Fellow A to Z Challenge writers, we are on the home stretch! Yay us (!) for sticking with it. My post today is really kind of lame – I have a headache, what can I say? It hurts when I try to think.
But I will say that X is an entirely useful thing, found all around us in our everyday lives. Please join me in a photo tribute to X.
Looking through a drawer I came across five watches that I’ve worn at various times. All of them had stopped running and probably needed nothing more than a new battery. One of them had a cracked crystal. I took them to a jewelry store to get them going again and when I picked them up the clerk said “no charge”. They were all running and set to correct time so I asked why I wasn’t being charged for new batteries. He mentioned the cracked crystal and apologized. I told him he hadn’t done it – it was that way when I brought it in. He said he knew that, but was sorry he hadn’t been able to replace it, so he was giving me the batteries for free. It was a small thing, but an unusual business occurrence these days. I don’t think I’ll forget it.
When was the last time you experienced someone taking responsibility for something for which they were not responsible? And doesn’t that speak of a confidence and grace that is generous and non-threatening? I was grateful in this situation and the good will created will likely take me back to that store to spend money at some point. This is in sharp contrast to times when responsibility is avoided or denied, when the most important thing seems to be pinning the blame somewhere.
I was thankful for this little object lesson that God dropped in my path and I’ll try not to forget to put it into practice. I think it’s about being humble, not in a self deprecating way but with confidence. I am valued enough that I can willingly accept responsibility for my own mistakes and maybe for a few of someone elses’ as well. It doesn’t really matter who is to blame. And I’ve found that after years of using my phone for getting the time, I kind of like wearing a watch again. Just sayin’…
One of my all time favorite tv series is James Herriot’s “All Creatures Great and Small”. How interesting and fun it is to now be watching my daughter live out her own version of that story. Real doctors treat more than one species, or so it says on the back of her t-shirt. Doctor J is a vet’nary specializing in large animals, mainly horses but also cows, pigs, sheep, goats and other farm creatures.
Although this is a long standing dream of hers, to be a vet, and she finds it meaningful and satisfying, it is not always pleasant, convenient or easy. In fact, it is often unpleasant, inconvenient and hard. She has a mobile practice and travels from farm to farm with her truck full of supplies and equipment. At present, the area she covers is wide and she spends much time on the road. Many nights she is not home until 9 or 10 and still has her own animals to care for, oh, and herself to feed and put to bed. …
Sometimes when I visit, I ride with her and pretend I’m part of her team (after all, I am a nurse – I know how to fetch a scalpel or a suture, or the lubricant…). From my daughter I learned how to hold a sheep and how to pull a horse’s tongue out of the way while his teeth are getting filed (floated). She has saved a choking horse and set a lamb’s broken leg. She does ultrasounds and x-rays on her patients lugging heavy equipment cases to the field or the barn. She endures the most awkward positions for hours while sewing up a bad laceration or bandaging a difficult area. And she is often called upon when owners decide that their animal needs that last compassionate act.
And who would have thought that someone with sensitivities to organization (sock drawer perfection) and cleanliness (professional house cleaner) would develop such a high tolerance for dirt, manure and horse spit? It’s all part of the job for Dr. J., Equine Vet’nary.
Untitled for Now
I have a dream where something is lost
I do not know where it is, because I’m not sure
I’m not sure what it is. But it’s gone.
I only have that empty feeling as a clue to where it was
It was a precious thing and I planned never
Never to lose it. I think I hid it somewhere for safety
Little did I know it would be so safe
So safe I would not find it in all my searching
I look for it regularly because there is hope
Hope of some sort. I think it will be recovered
When I accidentally remember what it is,
And where it is. I hope I didn’t imagine it, that precious thing.
Back in the spring of 2002, I was desperately trying to think of something exciting to do – an adventure for myself and my teen age daughters. We also had an Italian exchange student living with us and she was graduating from high school. I just couldn’t see letting her go off to Cancun for the senior trip and needed something to dull the pain of being denied. So, I thought, let’s go on a hike. Let’s see if the Appalachian Trail is as great a place as they say in all those books… Surely if some 80 year old woman can thru hike in her tennis shoes with only a drawstring bag of supplies, we can survive a week on the trail.
Hiking newbies, we bought/borrowed backpacks and gear. We decided who would carry which supplies. I researched our options and hired a trail expert to transport us to our starting point. It was a lovely day and we were getting a nice, early start. My only reservation as I hoisted was helped into my backpack was “wow, this thing is really kind of weighty. I thought it was only 40 lbs?”. Yeah, well, we were pretty exhausted by the end of that day’s walking.
The AT teaches you to hate going downhill. It has some lovely flat stretches on high ridges just to keep morale up but mostly it is going down only to go up again. Every descent brings to mind all the wasted effort put into climbing the last hill. But after all, these are mountains. I distinctly remember as we were climbing one very steep series of steps carved into the rock, one of the girls was ready to quit. I was already maxed out on motivational talk so we just did a nice long rest after each step. No need to rush, we only have to do 10 miles of this today…
Each time we made camp it was a major victory. You have to do some thinking before you pick your spot. Where is it safe? Is there a good place to hang your food so bears don’t get it? Bears! Is there a place with no bears? Is there water?
Water is very precious when you are hiking and you can only carry so much of it. Water is heavy. Finding a stream or spring was always a relief and we learned not to pass them by without filtering enough to fill our jars. One experience with dehydration was enough for me. I was weak to the point of not being able to keep my balance, which is not a good characteristic to have on a mountain. I submitted happily to being trucked to that night’s camping spot by rangers. They set up the tent and put me in it for a recovery sleep. Hours later I woke to the sounds of the girls arriving.
We made it. From our starting point back down to the parking lot at Amicalola Falls. We gratefully fell into the car and went to a motel to wash off five days of grime and weariness. Although it may sound a bit like a bad experience, it wasn’t. I don’t think any of us will forget our time hiking, and I and the youngest daughter have even gone back for more
.
It was a really pretty evening, the sun had gone down gloriously and the sky was now darkening with stars and moon getting brighter minute by minute. They were on another of his goofy dates. They had both stayed on campus that summer for their jobs and he had been coming up with casual, out-of-the-box ideas to get them together. This time he had driven them in his green Econoline van up to a scenic overlook where there were a few cement picnic shelters. So why the briefcase, she wondered? He opened it up and drew out a bottle, two glasses and a candle and proceeded to set the table and pour the wine. One more thing from the briefcase – a small black box, which he opened and turned toward the candlelight. Surprise! Yes, it was.
It had been a tough, challenging winter. Finances were tight and the eldest child needed some therapy that they just couldn’t afford. It had been a nice break when her brother and his family came to visit. The mood lightened and they had fun, all of them, but they were gone now. Everyday reality had been happening all day as she cleaned up the house, putting away the post-company clutter. It was about time to quit for the night and she went into the bedroom to turn down the bed covers, only there was an envelope on the pillow. She knew it would be a thank you note from her brother, and it was, but there was also a check inside for an exorbitant amount. Surprise!
They were excited, pulling her out to the driveway, telling her to cover her eyes. It was her birthday. Her daughter and friends had been gone for a while and now they were back and who knew what they had planned out for her? She was led out to the truck parked in the driveway and given permission to look. There it was! She had seen and remarked about it any number of times as she drove past the abandoned building where the Loyal Order of the Moose had met. It had been dangling, high on a pole by one chain at a rakish angle. And how had they ever gotten it down?! And now it was hers – a 8 foot long plastic sign with the word MOOSE in large red letters. Surprise!
She sort of viewed life as living from one surprise to the next. There had been quite a few and she was not afraid to think there would be more.
At almost every family gathering I’ve been to there is at least one session when all of us sit around telling “remember when” stories. Sometimes the stories are funny, sometimes tragic but they are ones we want to remember and pass on. I will admit that as time goes by the story details can tend to get a little fuzzy. In fact, one story that my brothers and I all remember is about one of us being a toddler and breaking the glass of a second story window and nearly falling out. Someone else caught him by the back of his jammy suit and pulled him back. Funny how it’s not real clear anymore who played what part. We try not to argue about it. Dates are also hard to remember. When did we take that first vacation to Florida? How long did we live in that house?
One year, as I was listening to my parents and aunts and uncles trade stories and debate the when and why of it all, I decided it might be good to write things down. I call it sort of a family timeline, like writing a history book about your family. It’s fun and I love to take it with me to our gatherings, in case I hear some new detail. The oldest generation in any family knows things that others do not, and face it, those things could be lost if not written down somewhere.
I took an ordinary notebook, of a convenient size to carry in my purse, and put a year on each page. I started with the year I was born but after interviewing my mom this winter I think I will start another section for the time before I came on the scene. I have a page for every year even if I don’t have anything to enter because sooner or later someone will come up with something for that year.
I get information for the timeline from lots of different sources. Last month I was getting rid of some old check registers and noticed some things I’d written checks for that sparked a memory. My calendars always have something in them that belongs on the timeline, even if I haven’t managed to be faithful in recording everything. Even an old “to do” list in a notebook has clues of projects, parties, and purchases that might be memorable. Birth dates, graduation dates, firsts of all kinds, when the measles struck, where you spent Thanksgiving – it all gets written down. My children laugh when they see that we got our first VCR in 1991. Their children will probably ask what a VCR is and they will get to have a fun conversation about how things have changed.
At the end of each year, during that calm period between Christmas and New Year’s Day I change out my old date book for a new one. Before I store or throw away the old one, I have a fun session reviewing the past year and putting things on the timeline. Year by year, it grows. Would this be a project your family would enjoy?
I’m a collector of cloth. When a pair of jeans is no longer wearable, I cut the legs off and save the good denim pieces. I save scraps from all the garments I make for myself and others. I find cloth at garage sales. Some of the most interesting pieces come from men’s shirts (really!). I know that if I don’t have enough cloth to make even a small garment, I can make a quilt. One winter I took some of my favorite cloth prints and made squares in the log cabin pattern. When I had enough of them, my aunt Helen helped me decide how to place them together.
This quilt became a tablecloth. Most of the cloth was left from a dress of mine (the darkest blue), some dresses I made for the girls (the blue and white prints), a skirt that I recycled (dark blue plaid), a few men’s shirts and assorted scraps, and a red print that I bought new just for the quilt. Since it’s kind of a patriotic color theme I use it in the summer over Memorial Day through July 4th. Every time I look at it I remember the dresses, the shirts and the people who wore them. So, you see, I have several reasons for loving this item.
I have a friend, J. Carroll Barnhill (J for Jesse and he’s always wondered how he ended up with two girl names…). A few years after I met him he had a bad fall from a very frisky race horse and shattered his hip. He came to stay at my house for his rather lengthy recovery and it was suggested to him that since he couldn’t do much but lie in bed, he should read or maybe write poetry. Many years later he is still writing poetry and reading his favorites at gatherings of all kinds. He doesn’t type much, which is why I’ve gotten to type most of his creations and they are all stored on my computer. As “keeper of the anthologies” I wrote this poem for him and it was included in the preface of his first book.
Another Silly Poem
“Another silly poem,” he said, “for you to type today.”
“You probably don’t have time for this, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”
The words are scrawled on whatever’s at hand, envelope, napkin or pad.
Sometimes hard to read, grammatically strange, but inspired by a vision he’d had.
His words, his thoughts, his moments of life, captured with pen and ink
Are presented to me with a hopeful smile and then “What do you think?”
Obviously bursting with pride at this “newborn thing” he’s made,
Yet giving his feelings a place to hide in case I don’t give a good grade.
All his years of living, places and times, simply written down
Passed on to those who identify, who marvel, who laugh or frown
Or cry or argue or shake their heads – amazement on their face.
How can so many words jump out from such an unlikely place?
For he’s been a man of action, a workman with his hands.
Setting poles, stringing wires, driving machines, caring for horses and land,
Loving and losing, rejecting and choosing – no busier person around.
Who would think he’d have dared to try this new thing, this talent freshly found.
It’s his courage that takes the time to share and cares to pass things on
It’s his joy that sees the fun and rhyme, and hope life’s built upon.
Word upon word, one page at a time, a life I’ve never known…
So with respect I sit to type “another silly poem”.
Shirley Dietz © 2006
Many times the husband and I would look up at the night sky while taking a walk and notice three bright stars, quite close together. One of us would always have to say “There’s Orion in the sky.” I guess because it’s one of the easiest for us to see it’s a favorite. I thought you might like to know some fascinating things about it. It is beautiful.
I don’t know why but the letter O has been the hardest for me so far. I’ve been thinking about it for days. O well…
I Just Have to Say... 