Recycling Day

It’s the second Thursday of the month; the day my street puts the recycling at the curb for pick up. Collecting the last few cans and water bottles from the counter, I put them in a bag and head for the door. It will be the second time I have done this since my dog (Buddy Jeanes) died and I think that I will forever think of him when I do this. I’m not sure why he liked it so much, but he got excited and scratched on the door whenever I made a run for the recycling bin. Maybe it was just that he knew for sure I was going outside, but somebody would invariably say “Buddy loves some recycling”. One of those little inside family jokes.

I bagged the last few items up and headed for the bin. It was kind of a tight squeeze in the garage because we had crammed both vehicles in last night due to bad weather, so I made more noise than usual getting everything out. As I walked up the driveway with bin in hand, my neighbor’s two little dogs begin to bark. “Shit-snappers”; Buddy hated both of them. The closer I got to the street, the closer both of them came, tails cocked and ears erect, toward my location. They wouldn’t be doing this if Buddy was around, I think as I place the brimming bin beside the road; he would just look their way and they would go silent. I gave them both my best evil eye, but it had little effect; they continued to bark. Note to self: work on my evil eye.

As I headed back toward the house the barking died down. The two little dogs drifted over to my neighbor’s fence across the road and marked their new territory. It was obvious that they were still unsure about coming in my yard, and maybe they weren’t as stupid as Buddy thought they were; he had only been gone a month. No sense in getting rolled over a bad decision!

As I reached the end of the driveway I looked down the hill behind the house at the leaf cover mound that has become Buddy’s final resting place. It is really a beautiful sight this time of year with all the changing leaf colors and it made me stop and think for a few minutes. I silently told him not to worry about the two “street crappers” next door; I would keep them away from the cats and out of the garage. I told him that I missed him every day but that we would be ok without him. I thanked him for watching us for 11 years and offered my best assurance that we would try to remember the things he taught us. The exact location of his grave was hard to spot from my vantage point, and the changing season had begun to cover it as well. In less than a month his memory was already starting to fade.

The wind was blowing a steady stream of leaves from the trees and the woods felt alive with movement. I could think of nothing else to tell him, so I just stood and looked, without really looking at anything, down the hill. My focus changed and I realized that a deer was standing behind a bush just a few feet from his grave. She was uninterested in my intentions even though we were less than fifty feet apart. It gave me the start that all hunters understand, and when I really looked I realized that there four other deer around her, almost encircling Buddy’s grave. How had I not noticed them before?

I stood there for a few more minutes as the deer looked for acorns on the hillside. Of course I tossed a pinecone in their direction to make them run; I wouldn’t be a true boy if I didn’t do something like that. But I continued to wonder why I had stood there for so long without noticing the deer. They had to have been there the entire time and if they had walked up while I was standing there I certainly would have seen them. How can we ever fully understand what is around us? How will we ever really know who or what is with us if we cannot see even what is offered up in plain view.

My hunting buddy

After taking a year off from hunting, I decided to give it another try this season. I’ve spent many a fall morning over the last forty years shivering in a deer stand waiting for the sun to rise, and while this may not sound like fun to many, for me it doesn’t get much better. Listening to the woods wake up while you sit unnoticed is a religious experience. After my brother died my daughter shared it with me for a few years, and although puberty has her currently riding the bench, I think she will be back. I hope she will be back.

My daughter looks and acts so much like my late brother that she has made my heart skip when I glanced at her profile in the early morning light. And she seems to have his luck. I always dressed in layers when I hunted with my brother because I knew that it was just a matter of time after the sun came up that I would be helping him drag a deer out of the woods. I didn’t mind; at least I got to warm up and we shared the proceeds.

But this morning I went alone. I went to the old reliable hunting grounds that my brother secured permission for us to hunt twenty five years ago. As luck would have it, there ended up being a truck parked in my spot even though I was supposed to be the only one there. I got out and talked to the other hunter and realized that the landowner had misunderstood my choice of locations and put us in the same area. Bummer. The stranger was really nice, and after discovering that he and his buddy had driven over 100 miles to get here, I offered to go home and let them hunt. He thanked me and said he didn’t think that would be necessary, we should all stay. He told me where his buddy was and where he was going to be (my lucky spot!), so I chose a new area and took a seat on my stool.

Well to say that it was a little cool is an understatement! I guess I had forgotten just how cold it is when you sit still in the dark in 25 degree weather, but when it started to get light and the birds began to rustle, I forgot all about it. I sat in an area that neither I nor my brother had ever hunted, but it looked like a decent spot. As it continued to get light, I told him how much I had missed him over the years and how coming here made me miss him even more. I thanked him for providing us this location and smoothing things over with the other hunters. I told him that I didn’t care if I saw any deer; I just loved spending the morning with him. Now I was warm.

The beautiful morning slipped by uneventfully, and I started to get restless knowing that the other hunters would be getting ready to leave soon. It was at that moment that I saw a buck appear at the edge of the field fifty yards in front of me. I appeared to him as well and he turned to run back in the woods. I called him a few times and he came back out in the field. After I got a chance to get a good look at him I realized that although he would certainly never make the Boone and Crockett scoreboard, he was respectable and some cubed steak would be delicious on a chilly Sunday evening. Well he didn’t go down in the middle of the field as I had hoped, and my heart sank as I saw him disappear into some very thick brush surrounding the open area.

Well I did find the deer; he had not gone too far into the woods, but he was in some very thick stuff. Let the work begin! After I said my goodbyes to the other hunters and headed home, I replayed the morning’s events. I thought again of my brother and the luck he had sent my way on an unusually crowded morning. I thought of the prayers we shared that morning and realized I had left one out. Thank you for sending those strangers to help me drag and load OUR deer! Once again my brother, you think of everything.

A Child

The news this morning was once again all about the Penn State child molestation scandal. Over the past two days I’ve seen interviews with every type of person that just might have an opinion on the case. Faculty, students, football players and even psychologists have all chimed in with their reasoning of what should happen next. But all they really end up talking about is if it was fair or not to fire the longtime football coach. Don’t get me wrong, I love football, but is this really what the case is about; A man’s job?

Personally I think that if there was any indication of a cover up of a crime against children everyone involved should be fired, but that is just my opinion, and it is really no more important than the others I’ve seen on the news. But this morning I saw an interview with a young female college student that (for me) put it all in perspective. She stated that she just could not understand why the school would not let the coach finish out the season, or at least coach the last home game. It was, after all, senior day and he is not accused of molesting anybody! What I understand is that, from where she stands, she is correct. She is simply stating the opinion of a woman that has never had a child.

Having one of your own changes everything. I try not to tell childless people this because I hated it when, before becoming a parent, people told me. But it’s true. Parenthood gives you license to worry for other people’s children and to feel for the parents when something goes wrong. Maybe license is not the right word; I think it activates something stored inside of you that you can’t turn off; it flips a switch. It lights a flame that is extremely fragile, but impossible to extinguish. A flame that has the ability to keep you warm at night or burn your house to the ground.

I remember feeling exactly the same way about children as the young college student, and I think she should be forgiven. I don’t think trying to explain the difference between the love she feels for her family and friends and the love of a child will do any good; it did no good for me. You must live it. None of us will be there to tell her I told you so, and I wouldn’t want to anyway. She will remember the interview one day, and while she will be proud of her fifteen minutes of fame, she will be realize that she didn’t quite have enough information to make the best decision.

Less is More

Friends and family can offer you advice until they are blue in the face, but most of life’s valuable lessons are learned the hard way. The often painful way. I’ve always been a big talker and I learned at an early age just what that looked my parents exchanged (in the middle of one of my rants) meant. Basically “My god, are you still talking?” But I couldn’t stop; I just kept trying to talk my way out of it. I was in my thirties before I really learned that, in a conversation, less if often more.
Case in point: A friend of mine had moved to Alabama after a series of most unfortunate events. His life could have been a novel, but I don’t think most would find it believable enough to finish the book. A decorated helicopter pilot in the Vietnam War, he was later in a terrible car accident that caused him to suffer a moderate (if that is possible) brain injury. This injury leads to the loss of an important administrator’s job and he ended up raising exotic animals on a local farm. I became friends with him when his wife hired me to install some beautiful stained glass sidelights she had built for a wealthy client. One spring morning of the following year the wife dropped dead on the front porch while drinking a cup of coffee. Unbelievable, huh? Well it goes on.
My friend decided he could not stay on the farm after losing his longtime spouse, so he moved to the north Georgia Mountains with a divorcee friend. They planned to raise horses and built a barn with a loft apartment to start another life. After the barn mysteriously burns they move to Alabama and try again. After settling in yet another home, my friend discovers he has bladder cancer that he believes is caused by exposure to Agent Orange during the war. The VA disagrees and he is forced to spend his life savings on treatment of the disease. After becoming almost destitute, the VA submits and agrees to pay (and back pay) for his treatments. Hooray! Finally some good news. Not quite; he is found a few days later floating in a local creek with a fatal head injury. What a tragic life.
The local authorities contacted me several days later to ask a few questions. As luck would have it, I was one of the last people he had spoken with before his death, and they were trying to create some sort of time line of his last few days. I really didn’t have anything to offer and they told me they would be in touch. After weeks ticked by with no breaks in the case, a detective called to ask if I would mind his coming to Georgia to ask me a few questions. “Sure” I offered “Anything I can do to help”.
I made plans to be in my office the day I agreed to meet the detective, but I was a little shocked when the unmarked car arrived and four large men climbed out. My office at the sawmill was tiny and I hardly had room to drag in enough chairs for everyone to sit. It went down just like an episode of Law and Order. Only one (extremely nice) man spoke and the other three glared at me while taking notes. I think we breathed up all of the good air in the first few minutes, and while I really wanted to help, I was very nervous. I understand now why people often confess to something they are completely innocent of; they make you feel guilty of something!


Luckily the interview didn’t last long, and as I walked them to the car they in turn handed me a business card. “If you think of anything that would help us with the case, please call” each offered “We need a break here”. I was still pretty nervous as we stood beside the car and to this day I still can’t imagine why I said what I did. “Where exactly did you find his body?” I asked “I think my brother lives a few miles from there.” Time stood still. I could hear my watch ticking and my heart beating as all four investigators stopped in their tracks and stared at me. When they finally broke the trance they looked at each other with an all too familiar expression. What had initially peaked their interest as a “Hmm…..” ended up with a “My god, are you still talking?” Lesson learned; less is more

Lessons

If I had paid attention to everything that was going on around me since day one, I would be a genius. Those teenage part-time jobs and great grandparent funerals were as much learning experiences as were the fishing trips when your grandfather made a point of showing you exactly how to hook the catalpa worm. Most of the time nobody says “pay attention, you’re going to be tested on this”. You just have to learn that you will be, at some point, responsible for all the material covered.
Everything and everybody is a lesson. Most don’t need to me mentioned aloud; they just need to be cataloged. I’ve always admired those that had the good sense to write down a time and a date when a fishing trip produced fifty crappie or a hunting trip a ten point buck; I’ve never had the discipline. I guess I’ve just assumed it was kind of like getting hit by lightning; you were in the right place at the right time…you were lucky…the planet’s aligned; take your pick. Either way I simply chalked it up to good fortune. Applying a mathematical formula to it just takes the fun out of it.
The older I get, the more my past relationships become distilled into one or more things I learned from them. They become themes, and often lessons. I think of this today as I look for a place to put the passing of a longtime friend. A friend that had more patience with me than I probably deserved; he would not only stand by one of my bad decisions, he would enforce it. A friend that I often think knew me better than I knew myself…and still liked me. This friend that took great pride at being second in command and who took it upon himself to improve my image was my dog. My family was his most prized possession; we were his herd.
From him I learned that nobody really likes a heated conversation; these sent him sulking to another room. I learned that if you are the smallest dog in the fight you had better be the most determined, and that if you issue ultimatums you have to be willing to back them up. I learned that if you greet people with a smile most will give one in return; if someone is scared of you, only humility will prove them wrong. I learned that the line between confidence and arrogance is a fuzzy one and explaining yourself should not hurt your pride. Being an ambassador for your species is not an elective, it is a requirement; we’re all in this together.
I honestly think that my friend held on for a few days to lessen the shock for me of his dying. His last few days were terrible and watching him suffer was just about more than I could stand; he was hanging on by a thread. I held my breath every time I went to the garage to check on him because I feared each time he would be dead. When my wife came home from work he wagged his tail and gave her as much of a smile as he could muster. After eating supper we discovered he had left the garage and was lying in the rain at the edge of the woods. Even from that distance we both knew that he had left us. It was time; the herd was all here.

What was that?

After sleeping in the same bed with the same woman for twenty five years, you would think that I had seen and heard everything. Before you get the wrong idea let me say it again…sleep…in the same bed. After this much time in grade you get so used to your partner that even the strangest of noises and movements become the new normal. I do keep a set of ear plugs handy for allergy season, but that’s another story worthy of claiming an entire chapter. Garden variety snoring is welcome background noise similar to one of those sleep machines. Water in a mountain stream, birds in the forest, a mild thunderstorm or snoring spouse; choose your personal setting.
But what never ceases to amaze me is just how quick one can go from stage 4 REM sleep to casual conversation. It’s like flipping a switch. Last night for example; we’ve been sleeping with the windows open for the last few weeks, enjoying the cooler weather. This week has been extra special because we’ve had rain! I remember waking a time or two and listening to water coming over the top of the gutters instead of exiting through the leaf choked down spout; music to my ears! You probably think this would be cause for concern, but let me say that old age has allowed me to sleep like a baby through the most urgent of home maintenance concerns. But sometime later in the night I heard PJ say in a normal tone “What was that?” I responded in real time “I don’t know”. Just a normal conversation in the middle of the night…how was your day or did you feed the dog?
Yes I heard it too; there was a loud noise of something crashing to the ground. PJ did ask me if I thought the falling satellite had hit us, but we were both fully awake at that point and I assured her that our yard would probably already be full of vans wearing NASA stickers. But isn’t it funny that I don’t hear the toilet flush or the dog bark anymore, but PJ can ask “are you awake?” and I will say “yes”. Maybe it’s just the ears of a parent. Before Taylor was born I rarely got out of bed in the night; sometimes I didn’t even roll over. But now thanks to the combination of an almost fifty year old bladder and daughter to care for, I get up at least once every night. I think that before we go to bed each night we “set ourselves” just like the clock. It makes me wonder what else is going on?

The Right Thing

Just another Tuesday morning. Two taps of the snooze button and the routine begins. Pour the first cup of coffee, iron some clothes, wake up Taylor, fix breakfast and maybe have a few minutes to watch the news. I at least like to have my weather professionally guessed before I hit the road. It’s a routine we can all do half asleep, and this day begins like so many others have before and (god willing) will again.
The weatherman declares that once again there is no rain in our immediate future. I think about washing my truck or watering my grass, some of the tricks that have worked in the past to force precipitation as the local news shifts back to the national scene. As I grab the remote to pull the plug on the steady stream of unemployment numbers and political infighting, I’m drawn to the images on screen of a burning car. Wait, it’s not the car that’s burning, it’s a motorcycle that is pinned under the front bumper. People are trying to lift the car amid the flames, and after several attempts they succeed! An unconscious man is dragged from underneath the car and he appears to be alive. “Wow”, I hear my daughter say as she appears from the bathroom. “Where is this?”
We watch the footage several times and Iearn that this has happened in Murray Utah. The man dragged from underneath the car, a 21 year old college student at Utah State, is expected to make a full recovery. The people that saved his life are strangers that just happened to be there at the right time. We collectively decide that he is a lucky man as we turn off the television and head out the door. This will be on my mind all day because I have about 200 miles of driving before the day is done. I’ll be extra careful!
As I went about my travels that day I continued to think about the accident. The attempts to lift the car. The first try with only 4-5 people was not enough, the car was too heavy. People kept appearing from the wings like extras in a movie. College students and construction workers, men and women, blacks and whites. A cross section that an independent survey would approve was giving it their all. All volunteers with one goal in mind; saving the life of a perfect stranger. What would I have done? Would I have jumped in and helped? Would the car explode and kill us all?
Luckily this is not a question that today I will have to answer. I was a thousand miles away when the accident occurred, and I watched it from the safety of my own home. I didn’t feel the heat from the flames or smell the smoke from the burning rubber; I didn’t have to decide. But what I did get was an urge to help someone, to do something good. To pay it forward. I don’t have to pull a flaming car off of someone to make a difference in another’s day. I will not make the evening news by simply treating other with respect and kindness, and I honestly don’t think I should. I don’t think stardom was what the rescuers were seeking when the saved the young man’s life, they were simply doing the right thing