Earth Day

Happy Earth Day! Be kind to the planet, we only have one! Plant a tree today! There are a million tag lines to encourage others to celebrate Earth Day. It's like Christmas...it only comes once a year....enjoy! I know this is meant to draw attention to our wasteful culture, and the intentions are good, but isn't every day really earth day? Wouldn't a smaller more consistent approach do more?


It's kind of like watching the Superbowl. You are glued to the game, but when a commercial comes on you jump up, use the bathroom, then flush the toilet. How many millions of flushes is that? Seems like it would create enough negative pressure to turn the earth into a black hole! But it doesn't. Millions of gallons of water are used simultaneously, but it averages out later to be about the same amount used in an typical day. After the game we go back to our normal schedule.


If you turn off your air conditioner you use no electricity. When you turn it on the meter zooms. Zero to sixty. There is no in between, it's either on or off. It's either Earth Day or it is not. But what if the air conditioner worked more efficiently? What if it got better "gas mileage?" What if most of the cool air blowing through the pipes went into your home and not into hyperspace? This would certainly help the atmosphere, but it would also put more money back in your pocket. Maybe you could go out to eat with the savings. Take a day off work. It could make your time on this earth more enjoyable with the added benefit of helping save it.


There are literally hundreds of simple, painless things we can all do to save energy every day. The air conditioner and it's duct system seems like a very complicated one, but there are several things that the average person can do to it themselves to make it save energy (money). The government has gotten involved with integrating energy codes into building codes, so now which arm you use to pull the lever at the voting booth will affect your views on energy consumption. A sad, but avoidable note on our political system.


So even if you don't care about the polar bears and the ice caps, you certainly care about your pocketbook. I looked out the window this morning and there was not a glacier in sight. But there never is. You can't see them from my house. It was a little warmer than usual, but this is not uncommon, it's mid April of my 48th spring. The beauty of this planet is that it's always changing. Some we cause, and some happen on their own. It is always debatable which is which. I don't pretend to know the answer but I have a few hunches. In the mean time if I make everyday a mini earth day to save myself some money, I surely won't be doing more harm.

Fun

I like to have fun, always have. I will admit that the older I get the more of a struggle it becomes, but it's possible. I'm not talking about deep sea fishing or tropical vacations, everybody can find fun in things like that. What I am referring to is just simple fun. Laughing. Inside jokes with close friends and family, practical jokes, even funny television shows. "Foolishness." Silly things that we all have a way of growing up and out of.

I grew up in what I would call a semi-large family. Two parents and three kids is almost a small soccer team, but when you make the three kids boys, the number seems larger. When we went places together we were kind of asking for trouble. Especially when all three kids were teenagers. Boredom makes kids do and say some weird things and I was no exception. In hindsight I'm pretty sure I was the real problem. My little brother told me once, while he was trying to stop laughing and breathe, that I wasn't funny, I was just relentless. I realize now that just about summed up my childhood. If you can do it, I can over do it.

If we went to the mall shopping I would lag behind a few steps and limp. The family didn't notice, they were just glad I was lagging behind. I watched people pass by and look at me out of the corner of their eye. They were curious, but tried not to stare. If we were in a crowded store I would speak to one of my brothers in a fake foreign language just to see what strangers would do. You have to be careful doing that today because someone will try to engage you, but in the 1970's it worked like a charm. I know some of this makes you think that an appointment with the karma police is eminent, but it was just harmless fun. I just wanted to see a stranger's reaction.

Good comedy has two parts: the one delivering the jokes and a straight man. Always be the one delivering the jokes because the straight man is the one that gets embarrassed. Case in point: My mother and I went to Macon to buy a new sofa. How it ended up being just the two of us, I don't remember, but I think she figured I would be good without my brothers. A salesman followed us around the store with a positive comment about every one we looked at. It wasn't high pressure sales, but it was a little annoying. In spite of him we decided on just the right sofa and went to the counter to pay. My mother was writing a check that was printed with her last name as Fort-Herren, her maiden and married names. The salesman looked at the check and asked "What kind of name is this?" I know now he was just making nervous small talk, but it was the opportunity I was waiting on.

"PLO." I said with the perfect dead pan look, and said no more. Well I know that I date myself with this response because few today remember the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), but they were feared at the time. I thought my mother was going to have a heart attack! It didn't cross my mind that the guy might not take the check, but it crossed hers. The salesman just stared at us. The look on his face said "What in the hell did I just ask that question for?" Of course I promised on the ride home to never do that again, and we both had a good laugh.

One of the things I've realized that is different today when you do things like this is the reaction of strangers. People used to try hard not to stare. They would look at you out of the corner of their eye. They would keep moving and pretend not to notice. They tried to be respectful. My daughter went with me yesterday to an appointment with the eye doctor at Walmart. I would need new glasses and I wanted some help picking out the frames. We chose a pair that in her words "don't make you look stupid" and prepared to leave. My eyes were dilated so they gave me a pair of those disposable plastic sun glasses to protect my eyes. I hate those things, but I had left my real sunglasses in the car and I needed them. As we headed for the door, fighting the 5:00 crowd, I grabbed her shoulder, turned my head at an odd angle and pretended she was guiding me out of the store. My best Stevie Wonder, my old tricks with a new straight man.

Maybe it has been a while since I've done something like this, but it doesn't seem like it. Taylor wouldn't go shopping with me for almost two months after I jumped in the air and clicked my heels in a crowded Walmart. I'm not out of practice! But what I was not expecting was the reaction of strangers. No subtle glances. No eyes right as they walked on by. People stopped and stared. Gawked. Pointed at me and whispered. Maybe the karma I knew would one day come my way is to witness the lack of respect people seem to have for each other.

Dreams

For most of my life I have encountered vivid dreams. I started to say enjoyed vivid dreams, but this is not always the case. Even as a child I would recount the episodes to my parents in great detail, hoping they could help me make sense of them. Looking back I probably should have kept some of these to myself, but we learn as we go along. At least they didn't have me committed. I always thought everyone dreamed (and remembered them) just like me. I assumed they just wanted to keep them to themselves, because explaining something that makes no sense to you will surely confuse the hell out of someone else. I looked for books to explain dreams and when the internet came along I scoured it as well. Most information was the same. Symbols they said. "If you see a warthog in your dreams it means you need a change in your life." Now that makes complete sense! I'd love to meet the research team that came up with that one. The flaw in this theory is...what if I had a warthog farm? It would certainly mean something different to me then. Anyway, I have always been on the hunt for some answers. I read a book a few years back that my daughter insisted I buy. She was home from school for a week because she had just been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. We were at the book store looking for something to occupy her time (and daddy's mind) when she pointed it out to me. "Buy this book", she told me. "You like her." I looked at the cover, read a few pages and put it back on the shelf. To say it didn't grab me is an understatement. I sold my warthog farm a long time ago. We finished shopping and when she put her books on the counter she looked at me and asked me where my book was. I mumbled a few words about the price and how busy I was and warthogs and... I was really just hanging on. I really just wanted to sit on the edge of my bed and feel sorry for her and myself and the whole diabetes thing, but she didn't. She walked back over to the shelf, grabbed the "Book of Dreams" and placed it on the counter. "You should read this" was all she said as we left the store. That was three years ago now. I think of the lifetime struggle she will have with diabetes, but I have found a way to deal with it. I think she has too. Giving up is never the answer. The book she insisted I buy forever changed my way of looking at dreams and to some extent, my life. It took away the symbolism and encouraged me to give the dream a "type" before I spent much time analyzing it. Could be junk or it could be important. Solving for X, reading between the lines. Mainly it taught me to not be afraid. I admit it still shocks me when I have a dream like I did the other night. I was dressed in Civil War uniform watching a group of African Americans dance in a high school gym. The dream was pretty long and confusing, but that was the gist of it. When I turned on my computer the next morning the first thing I saw was an article about the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. I almost showered the computer with coffee! But these types of dreams are the exception. Yes, I think we visit other people and places in our dreams, but I also think we visit ideas. If the warthog himself tells me to sell the farm and change your life it makes more sense. I don't dream about my late brother as much as I used to, but when I do I pay special attention. He was my voice of reason when he was alive and he still is eight years later. I can't pick up the phone and give him a call, but he somehow continues shows up when I need him the most. I think of that day in the book store often. I don't pretend to understand the "whys" or "hows" of all that has happened, but I am thankful. Thankful that it is Monday and that I didn't do or say what I was so sure of on Friday. Thankful that certain people are in my life in any capacity. Grateful that I have learned new ways to pay attention. Oh, if you know anybody looking for a good deal on a warthog farm give me a call. I'm changing my life.

Grandma

It was early Thursday morning and I was already busy running around town. I was trying to tie up a few lose ends with my business so I could go to Atlanta for a few days and visit my grandmother. She was not doing well and my mother was staying there now almost full time. If I could get a couple more things done I could leave by early afternoon, beat rush hour traffic and maybe even help with supper. I was almost to a customer's house near the lake when my cell phone rang. My phone was one of those big bag types, and since I really just used sixty monthly minutes in case of emergencies, I suspected the ringing was bad news.

"What time are you leaving to come this way?" My mother's strained voice asked. "I mean are you still coming?"

I told her that I was still planning to come and began to go over the things I had to get done first. My obligations.

"You had better come now." She cut in. "She's expecting you and I don't think she can wait that long."

"I'm on my way." Was the only answer I could manage to squeeze out.

I loved my maternal grandmother and grandfather. Grandma and Grannie. Yes, Grannie was a man and this part is something I will have to go into at a later date when I have more time. We lived 100 miles from each other most of my life and while I only saw them a few times each year, I looked forward to the visits. They didn't spoil us, they were just easy to be around. Grannie was a big jokester and Grandma was the perfect straight man. After I married, my wife and I would go to their home the day before the family Thanksgiving so we could have a little private time with them and not have to share with the crowd. She looked as forward to it as I did, and it became a tradition for all four of us.

I tried hard to concentrate on the road as I made my way to the big city. I hadn't asked mama what "I don't think she can wait that long" really meant, but I knew. Grandma was 88 years old and had always seemed healthy to me, but the years after Grannie died had not been good ones. I tried to visit more, but the physics of 100 miles was tough. When I did visit she would tell me that she didn't want to live without my grandfather. "Time was not making it better." She would tell me as if I had the answer. "What am I going to do." Hoping I had the answer. I remember not knowing what to say. I missed him too, but I knew it wasn't the same. Trying to console a woman that had changed my diaper and taught me to eat solid food. I knew we would not talk about this today, but I hoped we would.

She waited for me. I jumped out of the car, walked in the house, and as I hugged my mother I looked around the room for grandma. Thinking she would be washing dishes at the sink. Wishing she was.

"She's in her bed." Mama said. "I just talked to her and she's expecting you."

A nod was all I could summon and I hugged the others as I built my courage to walk down the hall to her bedroom. My aunt walked beside me with her arm over my shoulder. She's been great I thought as we went to her bedside, she's been here full time for a few years and now she's taking care of me too. I hope I'm made of the same material.

"Hey Grandma." I said as I leaned over her bed and took her hand in mine. "How are you doing?"

The words sounded really stupid as they left my lips, but I was doing good to make a whole sentence. It hadn't been that long since my last visit, but she looked much different. Smaller. Older. Frail. But when she opened her eyes and looked at me, there she was. Grandma. A big smile came over her and she whispered,

"I knew you'd come, I've been waiting on you."

I squeezed her hand and told her I was hurrying and I loved her and I'd be there for a few days and everything I could think of all at once. I was babbling and she was smiling. She had waited for me.

She closed her eyes and went back to sleep, those would be her final words. We sat on the edge of the bed for a while and just looked at her. Four generations. Mothers and sons, daughters and cousins, grandmothers and great grandchildren. Together to say goodbye to one of our own. To hold her hand as she finds the answer to the question that I could not answer for her. Now you know what to do.

It was a hard good bye for all of us. It requires energy to die. This force that is us has a hard time letting go, and while it is hard to watch, it is important to be there. I almost missed it. She was a wonderful woman I miss everyday. A woman that was lucky enough to be born at home and die at home. A rarity in our modern society. Surrounded by loved ones preparing you for the next step. Arming you for your next battle. Blanketing you with love. Watching as you find the answers.

Pre-judice

I made an appointment early Monday morning with the county agency to get a start on my monthly quota of inspections. I wrote down the address I was given and typed it in my GPS. It was in my county and I had a pretty good idea where it was, but it way out in the country. Almost to the county line. Out where the residents give their area a private name. Browns Crossing. Stevens Pottery. Coopers. Areas that are close enough (or far enough away) to claim multiple county seats as their hometown. Residents with a private identity.

I stopped by my office before heading to the home and printed out the relevant information. This gives me a head start on the paperwork and helps create a mental image of what to expect. It was a small single wide mobile home that, from the amount of work I noted done by the agency, would be old and in need of additional repair. Ok, I was expecting a shack. I really don't have anything against mobile homes, I have lived in them before, and I own one now. I imagined what I would find when I reached this home and honestly I was expecting the worst.

When I finally pulled in the red dirt driveway I immediately noticed the flowering trees shielding the "trailer" from the busy highway. Dogwoods, pears and plums. Not expensive nursery trees, but all were beautiful and neatly trimmed. The drive ended at the back of the home and the owner was standing in the doorway. The home was not underpinned and I could see a lawnmower and garden tools resting in the shade. I waved at the man and noticed he was about my age. This is a small town so we will probably know each other I thought as I stepped out of the truck. I always try to be delicate in this situation because the Weatherization Program is income based and I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable.

"Morning" I offer as I walk in the house. "Everything suit you on the work that was done?"

"Yessir" he answers, looking over his shoulder toward the other end of the house. "But I wish they could have done something with my air conditioner. It gets pretty hot in here."

This far south one would think cooling would be more important, but I don't make the rules.

"They did fix the plug where the air conditioner plugs up though." he says pointing to a blackened cover plate in the living room. "When I get my money right I'm gonna buy me another one".

As I walk over to the receptacle to take a picture I notice a homemade bookcase, full of books, against the wall. Loving to read as I do, I scan the titles. With the gospel music coming from the radio, I was not surprised to see the spines of a bible and several religious self-help books, but mixed in were others with surprising titles. Organic gardening. Herbal remedies. Healthy cooking. Succeed. He could see the look of surprise on my face and I felt bad about it. I had stereotyped him before I ever entered his home. If he had told me that he couldn't read I wouldn't have been surprised.

"You like to read?" I say, really more of a statement than a question. "You have a lot of books".

Yessir, I do." he offers defensively. "Love me some books. I learned stuff like plants ain't gotta have poison and fertilizer like most folks think. My cabbages ain't as big as my mama's over there, but I can walk out and eat a leaf off mines without washing it and it wont hurt me. They good boiled, but they better for you if you don't cook em'." Surprising, but I wondered if this was from lack of money for fertilizer or gardening principals. I did it again.

We walked around the yard before I left. I took the tour. He pointed out all of the fruit trees and vines he had dug up elsewhere and transplanted to his small yard. His small garden of cabbages looked very healthy and he took a leaf in his mouth. I was impressed and tried desperately to keep the look of surprise off my face.

"They's alot we can learn from how folks used to do things". He said as I headed for my truck. "Lots we need remember and lots we need to let go. I used to be mad all the time, but I ain't no more. Don't do me no good".

I climbed in the truck wondering how we had gone from organic farming to being happy in a few short sentences. What else was this man going to surprise me with I thought as I tried to think of an intelligent response.

"Theys a whole lot of bad things that have happened to my folks a long time ago, but it really ain't got nothing to do with me. You neither. Being mad ain't done nothing but hurt me." he said as he walked toward my truck. "You understand?"

I understood what he was talking about but I was surprised by the direction the conversation had taken. He walked over to my open truck door and stuck his hand in my direction waiting for me to take it in mine. As we shook hands he looked at me hard, keeping me from letting go as he made his point.

"Can't nobody do nothing for you but you. Everything good wont last and neither will everything bad." He said. "You got to be happy by yourself, if you ain't figured it out yet, you better."

We parted ways and I headed back toward town. What a guy I thought, he was really unusual. Then I realized I had done it again. Why would he think any differently than any of the other people I know. His color? The size of his home? I have always considered myself an open minded person conscious of other people's feelings, but I had assigned him a position before I even met him.

On this day that marks the 150th anniversary of the beginning of Civil War I think that we should all think about how far we have come, and how far there is left to go. To allow ourselves happy. Enjoying the good to it's fullest potential will help you endure the bad. Pat ourselves on the back for what we have done and try to do better still. Be conscious of the fine line between pre-disposition and pre-judice.

Racing for the light

Being grown is sometimes tough. You are constantly having to do and say things that you would rather not. It's like watching football on television, it looks a lot easier than it really is, and you don't feel the pain of the injuries. A facade. When I was a teenager I couldn't wait to grow up and enjoy the privilege, the reward for being a child. I raced for the light, ready to circle the glow with the rest of the team.

But you get to enjoy the fruits of your own labor. You receive full credit for your accomplishments and make your family proud. You get to hold babies that look just like you and create a new "one" out of a mixed and random bag. You are a powerful planner and creator. A farmer. But you also have to say goodbye to things you love. You hold the hand of your newest and most prized possession as you say good bye to another that raced for the flame by your side. Someone that pointed you in it's direction and held your hand along the way.

Saying good bye is tough. The one boarding the plane has a much easier time than the one waving at it as it leaves the ground. The leaver and the left. One heading for adventure and the other left to hold down the fort. The fort minus one. As I walk down the concrete pier with the remains of my brother in a plastic box, a label with his full and rarely used full name fixed to the lid, holding the hand of another that I can't live without, I'm being left. His ashes will stay here alone and I will go home, but I'm not the leaver. I am being left.

The family has all gathered to see him off, but really he is already gone. This is just an official good bye, a going away party. But when this party is over and the tail lights are no longer visible it will sink in. Life will be different and time will be my enemy. We all gather around the wooden railing and look down at the water. The dark, swirling current below us races around the oyster encrusted pilings toward the open ocean. Our eyes follow the path and we all look together at the horizon. The destination. A solitary and wide open space for such a small box.

The time has come and we open the container. A living, breathing being reduced to ashes. The remnants of the fire. We are to release him to the depths that as a little boy I pulled him back from. From grasping his collar when he was to close to the edge to pushing him over the side in just thirty eight years. His lifetime. We all hold our breath as the ashes float toward the water. There is little splash as the dark flakes mix with the murky water. But as the ashes sink in the salty bath they began to sparkle. Gold and silver flecks shimmering like a school of fish. The tail of a comet disappearing as it races toward the horizon. The fire dying.

The sparkle in the water was almost too much for us to handle. None of really knew what to expect as we released the ashes, but this was a surprise. We cried and laughed and hugged one another as a small crowd gathered around us. "Look" someone said, pointing to the water below us. "A baby dolphin." The family released it's grip on one another and looked over the side. A young dolphin about two feet long had come to the surface below us. The ashes were gone, but he was circling in the same location. He would disappear for a few seconds then surface again below us. Was he showing off? A little boy running down the sidewalk in his brand new shoes.

We watched him for a few minutes, holding our breath when he sounded and cheering when he surfaced, wondering what this meant and thankful at the same time for his display. The last time he surfaced he was several feet away from the pier. As he rose to the surface he was accompanied by another larger dolphin. A parent. They dove together and seconds later rose together. A pair of dancers that would practice this step for years to come. She led him east, away from the structure toward the open ocean, with their dark backs shining in the sun. Racing for the light.

The fortunate ones

It's 9:00 on a Tuesday night and I'm feeding quarters into the "Twice The Ice" machine. I don't have a cooler full of fish or a deer to cool down. I'm not getting ready for a vacation or icing down a bunch of beer. I'm filling the cooler to preserve the food in my refrigerator at home. I am without electricity and I'm house camping! No TV, Internet, hot water or lights. Just like an old-time farmer getting up when it gets light and going to bed when it gets dark. It's only been 36 hours, but it feels like forever.

I went to a meeting earlier this evening to discuss helping low income people reduce their power bills. Kind of ironic I guess because I'm really saving electricity right now. But anyway, I told them I had to leave early because I needed to go by Walmart and buy some batteries and ice, maybe even a pizza to eat for supper because I couldn't cook either. They were understanding and couldn't believe I still was in the dark. We had been planning this meeting for a couple of weeks, so I really felt bad. "Sorry I have to cut this short" I told the group. "Tonight I'm gonna party like it's 1699!" We all laughed at my misfortune and they told me not to worry about it. The director of the center where the meeting was held pulled me to the side and said the we all had to be out by 8:30 anyway. "This place is also a homeless shelter and those two guys you saw outside are waiting for you to leave so they can go to bed". She whispered. "They don't want everyone to know. Everybody wants their privacy and we try to accommodate." I hate to say that I didn't even notice the guys outside. I walked right past them and never gave it a thought.

Well we zipped right through our meeting as quickly as we could. Using the term zipped right through and volunteers in the same sentence really doesn't make sense, but we at least reached a stopping point. I told everyone good bye and got in my truck. I cranked the vehicle and this time I did notice the two men standing beside the building, illuminated by my headlights. They were both looking down and I could not see there faces. They wanted their privacy. They wanted to come inside and go to bed. They didn't care if the building had cable or internet. They were not disappointed that the roast they were planning to cook would have to wait another night in a cooler full of ice in a dark garage. They simply wanted a roof over their heads.

So as I drop the last quarter into the ice machine I make a plan. A plan to make this fiasco an adventure with my family when I get home. "Y'all said you wanted to go camping!" I would say. "Let's play cards by the lantern!" Anything but the real truth. We are still so fortunate to have what we have. This dark, powerless structure with cold water coming out of both faucets is home. Our home. We are warm, safe and surrounded by others that love us. Saving electricity.