The Old Man Across The Street

From a distance he looks like a stick standing upright. A stick that time has bent, crooked and twisted. He lives alone in the house on the corner across the street. Well, not really alone. His two small dogs have kept him company for as long as we’ve lived here. They follow him wherever he goes and yap at anyone who happens to walk by. And he would yell at them in a scratchy old voice. “Tina…Eddy…get the hell back here”. When he would get into his banged up old car and drive away to wherever little old men go in their banged up old cars, the little white dog would just bark until he would return. Well, the banged up old car isn’t in the driveway anymore. I guess he won’t be going to where little old men in their banged up old cars go anymore. And yesterday I noticed as he stood crooked and bent out in his front yard…there was only one little dog. As I turned to go back inside though I heard that scratchy old voice holler one more time. “Tina…get the hell back here”. Rest in peace Eddy. Rest in peace.

Can't wait to see Christmas

My daughter went off to college this year. Two hours away from home. I talk to her often, but I miss her dearly. Just before her Christmas break this year she called one night. She wanted to make sure the lights were up, the tree was decorated and the mantle and bookcases were filled with our collections of snowmen and Santas. Because...she said, “I can’t wait to come home and see Christmas.” Such a simple sentence. I can’t wait to come home and see Christmas. I looked around the house. The snowmen and Santas were all in place. The lights outside twinkling. All the ornaments were on the tree...including the felt Christmas tree with her picture on it that she made in second grade. I can’t wait to come home and see Christmas. I can’t begin to tell you the feeling in my heart when I realized that to my daughter...Christmas is...home.
It’s right here waiting for you honey. And it always will be.
(Written a few years ago)

For the Birds

I hung a bird feeder on one of the trees in the backyard a few weeks ago. And since then, I’ve made some interesting observations about some of our feathered friends. Now Sparrows...they’re like the Chatty Cathys of the bird world. There can be 15 or 20 of them all out there at the same time just chatting up a storm. Talking about the kids and the price of nests these days I’m sure. And the regal, red Cardinal...well...he’s a bit of a chicken. He always sends in the little woman first to see if the coast is clear. Starlings are like the backyard gang of birddom. They make a lot of noise, act tough and chase everybody away. Now the feeder is too small for the Bluejays and Crows to perch on. So, they just sit on the fence and glare. Occasionally flipping me the feather. Mr. and Mrs. Mourning Dove are quiet souls. Too big for the feeder too, they just wait at the base of the tree for spillage. I’ve also observed that there’s someone else who’s been observing. The neighbor’s cat. And you can see it in her face. Hmmm...snack food...in assorted flavors. After rereading this column I think I have one last observation. Maybe I’ve got too much time on my hands.

All The Laughter, All The Tears...

The heart has just one door. And when we open that door to joy...we’ve also opened that door to sorrow. Of course, we can choose just how wide we want to open the door. Some of us will choose to keep the door wide open. And there will be great joy in those lives...and great sorrow. Some of us will choose not to open the door as wide. For whatever reason they will not allow themselves to feel the great sorrows in life. They must realize though that they will never experience the great joys in this life either. I think Kahlil Gibran probably described it best in his essay on love. What he was saying was this. Those of us who choose not to open our hearts will laugh, but not all our laughter. And we’ll cry, but not all our tears. And maybe that is a much safer way to go. But the human heart is capable of giving and receiving great love if we let it. So, for me...I want to laugh all my laughter. And for that I’m willing to cry...all my tears.

Consequences

Consequences. You know it’s kind of like that law of physics. For every action there is a reaction. Do something and something else happens. Do something good...good consequences. Do something bad...bad consequences. Now let me ask you this. What are the consequences of...not teaching our children about consequences? What happens when instead of showing a child certain behavior is unacceptable and will be punished...we give them a “Time Out” in their room with the TV and Play Station? And instead of showing a child that disrespect for anyone will not be tolerated...we just remove them from the situation so it won’t happen again? And when we do tell a child no...and the hissy fit begins... instead of disciplining bad behavior right then and there...we distract them to get them to stop? A child who grows up without consequences becomes an adult living without consequences. Every action and non action has consequences. Do something and something else will happen. I guess we have to decide what we’d like those consequences to be.

What???

Ok...I’m really in a pickle about this. Whatever happened to all those wonderful old sayings that used to pepper our conversations. Some of them were funnier than a barrel of monkeys. And I’m not just whistling dixie here. Just between you, me and the fencepost, I think a lot of us would be just tickled pink if they made a comeback. And I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I don’t think our kids are getting the short end of the stick when it comes to colorful (in the good way) conversation. But maybe I’d better just mind my own beeswax and leave the art of colorful wordage up the creek without a paddle. After all, as a writer, I don’t want to cut off my nose to spite my face. In today’s world I guess you have to use todays words. So, I’ll just mind my Ps and Qs and write right...so no one ends up giving me the cold shoulder. God willing and the creek don’t rise though, I just might try to sneak one of those golden oldies in every once in a blue moon.

The Hard One

A couple of years ago, I learned a pretty valuable lesson from a 5 year old. My nephew Nick. Now, Nicky has always had some very interesting observations and comments on this life we live. When you flipped a coin with Nick it was heads or buildings. Take a look at a penny some time. One Sunday, a visiting priest from South Africa gave the sermon. Nick sat on the kneeler as he always does...drawing his pictures. At the end of the sermon the regular priest started making the announcements. As he started to speak, Nick jumped up...and stated rather loudly...”Finally there’s some Michigan. I didn’t know what the heck that other guy was talking about.” But the lesson I learned came from when Nick was learning how to write his name. First he told me...Up down up...line with a dot...half a circle and the hard one. N i c k. Then he showed me. I watched...up down up...line with a dot...half a circle and...after a struggle...the hard one. Nick proudly signs everything now. The lesson learned...We can all deal with the up down ups...lines with dots and half circles of life....It’s the hard ones...that help us grow.