Another peaceful night

I just had a cup of hot tea out on my deck. The wind is dead calm and the ocean is quite loud. The sky is dark and moonless yet alive and vibrant with countless stars. I can see Venus still clinging to the night, hanging low in the south western horizon just above the ends of the earth. Mars broods high above me, directly overhead. Saturn is behind me to the east, a late comer to this night.

Earlier I heard the owl that hunts my property. She was singing her victory song and letting me know that she is growing old but still one of my nocturnal companions. I don't know how old owls get, I don't want to know really. But she is a great big owl and has been here many years. Sometimes I call her my owl but she is not mine, she belongs to the night time just as I do.

The cool night air carries the scent of the ocean and the trees. Two very powerful aromas that tell me I am home. The sea, the forest, the night, within the embrace of these I am always home. I am home on the ocean, I have spent many nights at sea dreaming of the things that live within her. I have spent many nights in the forest becoming a forest creature myself.

The sky is still quite dark and alive with a magic only the night can possess. The jealous sun has yet to even touch edges of the night time's shore. Yet it is inevitable and almost tangible. The daytime is soon to intrude, I can feel it approaching. There is something else too. Something else I have been feeling the past week or so. Fall is on it's way, I can feel it's approach too. It is off a ways yet but still, it is coming. Fall is not an intrusion though, I welcome Fall much like I welcome the night. So full of promise and the start to so much creativity.

Time for one more cup of hot tea, time to sow the seeds of dreams. Time to listen to the waves, to close my eyes and hear the sails set full on days when the sun warms my body. Time to think of elk and dear, sharks and whales, time to think on the stories told to me by my elders. Good night my friends, it is time to dream.

Otter

Wonderful gray morning

I put a pot of water on this morning for hot tea and then went and soaked in the hot tub for a bit. Dawn was just beginning and the sky was gray. After the hot tub soak I poured a cup of tea, stood out on my deck and listened to the ocean. I watched a large male elk graze in my yard for a few minutes before he caught the smell of something and hurried off. The humming birds were fighting over the bird feeder and a pair of swallows started chattering at me. I guess they were telling me good morning.

There is a slight mist mixed in with a pretty good fog. All the colors are muted and everything seems so still, almost like the entire scene before me has some tangible weight to it. There are song birds I can't identify somewhere near by, hidden in the fog. There are ravens talking back and forth. The calm landscape broken by the sounds of birds is a glorious way to greet another day and I am very much enjoying this. Time for another cup of hot tea.

That was my morning tea, how was your morning tea, coffee.... or whatever you may do to start your day. I hope you enjoyed your morning and were able to greet another day with joy and peace.

Otter

A conversation: Sometimes he remembers

Here is just a random post. I am most likely not going to be posting again but I felt I really needed to post this.


I talked to her yesterday, I asked her how he was. She said he is good, he is doing good. About the same as he was last I saw him. I understood what she meant and I understood that "doing good" was very relative at this point. He is doing good relative to how he could be doing. Doing good relative to how some of the days have been lately. So, yes, I understand, he is doing "good" for the moment.

He shuffles now, she tells me. He shuffles worse than I have seen him do before. I pick up on the worried tone in her voice. Not just the overall worry, I know the comment about the way he shuffles is a clue. She worries about his medications, she worries about side effects, benefits and blank stares. Sometimes when he is not around other people he is listless. More so these days than before. He is no longer anxious, but these days he is no longer engaged when he has quiet time.

At what point does the long term risk become a mute point? What can I and what should I do? Is there a time when your way of thinking just has to shift? These questions went unasked and unanswered but I knew we both shared them in silence.

Today he was walking with his Grandson in the park, it was so neat to see. They were holding hands, this old man and his grandson, as they walked they stopped and picked blades of grass and gave them to each other. It was very touching, very gentle and very sweet. I couldn't help feel the bitter sweetness of this moment gnaw at me a bit. For one of them it is going to be a wonderful memory. For the other one, who knows how long it will be a memory?

I want to tell you though, she said, he was talking a lot about you today. He remembers who you are. He told me about the time your grandfather obtained all that land for your family. He told me about how you grew up as a wild kid hunting and fishing for food. He told me about the time you ran into that herd of wild horses. He talked a lot about you today, he still remembers. He remembers every story you ever told him. I just wanted to tell you that. I just thought you would like to know.

She didn't elaborate on why she knew I would want to know. It was unspoken, the deep bond and friendship he and I have had over the years. A nice, easy, natural friendship born of a shared respect for each other, a shared understanding of values and many intangible things no one but he and I would understand. I am the one that should be strong now. I am the one that should be of courageous heart. I will be when the time comes, this I know and understand but for now, the reason she told me that he remembers my stories, she was giving me solace and comfort. This bond has not yet been dissolved, I am thankful.


Otter

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.