. I remember how I instantly knew most of it was just out of place. I close my eyes and in my mind I place my hand gently on your aging face. I feel the jagged outline of a scar. I feel the wrinkled skin drawn tight over the side of your forehead. My fingertips receive a sudden and cold impersonal shock as I touch the patch that covers what was once an eye. I know you are still self conscious about it. I imagine you would wince a bit as I touched the inflamed jagged lines that cross from the side of your face down your neck. I know they have healed but they seem to hold so much pain. I am sorry you lost your youth, your innocence and so much more. I can see the look on your face as you have shared with me the hell you endured. I can see the pain and anguish as if you were there all over again. I am sorry you left that 18 year old boy back in a country you had never heard of. I am sorry he did not return, but instead he sent home an aged, battered, scarred and cynical old man. A man that would none the less make the same sacrifice all over again. To the man I have come to call by the term brother, I am sorry it was you and not me, I love you that much.

This day is not about left or right, republicans or democrats, liberals or conservatives. This day is about the untold numbers of men and women, kids mostly, who have given of themselves what no one has a right to ask.

To all the men and women who have served, or are serving our country in time of war, I give a solemn and heartfelt thank you.

Otter

Things we forget

Two days ago I was standing on the beach watching my son play in the water. We had just spent a couple of hours exploring the tide pools and just having fun. There was an elderly man throwing a ball for his dog. The dog was vibrant, full of energy and very enthusiastic. The dog came and wanted to play with me and I asked the owner if it was okay. He said yes and with that I had a new friend.

I threw the ball several times for the dog and then threw the ball back to the owner. The owner and I started making small talk about the dog, the weather etc. Soon the man seemed to want to do more then just make small talk. He started getting more detailed and talking on a deeper level.

During the conversation the man started relating details of his life to me. His wife had passed away less then a year ago. They were in the middle of building a house together near the beach. The dog belonged to both of them and she had loved this dog, a three year old Black Lab mix. They would both take the dog to the beach and play for hours.

His wife had commented on several occasions how she wished she could have one tenth of the dogs energy at her age. The man said that age and medical problems had stolen a lot of vibrancy and youth from his wife but she somehow seemed more agile and younger when she was with the dog. He looked at the dog at this point and smiled. I am sure he was recalling a memory of his wife. He stayed there with his thoughts for a moment and I did not intrude.

By this point in the conversation I was just nodding and maybe agreeing with him here and there, just to keep the flow of the conversation going. I did not want to interject anything of my own. This moment was obviously dedicated to the memory of someone I had never even met but was getting a glimpse into her life. It had become more of a narrative about him and his wife and the life they shared. About the happiness and good times he missed so much. It had become a very touching story about the best friend he lost.

He never broke stride as he spoke and continued to throw the ball for his dog. He seemed unable or unwilling to stop throwing the ball. The dog didn't mind but I think he was just afraid to break that cycle. This was a way for him to be with his wife, his best friend, even for just a fleeting minute or two in the haze of ocean mist. The dog would go and chase the ball and come back and leave again. This man was looking out over the water as he spoke mostly. I am sure he was seeing her just as beautiful as the day they met.

The magic had been broken, his gaze drifted back from the ocean and after a bit the conversation slowed down. He told me bits of information about the dog again. He told me how he was on this beach at the same time every day. He told me I could come here and talk to him again if I wanted. He told me about the colors of the rooms in the house. He told me why she had picked each color. We again fell into the polite and cordial surface level conversation shared by strangers who chance to meet while on the beach.

I said my goodbyes and turned to leave. I am a person who usually keeps a fair amount of personal distance between myself and others. This man reached out and grabbed my shoulder as I turned to leave and some how it didn't bother me in the least. It was a natural thing for him to do and I understood. With tears in his eyes he said "thanks for listening to an old man, I try to forget how lonely I am". I shook his hand and assured him I was grateful that he shared his life with me and then I left.

I am sure I will go look for him again. I am sure a friendship will develop out of this and if it doesn't, I am sure I have met this man for some reason. I have a responsibility to allow things to play out and figure out why.

Now, back to the title, Things We Forget. I forget that a small amount of kindness is all most of us are looking for. I sometimes forget that the sad looking young woman checking my groceries at the store, the bright eyed teenager at the coffee house or the old man on the beach each have their own story to tell. Each of them may just need a few minutes of my time. Each of them may need just a small and tender human touch to know that they are still valid, that they are still acknowledged. This poor man that I met, trying to forget he is so lonely, maybe if more people took the time to talk to him, he wouldn't be so lonely and he wouldn't have to spend his time trying to forget.

A day of mushrooms

I spent the day walking in the forest just taking pictures. Most of what captured my fancy today was mushrooms. None of these are edible but I found them interesting. Click on the images for a better quality view.

The dad gift

Sometimes when we think we are making the least amount of impact on a person we may later find that a single kindness touched someone more then we realize. Case in point, the dad gift. What is a dad gift you may ask? Well I should probably say right now I do not mean to insinuate it is exclusively something a father can get, I am sure mothers, friends and siblings can get this type of gift as well.

I have a son who is an adult, he and I have a great relationship now, it has not always been that way. I have been an avid hiker and outdoorsman all my life. My son was never really interested in hiking and outdoor survival but he enjoyed camping. One time several years ago he and I went on a camp out and we had a great time. Things had been rocky between us and shortly after this trip things went from bad to worse.

During this camping trip I was teaching him several methods of starting a fire. I showed him a magnesium and flint tool that I always carried with me in my outdoor gear. It can start a fire even in fairly wet conditions. He was able to successfully start a fire with it on this trip and he was filled with a sense of accomplishment. He talked about it the rest of the trip. I gave him my fire starting tool and told him to keep it in his outdoor gear so he will always be safe.

That was the last time he even spoke civilly to me for quite some time. Our relationship has healed since then and he and I are very close and always do things together. He has been asking to learn more about the outdoors and I have been going on many outings with him. He is not quite comfortable alone in the woods yet but he is getting there.

Yesterday I was out in the woods about 12 miles away from the nearest paved road. My youngest son and I were out taking photographs and picking a few mushrooms. My oldest son happened upon us just as we got started. We had a great time and It was about one hour before sun down before we decided to leave. We found there was a problem with my car and I could not start it. My oldest son was going to have to take my youngest son back to town and get something I needed.

I knew it was going to get dark and very cold shortly. I have plenty of food, blankets, extra clothing etc. in the back of my car any time I go out to the woods even if I think I will only be there a day. So safety wasn’t a real issue. I could see however that my oldest son was worried. I told him I would be safe. Just drop his little brother off with mom and come back out for me.

He still was uneasy, he knows I have stayed in the woods overnight by myself a million times. He just felt like he was leaving me and he felt bad. He then got into the trunk of his car and came out with the fire starting tool I had given him long ago. He placed it in my hand and sheepishly said: “I have always carried this with me since you gave it to me. It’s probably silly”. When I realized what it was I am sure my eyes were watering up, I know his were. He told me to make a fire if it gets too cold.

He left with his little brother and I was left alone in the stillness of the late afternoon forest. I thought about what had just transpired and the more I thought about it, the more I realized he had bothered to keep that small token with him through good and bad times. This little thing was very important to him. Important enough that when he felt I needed to be comforted, he gave it to me. I could tell it held a lot of emotion for him as he handed it to me.

My son gave me a gift the other day, not something of great monetary value, but something much more important than that. He let me know that perhaps I have been a good father to him all these years. Perhaps the words and advice have given him comfort through all the times when I thought he wasn’t even listening.

I think sometimes we touch those around us even when we feel ineffective. I held on to that fire starting tool while he was gone. Not so much because I thought I might need a fire, but because my son had given me a gift, an affirmation that I am loved as a father and I have done a good job.

I am sure this happens for mothers, friends, siblings and any other type of personal relationships you can have. It made me realize again how there is always hope.

Otter

2:00 AM is a good time

It is 2:00 AM, I walk outside on my deck and hear the ocean. It is roaring loudly and I can hear large waves breaking on the beach. A thought runs through my head that even now as the endless waves assault the beach, as the moon sits high in the sky, as everyone is asleep, there are whales less then half a mile from where I am standing. They are making their way south and even in this time when nobody is keeping track, their cycle of diving and surfacing and spraying the air with mist as they exhale goes on. I wish I could go watch them at night. They do not need me, they are not cognizant of me but it gives me so much comfort to see them. Somehow, seeing them makes me feel like I have a bond with them. But even now, in the dead of night they must keep moving and travel on from this place. They swim out of my thoughts for now but they are never very far.

I hear a friend call me from a short distance away. She is taking care of her family in the forested area on my property. I know if I am patient I will soon see her. I wait and wait but nothing happens. When I am almost ready to give up, she swoops down from behind me and flies out over my yard. In the bright moonlight her silent feathers glow. She is hunting and I watch in awe as she finds what she is looking for. She has made a kill and her family will eat tonight. She is my friend and we often keep each other company at night. She is comfortable hunting here and I am privileged. I call her Hanhepi-Wi, the Lakota word for moon.

Someone is bothering the Canadian Geese on the river bank. They are squawking and flapping their wings. They are most likely chasing away a fox or something in the weasel family. They will calm down soon but it is almost comical to hear them. They sound like a bunch of grumpy old people that got woken up by some rude young whippersnapper. I think they, like me, should visit friends more often and quit being so grouchy.

I take the last drink of my hot tea, I pleasure that I thoroughly enjoy. It is nourishment for my emotions, it is a simple comfort. As I finish my tea I look up into the vast sky, not so dark tonight because the moon was full only two days ago. The night sky is a wonder to be contemplated for all my days on earth. Where I live there is very little light pollution so the view is always spectacular. The star filled wonder above my head has many faces and many moods. Tonight.....well tonight the sky is passive. It regards me not and takes no notice of all that is going on. I could yell out into the night with all my might but the moon, hanging motionless, would not flinch, the stars would not ripple or twinkle. Tonight the sky sleeps, unconcerned with the affairs of tiny mortal creatures or whales for that matter.

It is 2:00 AM and I am grateful.


Otter

The Screeching Dust Cloud

When I was growing up as a teenager I used to hunt feral pigs to help feed our family. The area I hunted them in was very remote and you had to hike the last 10 miles or so because a vehicle could not even get close. In fact it was such bad terrain in some areas you would have to crawl through underbrush and game trails.

I always had my bow with me back then. It was a constant companion in the wilderness areas I walked through. I knew with a bow I would have to be close up to the wild pig in order to get a good clean shot. After you reached a certain point and if you knew where you were going you would end up in a very beautiful area that you could easily walk through.

You would walk through open areas dotted with huge cottonwood trees, several varieties of willow trees and a type of ceder tree. The leaves of the cottonwood trees sound much the same as the leaves of an aspen tree in a breeze. The willows and the arrow root plants had a very heady aroma, a wild and inviting perfume I can still smell to this day when I close my eyes. The ground was soft without being so soft it was hard to walk through. There were so many birds, rabbits , foxes, badgers, coyotes and just about every other type of animal you could think of with the exception of bear and deer. It was easy to get lost in your thoughts and just meander for miles and miles in this area.

Even the open areas closed in from time to time. You would push through the brush and pop out in another open area or just follow along and find a trail through the brush and you would always come out into these open areas. Each one almost seemed as if they were a little world unto themselves. Once I started walking through these open areas I liked to take my time and just wander around and take in the sights. I felt sheltered and cocooned in my own world.

Very rarely did I ever feel threatened here....but....from time to time I would start thinking about the stories that the old ones would tell us about this place, they would say that it was haunted and inhabited by bad spirits. Some of these spirits had names, some of them didn't. Some of the old ones claimed to have seen these spirits. They would describe strange things happening like large dust clouds moving about by themselves as the thunder roared in the middle of the dust clouds. A strange noise would come from these mysterious dust clouds like tormented spirits trying to escape the strangle hold of these clouds.

So, when you are a 16 or 17 year old boy and you are impertinent and full of yourself you pretty much discard anything like this as old superstitions or some old person making up something just to keep you from wandering off. At any rate, I was young and knew everything so what did it matter.

On this particular day my mind was entertaining thoughts of the old stories as I walked toward my hunting area. It was late May and the day was quite warm already. As the day heated up the cedar, the willows and the arrow root would give off more powerful aromas. This was good for covering your scent as you approached the area you were going to hunt in. The sky was a brilliant thick blue. It seemed that the sky was so blue it was solid, I am sure you could have taken a knife and sliced a big wedge out of the sky.

I couldn't help get those stories out of my mind though and perhaps I became a bit spooked. But now my ears were listening more intent and I had gotten a bit jumpy. Now if this was a cartoon I would have started whistling to keep myself calmed down. But it wasn't a cartoon, I was out in the middle of nowhere, no one around to call out to and this was way before the term cell phone was thought of. Not that I was scared, like I said, I was 16 or 17 years old, I knew everything and was full of myself....of course I never got scared.

Then in an instant of ice cold blood and heart stopping clarity I heard it. A clear blue spring sky but I know I heard thunder. I also know I heard something else, something much more sinister then thunder. I could not help but think there is no way this is happening to me. But it was happening and I could not deny what I heard. The thunder was moving closer and getting louder. But that other sound, how it frightened me, it was like nothing I had ever experienced.

I was in the middle of a clearing and the sound was approaching from the clearing behind me. I tried to look through the trees but the brush was too thick and I could not see through it though I felt my life depended on it. I had no idea what horrible fate was about to befall me but I did know one thing, I needed to escape somehow and I needed to escape as fast as I could.

I was a fast runner in my day so I knew I had one chance. Bolt and run and never look back. So you can imagine my surprise when I decided to climb the nearest tree instead. By the time I had decided to run however it was even worse then I thought. The ground itself seemed to be shaking and whatever was about to devour me was right on the other side of the clearing and coming fast. I wasn't sure what sound I was hearing but I swear it was screaming and screeching.

By this time the thunder was deafening and disorienting, but that other noise, what a horrific noise, what was it that the venerable, respected and wise older ones would tell me? Oh yeah, the sound of tormented spirits trying to escape this mysterious cloud. The sound that so frightened me seemed to be coming from more then one tormented spirit, from several over a large area and they were all headed my way.

From my vantage point in the tree I climbed I could tell I had made a mistake by not running away as fast as I could. There it was, unbelievable as it sounds and as ghastly and unbelievable as it was to me........there it was I could clearly see a large dust cloud moving in my direction. I could see that it had gone straight through the open area I had just come through and was in the process of breaking through the thick brush surrounding the open area I was in at the time.

I could feel the ground shaking so hard that the tree I was in was even shaking. The noise, that noise of tormented spirits was maddening. I could hear them, so many of them! A high pitched whine, a piercing staccato screech. I could even hear what sounded like low pitched muffled snorts. Anyone who has ever heard pigs squeal and make the other various sounds they produce, knows that pigs can make some fairly disconcerting noises. This was not the sound of pigs.

This was something far worse then I could even imagine and the brush and bushes were breaking and this hideous thing was no only a heartbeat from coming into view. I did not even bother to draw my bow. I instinctively knew it would be of no use. I didn't even have any silver bullets or whatever it was that you were supposed to use on other worldly beings. I steadied myself in an odd surreal moment of calm in the midst of this impending horror.

Then out of the thick tall brush they came crashing through, bounding forward, freed from some unforeseen bondage. Hurtling forward as if shot from some haunted cannon filled with torment, dust and spirits. My heart stopped as I saw them all, so many of them and now they were nearly upon me. They had breeched a hole in the thick brush and here they came,spilling out of the darkest recesses of imagination but now loosed upon my world.

Every detail, even the enveloping, moving dust cloud was there. This was an absolute impossibility. They came running and screeching and snorting straight for the tree I was in and within seconds the tree was standing in a torrent of shapes. Dark and light patches, gnashing teeth as they bit at each other, stringy hair blowing back as they ran passed. Angry feet pounding at the earth and lashed out at each other.

By this time fear had been replaced.....with what at first I am not sure but soon I was in awe as I watched the largest herd of wild horses I had ever seen run right underneath and around me. Their scraggly wild manes and tails swirling like frenzied flames. They were so wild they could not contain themselves. Jumping, bucking and running in graceful arcing curves and chaotic zig zags. Whinnying and snorting and carrying on, making noises I have never heard horses make. Running and kicking and biting. A beautiful wild eyed symphony of muscle, whipping manes and thundering hooves. I was privileged to have a front row seat like no other. Little did I know at the time, that was one of the most beautiful, powerful sights I would see in my lifetime.

So there I was, still sitting in the tree, it was over much too soon. The dust and the aroma of the horses still hung in the air as the thunder was receding into the distance. I decided that I could probably breathe now and maybe it would be a good thing if my heart started beating again. I remember I couldn't climb down from the tree or more accurately I really didn't want to. Not for fear that they would return, I just didn't want to disturb this moment. Something magical had just happened and I, as a mortal, had no right to be here and had no right to disturb this realm until it returned to normal.

I replayed the scene over and over in my mind, the sounds, the thunder, the hooves, the wild eyes. I had been given a rare treasure and I wanted to greedily consume every last piece of it so that I took it in and would never forget it. So it would become a part of me forever.

I never did get the wild pig I came to hunt that day. It didn't matter to me at all though. I went back many times to hunt, but I found myself usually tracking the herd of wild horses and trying to get a glimpse of them. They were very elusive and never again was I to experience the full force, fury and beauty of that first encounter. I watched them many times from a distance and would hear them running if I spooked the herd. Even these encounters were a marvel to me and I loved every minute I spent tracking and watching those horses.

I went back and told my Grandfather about the horses. He smiled and with a sparkle in his eye he asked me if they were running in a dust cloud. I valued my Grandfather and other elders. I knew they had wisdom and knowledge that I didn't. Too frequently I discounted their "silly superstitions" as something that, though important to the elders, just didn't belong in this modern age I lived in.

When they would relate their legends to me I would love to hear the stories, but I was growing up in a different time then they did. I was even 16 or 17 at this time, I knew everything didn't I?

I listened to their stories with a different ear from that time on. After all, they had all told me about the mysterious thundering dust cloud. I had seen the dust cloud, I had indeed seen wild spirits with my own eyes. They happened to be a nomadic herd of wild horses. It was about this time in my life I learned it was not only good to trust my own eyes, but the eyes of those that had gone before me, that had learned before me and eyes that had so much to share.

Otter

Mrs. Spears

I wrote this awhile back after a friend and I were talking about our respective childhoods and the similarities we shared. He and I both used to mow lawns to earn money. During that conversation I related this story about a widowed woman whose lawn I used to mow.
Mrs. Spears

I started cutting her lawn after my grandfather and I had done some electrical work at her house. She mentioned to my grandfather that she needed someone to cut her lawn. Of course I was always on the look out for a new client so I agreed to start mowing her lawn the next day.

You see I had a long list of items I had thoroughly priced and researched and drooled over at the local dime store. I was always in need of an extra job or client so I could afford to feed my piggy bank for savings and still have enough money left over to save up for a set of "army men" or other such important nonsense.

Seeing as I had a tally of expenditures a normal boy my age had to keep up with, such as string, comic books, BB's or if I had extra money I could splurge and buy pellets instead of BB's and of course we also had a local drugstore that sold ice cream cones and sodas, well anyway, you get the picture, at that age the lucrative mowing business was about all I could get in to.

Well back to dear Mrs. Spears....it always took me two days to mow her lawn and it was the smallest lawn on my list. Each time I would arrive, I would no sooner get started when Mrs. Spears would show up on the porch with fresh baked cookies and lemonade. She would always say I was working too hard and that it was time to take a break.

The conversation would usually begin with polite questions from Mrs. Spears and she would find some way to weave a story from "the old days" around some answer I had given to one of her questions. By the time she was done with her story for the day, she would insist it was too hot to finish working and insist that I should finish the next day. The second day she would usually let me finish mowing without much interruption and there were always cookies when I was done.

Now after I had finished mowing and raking I would always water the person's plants to give it that extra little touch you know. When I would finish with Mrs. Spears' yard I would go up on her porch where she would usually be waiting for me again with cookies. She would reach into a small leather coin purse that was trimmed with brass and had an old worn brass clasp. I remember it to this day, I remember her long weathered fingers searching her coin purse for just the right amount.

I will always remember and treasure her kind, pleasant smile, the sparkle in her otherwise tired eyes as she would pay me. She would fish out the correct payment amount and her feeble hand shaking with age would place a dime firmly in the palm of my hand and then her smile turned more radiant and beaming. She was always so pleased to pay me. Yes that's right...just in case you missed it...I did say dime!

She would pay me a dime and happily tell me that I could go to the corner market and buy 2 pieces of gum and a soda. Well, the corner market had been closed for many years by that time. I do not recall the exact price of soda back then, but I do remember Bazooka Joe bubble gum cost 2 cents a piece at that time. I remember my utter disbelief the first time she paid me but I would by no means have ever dreamed of complaining to her, or any adult for that matter. I did tell my parents about the meager income from Mrs. Spears but they didn't really comment one way or another other then to remind me of her age.

Now some of the lawns I cut were big business to me....back then anyway. I would get two dollars maybe even five dollars for a large lawn and a few extra chores. However I didn't quit, there was always something about this dear sweet woman that seemed to make up for the lack of monetary payment....besides, there were always cookies and lemonade.

I remember Mrs. Spears seemed to be a refined woman. Always neat, well dressed, her house was very well appointed, it was a mansion to me at that age and life experience level. In her stories she did speak of travel and luxury...well the luxury of those days anyway. I got lost in her stories and was amazed that the frail old woman telling me the stories actually lived out those same adventures.

I mowed her lawn and ate cookies with her for about two and a half years. One day I remember my dad telling me that I wouldn't have to mow Mrs. Spears lawn that week. Two weeks went by and my dad again told me that I would not be mowing Mrs. Spears lawn anymore. I went on about my childhood as children will, not thinking much of what it meant to not mow her lawn anymore. I knew I would miss her fresh baked cookies and that was probably my deepest thought on the subject back then.

Mrs. Spears had lived several miles away and I would get to her house on my bike pulling a cart my grandfather had made. So after I stopped mowing her lawn I didn't really see much of her house after that. I have one final distinct memory though.....I was about 16 and I had my driver's license, I was driving around wasting gas as my mother would have said, when I drove down a familiar street and there in front of me was one of the saddest sites I had seen. Mrs. Spears house was boarded up and had obviously been so for many, many years. There was dirt where her lawn had been, all of her plants and flowers were gone. All the things I had been a part of as she shared her life with me were gone. It dawned on me that she had passed away when I was told I would no longer be mowing her lawn.

I had the saddest most empty feeling. I drove to the river and sat there letting the river wash my thoughts for a very long time. It is odd the effect certain things or certain people have on you. Even if you are not aware of them at the time. Well I only got paid a dime for her lawn but in retrospect she paid me in currency much more valuable then money. Currency I could never earn or even comprehend at the time. She paid me in stories, in the rich history of her past and the past of our nation, she paid me in lessons of human kindness and dignity, lessons of patience, lessons of loneliness and companionship and of course she paid me in home made cookies and lemonade :)

Thank you Mrs. Spears.



Otter

Gardening

I grew up in a rather arid climate yet my Grandmother had the most lush, green, splendid gardens I have ever known. She worked very hard to make her yard beautiful and to keep it that way. She loved every single plant she ever grew. She had lilies of every sort, snap dragons, sweet peas, pansies, pots with all varieties of flowers in them.

Her favorite part of the garden was her rose garden. She grew every imaginable size, color and variety of rose available. She was always happiest tending to her roses. She had hedges of bouganvilla and other plants. She had areas that the plants and hedges made borders so she had several hidden areas in her garden. I spent so many wonderful hours sitting in the shade talking with her and learning from her, or just playing in a make believe world.

She had arbors and slat covered paths which were overgrown with tons of honey suckle vines. The aroma of the honey suckle was so wonderful, on warm summer evenings I could smell my Grandmother's honey suckle vines several blocks away where I lived. She had herbs planted all over, she explained some needed to be planted with other plants so both plants mutually benefited from the soil conditions each created, others needed to be planted only with their own kind or they would not grow well or they would kill off the other plants. She taught me so much about what herbs to cook with and what herbs to make teas with and what herbs to use for fevers etc. What plants attract spiders that make thick webs that are useful to stop bleeding from severe cuts. Sadly I am sure I only learned about half of what she tried to teach me and I don't believe anyone else from my family learned anything at all from her in those respects.

I grew up and left for the big city and big adventures. I stopped in to see my Grandmother whenever I got a chance to go home. I cannot say for sure when or if I even noticed the splendor of her gardens fading over the years and the infrequent trips back home. But I do remember a time when I went to visit her and most of the vegetation was gone from her yard. By this time I guess I had noticed a decline in the amount of flowers and plants she had but I didn't admit it. This visit however was quite a shock, everything had changed, everything was gone.

She brought some iced tea and wanted to visit outside sitting in the same old metal patio furniture I remember from my childhood. I remember it as one of the most heartbreaking visits I ever had with her. Where I was sitting I looked out over empty flower beds still framed by brick or rock that I had helped put in place when I was a child. Now they sat empty, even the soil was dried up and cracked as if the roses and flowers were never there. It was a harsh lesson on time, age and aging......and maybe a harsh lesson on guilt?

I have mourned the loss of many things, I have even mourned the loss of a garden. I have mourned the loss of a life time of wisdom. Every time I smell honey suckle or see a rose garden I realize that my Grandmother's garden is not gone, it will always remain in my memory and so will at least a part of her knowledge. It is something I will pass down as well. I am grateful for my Grandmother's garden and all the memories she planted in me.

The sweet peas in the photograph were planted by my wife and youngest son. They often garden together and tend to the garden of potted plants and flowers on our deck. I watch as they sit together and talk and cut flowers. My son used to struggle with the watering can my wife uses but these days he lifts it with ease. I understand that flowers are not the only things that grow in gardens. I watch through the windows with maybe just a little bit of envy but I dare not intrude on these moments even though I know I am welcome. I understand the type of garden my wife and son are planting together even though neither one of them may understand at this point. It really has nothing to do with flowers and everything to do with growing and nurturing a deep and lasting bond between them.

Otter

Perspective

Recently I was working on a repair that I had to finish in the house. I live a few miles outside of a small town and I had tried to gather all the tools and parts I needed in town the day before. I try not to have to waste gas and run into town for every little thing. However as most projects go I ran into a snag and needed a part I had not expected. So, into town I had to go.

I was a little irritated that I had to drive into town but it did offer a little bit of a break so it wasn't that big of an issue for me. While in town I realized I hadn't eaten so I stopped off at the deli and grabbed a sandwich. Of course if I was in town that also meant that I was going to have to get a coffee. A trip into town wouldn't be complete without coffee.

So, off to the store I went with a full stomach and happy coffee taste buds. I could not find the part that I needed. I looked at two different stores, the only ones in my small town that would have had what I needed and I just couldn't find it. The part I needed was of course out of stock. That is life in a small town sometimes.

So I started to head home and I started feeling more and more irritated. It wasn't about the fact this small town didn't have what I wanted, I do not at all mind paying a small price to live where I do. What I was getting irritated at was the fact that I....the ever so important Otter had been inconvenienced. How inconvenient it was for me to have to stop what I was doing, to have to go to town, to look at two different stores and then to come up empty in the long run.

Apparently in the big cosmic scheme of things, the ever spiraling universe forgot how important I am and how important my time is. I had many other important things I could have been doing. I am after all an artist!!! I could have been harnessing the chaos of flame and liquid glass, ushering forth a frozen world of shape and movement and...at this point in time I start thinking maybe I am taking my artist's statement a little to seriously. In fact maybe I have taken myself too seriously.

You need to understand that by this time I am fuming, I am pacing back and forth...in my head at least and I am agitated I had just wasted so much of my life. I was totally living in some egocentric fantasy world where I was the major gravitational force and how dare the universe forget it's place. I have been wronged, inconvenienced and I have not had instant gratification at my will. I started mentally proclaiming my own victimhood and for a moment I think I really started believing it.

Enter rational and humbling thought finally. I have a friend in Africa, his name is Marcel. I have not heard from in quite some time. He is a wonderful person very happy, full of love, full of life and laughter. You will never hear a negative word or opinion or insinuation come out of his mouth. He has to ride a bicycle or walk several miles each morning to get several gallons of water for his family from a common town water pump. If he does not get the water, his family has nothing at all to drink. He lives below the poverty level even for where he lives. The first time he came to the United States and went inside a grocery store he cried because of the obscene abundance we have here. However he is content with what life gives him and he is one of the happiest men I know.

I started thinking that Marcel, would not have complained about walking several miles for water for his family, he in no way would have complained about having the luxury of driving. What about the luxury of buying food at the deli....or buying a gourmet coffee. I started feeling pretty selfish and pretty arrogant. Marcel is 100 times the man I will ever be. He has qualities of compassion, love and tolerance I can only dream of attaining. Yet here I am feeling angry because I have been "inconvenienced". What a petty person I can become when I take myself seriously, when I think that my opinion matters so much. Or that me or my time matter so much.

I became very thankful I had a car, that I had water, that I had money, that I did not have to worry about being able to feed my children. I was thankful that my arrogance had stung me so hard, perhaps less and less I will have that struggle. To anyone I have offended because of my arrogance, lack of compassion or any other reason, I am sincerely sorry.

Tonight I was looking through photos from The Library of Congress online resources and came across these photos. They just struck me because of the way I have been feeling lately. They just kind of put things in perspective for me today. They are from the Great Depression era and from the dust bowl era. These people had it hard, I have no right to complain about life's little bumps in the road. I am humbled and inspired by them.

First real storm of 2007-2008 season

Thursday October 18th. is the first real storm we have had so far. Our storm season starts in October or November...this year it got off to a great start with winds gusting in excess of 60 miles per hour and about 2 and 1/2 inches of rain. Not much rain but the wind was good. I was supposed to be resting and not doing anything today but I just couldn't resist getting out in the wind and rain. I put together a slide show of 6 photographs together from my Photobucket album. I figured you didn't want to see all 65 of the storm photos. So here is the slide show, I have not used it before, please tell me what you think of it. Should I use the slide show feature again or no?

Stormy

Thanks for looking.

Otter

The Family Tree

I have about a million rambling texts, short stories and other nonsense taking up space on my hard drive and on a few discs. I will be sharing them from time to time with people who read this blog. Here is one that is pertinent to me at the moment. I actually wrote it two years ago but it is something I have been thinking about lately. So here for your enjoyment, pleasre, critique or whatever you want to do with this story, I present:

The Family Tree

When I was a boy we used to camp a lot in an area called Hole In The Wall. It was an awesome place with several shallow caves and very unique rock features. A few months ago I was in the area where I grew up and I drove past the road that headed out to the mountains and to Hole In The Wall. Just passing that road brought back a flood of memories, it felt as though I was almost in a dream.

I could hear all of us kids laughing and playing. I could feel the crisp cool air of the mountains and the smell of the scrub pine and juniper. I could smell the campfire and the extra thick bacon that one of my uncles had the butcher make for him. He always brought this bacon on camping trips and he would always have enough for all of us. To this day I can't eat thick sliced bacon without thinking of him.

I remembered there was a large tree that had been struck by lightning near our favorite camp site. It was dead and snapped in half about 10 feet from the ground. The break wasn't clean and the top of the tree was still connected to the main trunk. We would always climb up that tree and sit on it. One time one of my other uncles carved all of our names into that tree. I remember watching him as he was carving our names, he seemed so quiet and deliberate. Most of the kids had grown bored and ran off and found something else to do. I was curious for some reason because of how determined and deliberate he was. When he was done he seemed inwardly pleased. Not exuberant, not boastful, just something inside him seemed to be satisfied.

We camped at this place quite often and as soon as we got camp set up all of the kids would run down to "our tree". It was always still there and always still had our names on it. I am not sure what exactly we thought was going to happen to that tree, there was no logging in the area, it was very remote and few people camped there. However every time we gathered together to go camping all of us kids would start speculating if "our tree" was still there. So every camp out it became a ritual for the kids and even some of the grown ups to run to our tree and check on it.

My uncle passed away quite unexpectedly and in a terrible way about two years or so after he had carved all of our names in that tree. We didn't camp much that year and when we did, no one wanted to go see our tree. My uncle's death had a profound impact on the entire family. The following year we started camping at an area a few miles away from our old camp spot. Our tree just became too painful to be around I guess.

As I grew up I continued to camp in that area on my own. I made several trips to our tree and even shared it and the good memories with a few people. I know that some of my cousins did the same. Less and less often however did the entire family get together and go camping. Eventually as is inevitable I guess, we all went our separate ways and led our own lives.

Time indeed has a way of healing all wounds, I look back on my uncle with so much fondness. The pain isn't really there so much, just a lot of great memories. When my uncle did pass away however, he seemed to take something of the spark of our family with him, some part of the family cohesiveness. The entire family was just never quite the same after that.

I wonder now whatever happened to that old tree. I wonder if it is still there, if it got burned up in a wildfire that swept that area once. I can still see that tree in my mind, maybe someday I will try and locate it. I wonder what I would do if I did find the tree, maybe apologize to it for leaving it alone for so many years, for denying it the laughter it had grown accustomed to. Maybe a family is like a forest, a large group of trees, each one distinct but related, a part of a whole. Each one adding to the beauty and complexity of the family. Trees can grow so old, I wonder if they grow lonely as well. I wonder if there are other trees I need to tend to, to apologize to, to nurture.

Otter 8/05

Here I go

Hello to all my friends, I am trying out a blog. I am a special kind of computer stupid so please be kind and patient as I learn how to do this. As Shawn T said in one of my posts yesterday... who knew Otter was going to have so much to say and share he was going to need his own blog....yeah...who knew? I even surprise myself sometimes. I really am a shy, private, quiet hermit. I know most of you will not believe me but really it is true. When I write posts however it is a different story. I can't shut up.

I have been posting a lot of photo heavy threads on LE lately and I feel bad for people with dial up connections. I also tend to get quite wordy when I write so people will open a post I have started and be faced with a mountain of rambling text to read. If they manage to get through it without their eyes glazing over and their system shutting down from boredom, they are usually left with two burning questions. WHY??? Why on earth did he write that? Why on earth did I waste my life reading that? And..WHAT in the world was he trying to say? That Otter makes no sense whatsoever.

As a kindness to the poor people who get overwhelmed by my verbose nature when writing, I present this blog, Otter's Odd N' Ends. Here you will find an eclectic collection of writings, photographs, recipes, old wife's tales, (in no way do I mean to insult old wifes), creative exercises, possibly a bead tutorial or two and any other random act of expression that strikes me. I will post a link on LE with a brief description if possible as I update my blog. That way people can read the description and decide if they are brave enough to click on the link or not. Maybe people will be kind and leave feedback, maybe people will be kind and not tell me what they really think. Maybe people will just check out my blog and enjoy what I want to share. I am curious to see how this works out.

So, this has been my first entry. I will add a random photograph of my fishing buddy here just to see how this thing works.



I hope you have enjoyed this post.


Otter