The Protected

We hear it at the same time and turn to look at each other. For a second no words are spoken, then a smile comes to her face as she says, "I love that sound." The methodical thumping of a group of military helicopters as they come into view just over the tree tops. "Makes me feel patriotic" she says as she shields her eyes from the sun and takes a few steps forward for a better view. "Wonder what they're doing?" I too wonder the same thing, but almost instinctively I feel my stomach tighten as well.

My country is well known around the world for saving countries from themselves and others. We have a powerful military and have a history of not being afraid to use it. I don’t mean to suggest that I think we use our power flippantly, though I admit it seems that way at times. The answer to that question is way above my grasp of politics and I’m reduced to which opinion I find the most convincing. I feel sure we have done good all over the globe, but just how different would it feel if those helicopter blades thumping above my house belonged to someone else?

How would it feel to be the protected instead of the protector? How would it feel to hear this noise and wonder if it was “us” or “them”? How would it feel to be required to prove my reasons for taking the 30 mile trip to Macon to a group of armed men who barely spoke my language? The closest I have ever come to this is showing my passport to a customs official in a Mexican airport! And trust me, when a uniformed Jamaican security officer singles you out of a group, motions for you to turn around and asks “Is it okay if I touch you” your life is shortened! I’d love to stay, but not this way.

So why does this group of military helicopters give me a sense of dread? I’ve never been to war; I’m not on the run. I admit this feeling only lasts a split second and it is quickly followed by a rush of patriotism…but where does it originate? Maybe it’s just the instinct that all animals have; when the twig snaps and the deer looks up, it doesn’t take a biologist to determine that the look on his face is one of fear. He is not expecting to share his breakfast with a group of his deer buddies, he is anticipating flight. The deer is born with these memories and they preserve his species.

Maybe deep down we all store of images of war. These memories may not keep our finger off of the trigger, but hopefully they will make it harder to pull. They will ensure the survival of our species.

Forgetting

Monday mornings have a way of sneaking up on all of us. The last couple of months have made them a little more tolerable for me because I’ve been either off or working from home, but somehow they are still Mondays.  Admittedly I have had a small dose of cabin fever at times, but I’d say it beats the alternative. I could get used to this!

This morning as my wife was rushing to get everything done before she headed out the door; she stopped to tick off a few tasks for me if I had, in her words, “time to do some things for her”. Before I answered, I cut my eyes toward the sink because I had a gut feeling one of them was going to be loading the dishwasher, or minimally hand washing the over flow. But the sink was clean and the dishwasher was humming away and…I felt a little generous; maybe even a little guilty?

Turns out all she really wanted was for me to fill up the birdfeeders; Whew! We had both tried to kill ourselves this weekend by painting and rearranging furniture in TWO bedrooms for our daughter, and quite a few of our weekend tasks ended up not getting done. If she was as tired as I was her day was going to be long! It seemed like the least I could do as I really enjoy watching the birds from my big picture window while I work from home.

I walked outside and filled the scoops with seeds from the industrial size bags of sunflowers and “wild” bird mix we keep in the garage. Feeding the birds has become, in modern times, quite expensive and I often threaten to roast a few of those obese doves that feed like chickens protected behind the electric fence; the return on investment for bird feeding is horrible. When I walked outside the cloud of birds that rose from both the ground and the feeders was staggering! All shapes, sizes and colors with one thing in common; they were addicted to my ringing the dinner bell.

It only took a few seconds for them to return to the feeders and by the time I made it back to my computer they were feeding away as if nothing had happened. Cardinals were everywhere; on the feeders, the ground but the one that drew my attention was fluttering on the wood fence. He was very excited and I watched as another bird of similar size and color lit beside him and placed a seed in his open beak. He was obviously a baby that had yet learned the workings of the bird feeders, but honestly I wouldn’t have noticed this had I not witnessed his mother’s feeding him. He was full size; I would have assumed he was an adult.

This was a beautiful sight; watching as a parent teaches it's young the ways of the world, but I admit it made me feel a little guilty. Guilty for getting mad at my daughter yesterday when, in the middle of day two of our painting and rearranging, ran out of gas. Guilty for forgetting that just because she could lift the other end of the sofa like an adult, she was still not an adult. I don’t intend to treat her any differently than I have in the past; she is smart, quick-witted and on the way to becoming a great young woman. I only need to remind myself now and again just how long I’ve been coming to this feeder!

5000 views

Although it was over two years ago, I remember clearly the first blog I posted on this site. I had just dropped my daughter off at school and on the ride home I started feeling kind of “reflective”. That’s probably not the right word for this context, but for some reason I was just feeling kind of sentimental…AND I wanted to write it down.

Honestly it had been quite a while since I had written anything other than a check. Writing was fun in college, but let’s just say that many birthdays with a zero in the number have passed since then and I wondered if my writing would even make sense. I quickly realized that of course it would make sense even if it was only to me! I just felt compelled to do it.

Well that was hundreds of blogs ago. I now have three different ones that I use to write about different things. One is kind of technical (for me) and I have to sometimes make myself post on it. Luckily UGA pays me while I’m writing some of those so that kind of takes the sting out. Another has lots of recipes and pictures on it, and while I love to read those, writing them is really not my style…I have to make myself post there too. It’s not like I have a giant fan base on those, I just hate to see them go unused…and it’s kind of an addiction. When all else fails write about how to cook something!

This one, my first one, is the one I love! I didn’t realize I was naming it Looking Ahead; that was just the title of my first post. But I liked it; it seemed fitting so I kept it. Over the last 2+ years I have made a lot of friends here that like to read and write just like me. I have to admit that for a while I thought my wife might be right when she said “something is wrong with a person that reads 80 books year”, but trust me; there are many out there that read way more than that! Are they normal? Are you? Ha!

I decide to write this post after realizing last week that I had now had over 5000 views on this blog!  I can’t tell exactly who reads it, but I can say that I’ve had views from ten different countries. I’m sure some of those are after my credit card number, but it’s still fun to track nonetheless. Thanks to all of my friends for the nice comments, and a special thanks to those who choose to live by the golden rule of “if you ain’t got something nice to say, don’t say anything”!

Ambiguity

I try as hard as I can to avoid discussing politics on any type of social media. I admit that I love to discuss it, but when you write down a political opinion, and leave it dangling like a fat worm on a hook, you set yourself up to catch way more than you are fishing for. Of course the anonymity of the internet brings out the worst in some, but you also set yourself up to be fact checked by someone that is quite a bit more informed than yourself!

I would take this one step further and say that maybe politicians should keep their political opinions off of social media as well, but really that wouldn’t be fair. Facebook, twitter and many other sites are great for getting business, but I’m a firm believer that you will do much better on these sites if you simply sell yourself…not an item. If people see you as the voice of say, used cars, then when someone wants a car they will think of you. You will be the go-to person and the voice of reason instead of someone begging (maybe not the best choice of words) for a sale. But either way, once you brand yourself, you better know your stuff and be prepared to defend your opinions.

Below is a quote that I copied directly off of the Facebook page of a local newspaper. I won’t name the person responsible for the quote (or discuss the credibility issues of a newspaper on FB), but I will say that it is a local politician’s opinion of the perceived threat caused by a local case of flesh eating bacteria.

“… As a father, I dont think I'll let my daughter get in Lake Sinclair right this minute - but mass panic is never a good idea. The CDC, DNR, Law Enforcement and the Medical community are not suggesting to avoid the lake - and until they do, the best thing we as a community can do - is go about our recreational holiday activities as usual. Lake Sinclair brings guests/tourists and unless the experts say otherwise, we should continue to promote one of our biggest assets

Maybe it’s just me, but did this statement “say” anything? If it did say anything it said I’m going to panic, but you shouldn’t; we don’t need mass panic so one at a time please. Or maybe it says that locals shouldn’t swim (too risky), but it should be okay for out-of-towners and THEIR kids. What this statement says is that I have your best interest in mind…no matter what this interest may be. Change your mind and will declare that I changed mine too; this is a poster statement for political ambiguity.

Statements with this obvious level of ambiguity not only hurt the creditability of this man, they harm all politicians. It makes me want to take the comments of even my favorite elected officials and run them through a fine-tooth comb. But I also think this highlights the danger of discussing serious business on social media. Would you want your doctor to diagnose your illness while sitting by the pool choking down margarita number six? “Cool! I just got a PM on Facebook from my lawyer telling me to plead guilty.” I don’t think so!

When we blur these lines accountability goes out the window. If you choose to use these sites for official opinions…then at least be sure you give one!

Suburban Conversion

Five years ago, in the middle of the real estate boom, I decided to sell my country home and move to the suburbs.

 I could say that I wanted to be closer to town because my daughter was getting older and more socially active, but honestly my wife and I just like to move. Trading eighty acres of paid for property may seem strange to some, but we made a lot of money on the sale and built a beautiful home much closer town. Well I never dreamed real estate values would tank as they have; change of plans. In the back of my mind I thought I would live in town for a few years, sell for a healthy profit and move again. We may move again, but it probably won’t be in a few years.

I have to admit that I love my new home. We are close to everything and the neighbors are nice. It took me a few years to shake the feeling that I was on public display when I mowed my lawn, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. My neighbors have really nice landscaping and I have worked very hard to make my yard look as tended as theirs. But what do you really get out of landscaping and grass cutting? It’s kind of like vacuuming; it looks nice when you do it, but it really has no value. Somewhere deep down I still possessed the primal urge to plant something to eat!

This is when I began what I like to call my “suburban conversion”. If I’m going to weed, prune and water why not do so to edible plants? By now you are probably envisioning the HOA busting neighbor that plows his front yard and fences it with hog wire; aluminum pie plates dangling from strings on metal posts surrounding a decomposing scarecrow clad in a flannel shirt. Five gallon buckets, barking dogs and shovels with broken handles overflowing the open and spidery garage? Well that is country life, and while it is kind of fun, it’s a good way to get ignored when you walk to the mailbox if you live in the suburbs!

So let's just say that this idea requires a little tact. Naturally the back yard is the ideal location for a vegetable garden, but one of the first rules of gardening is - you’ve got to plant where the sun is; in my case the front yard.  Personally I think the bright orange blooms of a zucchini plant are beautiful, but town folk are more accustomed to irises and azaleas. 

Pleasing the neighborhood was one thing, but keeping the roving band of starving goats, commonly referred to as deer, at bay proved to be the greatest task. In the country I planted for deer, but in town I planted for the DAMN deer. What they don’t eat they destroy, and this left only one option; an electric fence. Okay, I know you’re thinking dangling pie plates and Lifebouy soap again, but stay with me.

I think it is turning out just fine! It will take a little while for the new soil to be healthy enough to support a thriving garden, but I hope to have some produce in the process. Tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, cucumbers, Swiss Chard and more!

I don’t hold on to the notion that I will set myself free from the grocery store; I have tolerate neighbors, but I feel sure they would draw the line on a hog pen. But we are having lots of fun (and feeling a little more like our old selves) with our “Suburban Conversion”!

Any Questions?

I really thought she was beginning to look like her old self and I told her so. Four days in the hospital with their random late night vitals checks and pain level quizzes is enough to beat anybody down, but throw in a newborn baby to take care of at the same time and it’s almost too much to handle! Hopefully we would be going home tomorrow; everything should be much easier to handle once we were surrounded by our “stuff”. Honestly I didn’t understand how she could look as good as she did because I’d been sleeping in a chair next to her (without recovering from surgery) all week and I was exhausted.

I decided to walk to the cafeteria downstairs and eat breakfast... and maybe think a little bit. My wife had to be getting tired of my hovering over her twenty four hours a day, and I really needed to come up with a plan to eventually go back to work. How could I ever resume my normal life now that I had a wife AND a baby to take care of? I told her I would be back in a few minutes, kissed her cheek, and headed for the door. Before I could grasp the knob, the door flew open and a nurse wheeled the baby and loaded cart inside the room. “Good morning” the nurse said “I thought I’d show ya’ll a few things if you have a minute”. Now that was a good one, we weren’t going anywhere. As I looked at the too small baby in the cart I thought I might never eat breakfast again.

Well the nurse went through her spiel of taking care of the navel scab, head cradling tip, changing the diaper, training to breastfeed, burping after feeding, mixing the formula, and saving for college in about four seconds. She then held our six pound alien up like a trophy and calmly asked “Any questions?” Other than “could you start over, write all of that down for me and come to my house every morning?” I can’t think of any, thanks.

I have to say that the nurses at the hospital were great. I’ve always considered myself owning a better than average poker face, but with all of the confusion with the baby I couldn’t seem to remember how to make one. The nurse gave us both a knowing look and said “maybe I should change the diaper and treat the scab now, it’s probably about time”. She went through the entire process very slow and methodically so we could watch and did her best to make it look easy. When she finished, she once again asked if we had any questions before quietly slipping out the door.

Okay, this was really the first time we had been alone with our baby and it was beginning to seem a little too real. Surely they weren’t going to send us home un-trained and un-tested to take care of something so small and fragile; the doctor would obviously be by later with the manual of handling and care instructions…relax! I looked at my wife and for probably the first time ever I couldn’t think of anything to say; nothing.  She looked at me, then she looked at the baby that was just lying there in the bassinet and said “What time is your mother coming this morning?”

Well that was fifteen years ago this month and my little “alien” finished her first year of high school last week. I guess you all know that the doctor never produced a manual; turns out they don’t have one. We felt like an unusual case; we were both thirty five and had never held a real baby, but I don’t think we were really that unusual. I’m sure all parents of a newborn feel this way and I now find it almost silly watching new parents try so hard to be perfect. With normal care and attentive parents the baby will teach you all you need to know about the care they need. I tell myself this every day as I have now become the parent of a teenager; an almost grown alien.  And just in case you wondered, there is no manual for this either…I checked!

Green as a gourd

I was reading an article this week that offered tips on “going green”. Of course I know what the phrase is meant to imply, but if you are anywhere near as old as me the old meaning still pops in your mind. “green as a gourd”, a “green-broke” horse, a little “too green for the job” and “keep that fish away from the boat, he’s too green to land”. The old meaning being that something is not quite ready for its intended purpose. I often think that the phrase “going green” is still just a little bit too green to use.

If you get bored, Google “how many shades of green are there”. The answers will run from one million to infinite; so what they imply is to make your own guess. But for the sake of argument let’s just say there are too many to list. This could also be said for the current green movement…the green wave. I think we all know that green in this sense means environmentally conscious, but just how vague a term is this? How does one quantify green? Companies marketing anything from laundry detergent to car tires seem to have no problem advertising that they are “certified green” so maybe we should ask them.

So let’s make this easy and state that green is simply a state of mind; a thought pattern. If you choose to suffer with it and take the role of activist, as an American, this is your right. But this does not necessarily make your neighbor wrong. You have two recycling bins and he has one…are you greener? Maybe not; he could be using less packaging; he could be keeping things until they just won’t work anymore; he could be composting…he could be greener than you! I use this example to show that being green is not necessarily doing everything; it is simply doing what you can. Thinking green.

I’m not saying that a little guilt is a bad thing; it can be good if it motivates you. But don’t beat yourself up! A little here and a little there can make a big difference and be fun at the same time. Obsessions will fade, but changing one’s habits slowly can create a pattern that will last a lifetime. I like to think of myself as somewhere between laurel and fern, with emerald as my goal!