Shake It Off

Let’s shake off the winter wearies like we would a tattered old coat. Let’s welcome back the sunshine from its long winter’s nap and open the windows to let in the tick, tick, tick of a springtime sprinkler and the sound of a ballgame drifting across the backyards from a radio on someone’s deck. It’s time to lower our shoulders from the tensions of the silver shivers and raise our eyes from the frozen sidewalks to watch a sweet breeze blow clouds around a bright blue sky. Let’s get on with this season of unclenching and leave winter’s baggage behind. Let’s get on with doing a little spring cleaning of the heart and soul so that we’ll have room for some fresh thoughts and new ideas. Let’s shake off the winter wearies like a tattered old coat. The gift of another time around has been given to all of us. All the cold and dark has melted away. All roads are open to us now. This is the season to choose one...and see where it leads.

St. Elmo

I was going through some old song lyrics the other night when I came upon a song I’d written years ago that I’d totally forgotten about. I wrote it after spending a lot of time in an old silver mining ghost town in Colorado. St. Elmo was its name. No relation to Sesame Street, but it was an incredibly fascinating place in itself. See, when the price of silver dropped in the late 1800s, the folks of St. Elmo just locked their doors and went back down the mountain convinced the price would rise again soon and they’d be back. It never did...and they never returned. So, there were houses still full of furniture, barns that still held wagons and tools, stores that still had some canned goods on the shelves and streets haunted by broken souls with broken silver dreams. The cemetery at St. Elmo was just behind the town hidden in a small grove of Aspens. It wasn’t very big...St. Elmo wasn’t very big. It was however, filled mostly with children. Victims of small pox, mumps, measles and the flu…all deadly to the children of the late 1800s. If the miner’s didn’t strike it rich they moved on. When the miners moved on the storekeepers moved on. And when the price of silver dropped the rest of the town moved on. These children couldn’t move on though. St. Elmo would be their final resting place. I remember standing there among the carved wooden and simple stone markers, some with wrought iron cradles over the graves. One cracked wooden marker caught my eye…Sadie Mullins…Borned May 5, 1879… Passed Dec. 24, 1881. That's all it said. Rest in peace little girl. It was a joy to remember you.
“Sometimes in the evening,
If the wind is blowing right,
You’ll hear the banshee in the canyon,
And she’s crying like a child in the night.”

A Little Time To Think

In the time that passed from the moment my foot first started slipping on the ice until I found myself firmly deposited on my keester in a most ungraceful manner, I found the number of thoughts and pictures that can pass through one’s brain to be truly amazing. Now, it goes without saying this whole experience starts with some version of “What the (your choice of profanity goes here!).” Quickly moving on to “Stick out your hand and break your fall…no wait…you might break your wrist. You can’t work on the computer with a broken wrist!...Actually I could though…It would just be a little slower...C’mon…think…wait…Can I do a mid-fall adjustment…a midair pirouette if you will…and find something softer to land on?...Hey…I was a jock…once...Nope…This is gonna hurt…Oh man what if I break my butt?...I definitely can’t work with a broken butt…How will I pay the bills?...Will my insurance cover a broken butt?...What about the children?…Gotta call my agent….Oh no…New cell phone’s in my back pocket…Broken butt and broken cell phone…crap!... She was cute though wasn’t she? …That sales associate….and very knowledgeable about cell phone service…Hmmm…Where was I?...Oh right….keester about to meet frozen turf….I wonder if anyone is watching?...Try to look cool…Hey that’s my foot…Way up there…”
Houston…the eagle has landed. And it’s going to leave a mark.

Casey

Casey’s been gone for quite awhile now so I don't know why she's on my mind today, but she is. So, would you indulge me for a moment? She shared our lives for over 16 years. I still carry her name tag on my key chain. Our little, white ball of unconditional love had a pretty good life though. I mean, I can’t speak for the old girl herself, but at least, I think she did. She successfully raised three human children. She kept three different back yards free of marauding squirrels. She devoted years to the neighborhood watch program taking it upon herself to personally warn everyone of the presence of strange dogs out walking their humans. She even did some government work…announcing the daily arrival of the U.S. Mail. As the years went by though, I could see the cataracts in her eyes when she looked at me. I couldn’t help but notice the limp in her step when she’d been lying on her arthritic front leg for too long. In her last few years she seemed to need a little more comforting and reassurance from time to time. And that was just fine. We owed her that much and more after all those years of her loving us. Someone once said, why is it that even though a dog doesn’t get to live very long...it still has to die old? I don’t know. What I do know is that Casey showed us all how to grow old with grace and dignity. And I hope I can do the same and never stop loving…or getting a kick out of chasing that occasional squirrel. I miss you girl.

It's Not Your Turn

Last night during dinner the phone rang. I answered with my usual pleasant “Hello”. No response. Another “Hello” and still nothing. Then I heard it. That telltale, telemarketer click. The sound that mass dialing computer makes when it actually gets through. Do you get as annoyed as I do? Well, I had actually prepared a little speech for a moment like this. And it went something like this. “Hello…Yes…excuse me and I’m extremely sorry, but…It’s not your turn to talk to me. It’s dinnertime. It’s my wife’s turn to talk to me. It’s my kid’s turn to talk to me. It’s my dog’s turn to talk to me, but it’s not your turn to talk to me. I’m sure you’re a swell person who’s just trying to do your job, but it’s not your turn to talk to me. I’m sure your product, service, opinion or candidate is wonderful. I’m sure you can save me time, money and heartbreak. I’m sure that what you have to say will change my life forever and get me new windows for half price, but…it’s not your turn to talk to me. So, thank you very much. Good bye. Good luck. Have a nice day.” That was my speech…and a good one too if I do say so myself…but it was dinnertime...so I just hung up on them.

Believe?

So, what do you believe in I was asked. Well, I said, the thing I probably believe in most is that I’m not too sure about what I believe in. We could start with this though. I believe in greed. I see it every day in some of our corporations. I believe in the lust for power. I see that every day in a lot of our politicians. I believe there are a lot of folks who really don’t believe in the things they say they believe in. I believe dandelions can duck…as I’ve talked about in an earlier post. How else do you explain the snowball headed, geezer dandelion standing in the middle of a new mown lawn? I believe old folks aren’t asked their opinion enough. I believe babies know more than they let on. I believe time goes faster as we get older. I believe men should cry a little more often. I believe in my grandchildren’s innocence. I believe my father was a great man. I believe the deer around our place should be taught a lot better how to really look both ways. I believe a broken heart can teach…if allowed. I believe my wife is my best friend. I also believe I’ve said enough for now.

Home

I was thinking the other day about a time…not so long ago it seems…that my daughter came home from school for a weekend of shopping with Mom, home cooking and free laundry. And when the weekend was over, she was just about to head back to school when she said, “I’m not looking forward to this drive home””. I thought to myself, wait a minute...wait one darned minute here. There is something terribly wrong here. So, I quickly reminded her that where she was standing was home…and where she was going was school. She laughed. A kiss and a hug good bye and she was off...to school. I remember how her words stayed with me though and I found myself wondering…when does home stop being home for them? And what would that feel like for me? Well, that was a few years ago and now they’re all grown and gone. They all call somewhere else home now. And I’m OK with it. I’m OK with it because deep down in my soul I know…this will always be their home.