A Time to Think, Sleep and Shovel Snow

Winter.  The word itself brings up feelings, memories, emotions.  My friend, Dave, is probably getting excited.  I wouldn't be surprised if he has already dug into the closet or hidden recesses of the garage to find his cross country skis and associated gear.  He's more than likely given some thought, while nestled in a big comfy chair, the trips he'll take.  The images have been dancing around in his head, as he nestles in a big comfy chair.  He probably even has some magazines featuring some cross country skiing adventures that he could take, which he has tried to read while fighting the doziness of the oncoming winter in his big comfy chair.  Are you catching my drift here?

Winter is a time of rest, of recharging our batteries, of laying out plans for next year's activities, unless you are Dave.  When I look at winter pictures I get quiet.  I don't get the anxious feelings that autumn brings; there are no leaves demanding to be raked, no sightseeing trips for fall color to be taken, no putting away the trappings of summer like hoses and other tools.

My dogs know the value of rest.  Look at the pictures down the side and you'll see some examples of their expertise.  Tasha has become so proficient she is going to start giving classes in the art........as soon as she wakes up.  But, here's the thing about Tasha and her naps.  If nothing is demanding of her time and attention (squirrels in the yard especially) she naps.  She can appear to be deep in sleep, but at the slightest hint of a walk, going for a ride, or the exclamation of "SQUIRREL", she will be up on her feet in the blink of an eye.

Our brains organize thoughts and memories by association.  How often have we heard a song and, instantly, we were transported through time and space to a special place with a special someone far away and long ago.  Every now and then things will be just so outside and I am once again 14 years old at my Grandmother's house in Adams County.  It is a quiet summer morning, as most were then and there, and I could hear the horses clomping down the street and smell the fragrance of the world.  That was peace as I've never know since.  I was in a protected place, surrounded by people who loved me (and made cherry pies for me), and the world was mine to do with as I pleased.

If it was Saturday, I'd probably go next door and sit on the porch with Shirley.  We'd spend the morning listening to Kasy Kasum play the top 40 tunes of the day.  Music can do so much for us, but it has a special gift of tapping directly into our emotional centers.  What would Christmas be without music?  The 4th of July?  A ball game?  A funeral?  When the dogs and I go walking in the morning we are surrounded by music.  Often it is a very quiet music.  The world is still waking up and not much is going on.  We might hear faint breezes as they ruffle leaves overhead.  The crunchy sound of snow in the winter.  Sometimes I try to walk in a way that is musical (I probably look a little strange to anyone watching).  We are surrounded by music, but all too often we don't hear it.  I think that smelling the roses gets way too much credit.  Listen to the music of the world and it will speak to your heart.

My wife, of 30 years, has a book.  It contains poems that I have written for her over the years.  Here is one of them, I think it ties in here nicely.

Footsteps of time

Echo through the years,

Listening to life’s music

Wondering what we hear.

Measuring each chord,

Timing every beat.

Life moves ever forward,

As the sand beneath our feet.

Move! Move your feet at once,

The sand is all around!

Dance your way to safety,

Up, on higher ground.

The rhythm of time

Is a lover’s  dance,

With echoes faint

And you are mine.

I think this is a good place to stop today.  Take a walk and listen to the world as it speaks and sings to you.  Try not to think of anything, but be open to the thoughts you receive.

Family Matters

Last week I went to a memorial service for a very nice lady.  I knew her for years, or so I thought.  The service was held at the local country club.  It mainly consisted of her family talking and signing about "life with Mom".  At times I felt as though I was treading where I shouldn't.  The closeness of this family and the adoration of her children was moving beyond expression.  I guess that if you sat down and spelled out the ideal relationship between mother and children then this lady's life would be the result.


Whenever I attend memorial services I cannot help but think of what people will say about me when I'm gone, and who will say it.  Part of me wants to just slip away and, perhaps, someone will say, "Where did he go, I haven't seen him in awhile?"  Another part of me says to start putting together my own memorial service.  I've spent my life not letting people in to see who I am.  I don't share my deepest feelings, fears, and hopes.  This is my one shot to let people see who I am, but then why?  If I didn't want anyone to know while I'm alive then why bother now?  I'd really like your help on this one.

This was my Mom.  Her name was Dorothy, but folks just called her Dot.  This is how I remember her, a wave and a smile.  No matter what time of day I'd stop by for a visit I'd get the standard welcome, " Do you want something to eat?"  I think she missed the days of taking care of her family.  Like most mothers, I think she wanted all of her children to stay little.  We are all so cute at those young ages.

My parents were products of the Great Depression.  A lot of their methods in raising us were reactions to that era.  They wanted to protect us. They didn't want us to want, or be hungry.

I inherited a sense of humor from my Dad.  Growing up the way he did, I'm surprised he had any sense of humor at all.  When my Mom wanted a picture with her four sisters and two of them didn't show up my father and uncle agreed to fill in for the missing sisters.  Only the one second from right is still living.  I miss them all and think of them regularly.  They were fun to be around.

My Dad was a fireman.  Firemen always have another occupation, probably because of the work schedule they keep.  He did an assortment of things over the years.  He farmed, delivered fuel oil (and brought home my best friend, Jack, a German Shepard dog), and worked in a hardware store.  I think seeing him in the hardware store fit him best. He could be of service to people and chit chat at the same time.  What he talked about is still a mystery.  I just knew that he liked people.  I have no recollection of my father being mad at anyone other than my older brother who insisted on doing what he wanted regardless of Dad's rules.

Then he bought the shoe repair shop.  This business gave him the opportunity to work with his hands, which he loved, and banter with the assortment of people who wandered into his shop.  I don't think any of us, other than my Mom, realized how much the shop meant to him. His shop was on the cover of Ohio magazine in April, 1990.

That simple business meant a lot to my father on more than one front.  He was needed.  People needed their shoes, handbags, gloves, and belts fixed.  If they could get things taken care of and be entertained at the same time then my Dad was happy.  We were all grown and gone.  When we spend our lives raising and caring for children, we are needed.  When the children grow up and leave, as we know they will, there is a sense of loss.  What is our role now?  What is our life? Who can I cook for today?

We pushed Dad into selling the shop.  We felt that he was pushing himself too hard and he should give it up.  He did.  He was also in the hospital three times over the next 18 months with congestive heart failure.  He would get up in the morning, shuffle out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a doughnut, and watch the birds at the feeder while he listened to the weather radio.  The rest of his day was generally spent in his chair with my Mom across the room in her chair, the cat sleeping in its' bed behind her on its' heating pad.

Parents:  Give your children memories they can't outlive.  Create a world that they will look back at and ache because they aren't there anymore.  That doesn't mean making their life pain free.  Make sure that you give them the lessons that will carry them through life; honesty, respect for others, honest work, prudent with the pursestrings, and a sense of humor.

Children:  Help your parents find ways to feel needed as they get older.  Rather than force them to sell their business, find a way for them to stay in it without killing themselves.  If you must get them out of it then help them find something to replace it.  If you want them around to see their grand children and great grandchildren then help them to feel needed.

As I sit here tonight I reflect on all of the things I didn't say, the questions I didn't ask, the things I didn't do and it's too late.  They were the only parents I had and they are gone and I miss them every day.  I focus on remembering the happy moments, like the time I buried the tractor up to its' axle in mud and my Dad didn't yell at me.  I guess he knew I'd already yelled at me for him.