"my" day

I have enjoyed more than my fair share of memorable birthdays in my forty seven years. Turning sixteen was cool, but I had been driving everywhere I wanted for the previous year already. I don't really remember twenty, but thirty seemed monumental even though I ruined the surprise party that my wife had planned. Something came up and the only way she could get me to go to the party was to tell me about it. I did my best to act surprised, but she wasn't pleased. Forty came and went with little fanfare and now I'm closing in on fifty. Another birthday with a zero!
But all forty seven of these, as good as they were,pale in comparison to the birthdays I now look forward to. I love to recieve gifts and eat cake. I enjoy my yearly "fifteen minutes", and Facebook makes you feel like a celebrity. Just the fact that I have survived another year, while some have not, makes me happy. I have alway thought there was nothing better than "my" day, but then I had a daughter.
For one day out of the year (a week if you milk it) I could play like a kid. I could wear a grass skirt and get hit with water balloons. I could be the first one found because I was too big in a game of hide and seek. I could come in last place in every party game and not feel like a loser. It would feel like "my" day too, and after we rested up we would talk about it for weeks. This year my daughter will be thirteen.
A memorable birthday. Becoming a teenager! Cell phones and I-tunes cards will replace the dolls and toys. A few to spend the night instead of a crowd to enjoy the day. Cake and ice cream of course, but probably no hula skirts and water guns. More talking and texting than playing. My wife and I will be more like hosts than guests. I will have to be on my best behavior because (I already knew this) I can be embarsssing. Times are changing.
I have watched her grow into a young lady in what seems like overnight. From hanging on my every word to correcting to my grammer. From laughing at my jokes to telling one funnier than mine. I miss the little girl, but I am proud of what she is now. I may not be one of the kids at the party anymore, but this will still be "my" day.

Blindside

It took a few minutes to adjust to the light as we walked outside into the blinding midday sun. The crowded parking lot bore no resemblence to the Pandora we left in the movie theatre. Everything looked plain and quiet. Our ears were still ringing and imaginations fueled. When we got in the car I said " If you only see one movie this year, it should be Avatar". Glad my fantasy loving wife and daughter dragged me along. We talked about the movie the whole way home and vowed to own it when it came to DVD.

Going to the theatre to watch movies has become an extremely expensive event. We look at the new releases and movie trailers and try to decide which ones warrant going to see and which ones to wait on. Usually the more action the film has determines this decision. "Blindside" was a film that did not make the large screen cut for us. Probably because we heard it was sad and we didn't want to waste the pocket space smuggling in kleenex. My wife and I both are embarassing snifflers and watch some movies with our backs touching. My daughter thinks this is not very cool, so we try not to do it in public.

We rented "Blindside" and joked that we would each bring a towel instead of wasting a box of tissue. Our movie room in the basement is really almost as good as the cinema. We have a projector and a sound system, and yard sale furniture that is very comfortable. Nobody kicks the back of your seat and there are never any screaming children. The room is nice and dark and we can sit far enough away from each other to have a private experience. Perfect.

Well the movie was excellent. Uplifting instead of sad and it really made me think. Would I have taken in that boy like that family did? Have I had the chance and passed it up? Looked the other way and went on with my busy life. Probably. I am a "have", and he is a "have not". I have a home. I have a family. I have people that love me. These are not small things,these are everything. We all have a great gift to give that doesn't cost a dime, love.

If you see one movie this year, it should be "Blindside"

Progress

The intermittent beeping of the tractor's back up alarm caused me to look in it's direction every few seconds. I was in no danger of being run over by the machine, but it was distracting as I continued my early morning walking tour of Memory Hills Cemetary. The franchise pharmacy under construction will be your view from the eastern side of this historic part of Milledgeville. The bright lights will probably make even a night tour possible when the store is complete. I could go on about the big chains taking over "mom and pop" businesses and changing the dynamics of an historic small town, but that is not the emotion I left the cemetary with that day.
Memory Hills is a really beautiful and interesting place. My daughter and I found headstones dating from the 1700's to 2010. The trees that shelter some of the crumbling monuments look even older. The money spent and care taken by relatives throught history for there loved ones final resting place is touching. The craftsmanship alone displayed by of some of the older monuments makes the tour worth taking. You get that "proud to be American" feel as you read the names of fallen soldiers from the Civil War to Vietnam.
But we could not help but notice how many of the older graves contained the remains of children. "John..son of Ezra..1yr.8mos. Sarah...daughter of Samuel...8mos". Many of these family plots held five or six children's graves. The determination of these parents to keep trying to have a family in the face of such sadness was humbling. How many survived? Did the mother die without ever having a family? Did she die "trying"? There were very few headstones of children from the 20th century and for a moment I thought that maybe we just don't try as hard as we used to.
It was then that the beeping from the back up alarm of the tractor caught my attention. As I looked down the hill at the future location of our newest and most modern pharmacy it hit me just how much times have changed. How many of these children would have survived with just the medicine we now sell over the counter. The simple medicines we take for granted and go to the doctor for something quicker and stronger! Fever reducers and infection fighters alone would have saved thousands. This does not make the view any better from the eastern slope of Memory Hills, but it does make me realize how lucky I am to have been born when I was.

The Marlboro Baby

I really hated to see my daughter get out of the car this morning and walk in to school. With only three weeks left in the year the morning commute has a different feel. The light at the end of the tunnel is visible. We laughed at each other and sang with the radio in spite of the fact that it was hardly eight o'clock. A year of hard work almost complete.
After dropping her off I head home for breakfast and a few minutes of quiet time before the day gets rolling. I pulled up to the red light of a busy intersection and could not help but notice the pretty young lady in the shiny SUV sitting next to me. She reached up and turned the rearview mirror toward her and checked her makeup. She ran her fingers through her hair to complete the casual "I could have looked better if I had more time" look. She returns the mirror to it's correct position and takes a big drag off her cigarrette. The window is rolled down a couple of inches and I watch as the smoke curls around her head before it rushes out the window. Boy that looks good! Though it has been thirteen years (next month) since I have smoked, some things you just don't forget.
As I sat there watching she took a few more puffs, then thumped the butt out of the window. She rolled up the window then turned around in her seat and looked directly at me. Feeling as though I was caught, I immediately looked away. As I looked at her from the corner of my eye I noticed that it was not me she was looking at. She had a big animated smile and was talking to a toddler strapped in a car seat. I was so caught up in the morning smoke that I had not noticed the other passenger. Her smoking buddy.
I have to admit that I feel somewhat like a hypocrite writing this because I smoked for years. Honestly it does not bother me that people smoke and I often walk outside with smokers at work just to smell them. But it is no accident that I know the exact date that I smoked my last cigarette. My daughter will be thirteen next month and that is my anniversary. While we owe ourselves only what we decide, we owe our children the best chance for a healthy life possible. You wouldn't light up in church. You wouldn't shake one out while visiting your sick grandmother in the hospital. You would not do either because even if it was allowed, it just wouldn't be "right". Show your little ones and the little ones of other the same courtesy. Don't create a new smoking buddy.

Killing Frost

As I pulled into the driveway of my 2:00 appointment I could not help but notice the beautiful landscaping. The large brick home had flowering plants,shrubs and trees everywhere. April is azalea season in central Georgia and they weren't holding anything back. Since this large home was on the lake I knew I was looking at the "back" of the home and could hardly wait to see what was around front. I was a few minutes early so I gave myself a tour. The owners told me that they were no longer living here but it sure didn't look that way.

I located a paved walkway on the left side and made my way around the house. There was twice as much yard on the lakeside and a large inground pool ringed with red,pink and white azaleas. A large potting shed with resting rakes and shovels was surrounded by raised beds with things sprouting and blooming that I couldn't identify. The walkway on toward the lake was flanked by purple Iris' that were waist high and in full bloom. I spotted the lakefront in the distance and headed for the dock. On both sides of the dock, right at the shoreline were two raised beds of nothing but roses.These were not the garden variety knockout kind sold at Lowes either. As I looked closer I noticed that they were each a different kind. Some were climbers,some were not. Some had very large blooms and some had very small ones. There were probably 50 different varieties! Somebody really knew what they were doing.

I walked out onto the dock and was admiring the lakeview when I heard a car door slam. My appointment to put this beautiful home on the market was about to begin. As I was walking back I wondered why anybody would want to sell this paradise. I knew they were an older couple wanting to downsize, but leaving this would be tough. I made my introduction to the couple and told them what a lovely home they had. The husband quickly told me how much work was involved in the upkeep and that this needed to be "someone elses" job.

He pointed out sprinkler heads and electrical outlets on our way back to the house. He showed me where the pool filter was located and the lawnmower was stored. He pointed out underground drain pipes and a buried propane tank, but he never mentioned the flowers. When I turned to the silent wife and told her how beautiful the rose garden was. She just smiled and looked away.

After the tour of the interior was complete we sat down at a large table and I opened the folder that contained my listing presentation. I turned to the still silent wife and once again told her what a beatiful home she had. She just smiled and looked absently toward the lake. I knew this must be tough for her. We agreed on a list price and I filled out all of the necessary paperwork that modern real estate drowns in. The last step would be there signatures and I would be on my way. The husband quickly signed his part, leaving each form open to the place where his wife would sign. For a few seconds he looked at me without saying a word. He took the pen, put it in wife's hand and closed her fingers around it. She looked at him and smiled. She looked at me and smiled. It was then that I realized that the greenest of thumbs is no match for the killing frost that is Alzheimer's Disease.

The way we were

The sweat dripping from my forehead was making the bright red handle of my shovel very slippery. It was only mid April and this short,shallow ditch was kicking my butt. I stopped and looked behind me at my destination, only six more feet. I grabbed my water bottle that was baking in the sun and took a long warm drink. I'm almost there.
An hour later the ditch was complete.The pipe was glued in place and it was covered with dirt. I sat down with a cooler drink and admired my handiwork. It occured to me that what would have once taken me thirty minutes to complete had taken me at least two hours. Damn old age! But old age is really not the problem. Somewhere along the way my time had become too valuable to complete even the simplest of household tasks. It would be cheaper to pay someone else to dig the ditch while I made money at the office. Pay someone "more suited to dig a ditch". This someone used to be me.
I remembered the satisfaction I had at the end of the day when a long hard job was complete. Back when a shovel didn't have to be painted bright red and look like a party favor to be sold in stores. Back when I made an "honest" living. I may have gone to bed when it got dark, but isn't that natural? Somewhere along the way I turned into then man that used to hire ME.
In large cities many companies have installed gyms and allow employees to exercise on company time. It is said that they become healthier and more productive. Fewer sick days and everyone is happier. Great idea! I'm running on the treadmill while the landscape crew is cutting the grass out front. I'm lifting weights while the cleaning crew is scrubbing the floors and emptying the trash. I'm doing areobics while the window washers clean the glass like they are putting out a fire. We are all very busy...and healthy.
What if these same companies just had a their employees complete these "menial" tasks. What if I pushed a lawnmower for a couple of hours on Thursday. Get some fresh air. What if Friday was my day to vacuum the first floor. Would I not get exercise and at the same time have a completed job to admire? I would be a part of how beautiful and clean my workplace was. I would also remember who I was and where I came from.

Detroit

I saw a segment on the news last week about the day to day struggles of a lady living in Detroit Michigan. Later that evening there was an edition of "Dateline" that went deeper into her story and the other struggles of Detroit. We started casually watching,you know surfing other channels at the same time, but gradually became glued to the story. It was hard to believe this was in the United States. A town, once booming from the big bucks of the auto industry and Motown, looked like a third world country. The camera panned down street after street lined with vacant homes that wont sell at any price. The city is beginning to bulldose these properties to keep out vagrants and drug dealers and to reduce the size of the area that they have to police.

Though it is nowhere near the size of Detroit, I think we both thought of our little town and the job losses we've had. We silently wondered how long it will take us to be in their situation. The lady in the story had 3 foster children, the oldest was already a father himself and had spent time in jail. She was "watching" the little ones closer so that they would not end up like him. She needed the older boy though. Since he had no job he watched the little ones after school so the mother could work. They lived off of mostly canned food because there was little fresh meat or produce available. The story said that there were 8 grocery stores in her area and 400 liquor stores. The only produce available was from a glorified ice cream truck that rode through the neighborhoods selling it. The mother's car was old and she often worried how she would get to work and shuttle the kids back and forth from school. Food stamps helped pay for groceries and at the end of the month there was nothing left.

Well needless to say this story nearly broke both of our hearts. This lady was working as hard as she could in a dangerous and dying city. We discussed the parallels with our town and Detroit, and talked about this episode until we went to bed. How could people live like this?Well Last night there was a story on the national news about post earthquake Hati. Two million homeless people living in tent cities in and around Port au Prince. Sleeping on the ground with little food or potable water and trash everywhere. Makeshift latrines that the women cannot use after dark for fear of being raped. Children playing in water that contains raw sewerage and mosquito larve. The rainy season is right around the corner and disease will follow.

Certainly conditions are this bad because the country is suffering the effects of a devastating natural disaster. This is only partly true.Though I have never been to Hati I have been to Jamaica in the West Indies twice. The beaches are beautiful, as are the massive resorts that ply rich foreigners with food,drink and luxury. But when you get off of the beaten path you see sights that would make the conditions in Detroit look like Disney world. Many residents here would trade places with the poorest and most destistute American citizen. I hear it said regularly said that we should stop sending money to these third world countries and that they are not our responsibility. This is true, they are not. As Americans we are responsible only for Americans, but as human beings we are responsible for all other human beings. Things change fast and our opinions will too when we are all living in "Detroit".