Category Archives: serious stuff

Last Chapter

Posted on by
10

identity1

If I were to write my memoirs,
the title would be “Reaching.”
The chapter headings:
How Far
How High
How Pretty
How Wealthy
How Meaningful
How Memorable

Maybe not in that order,
but probably so.

There would be a Foreword to explain
I’m not competitive (even against myself),
nor am I status-conscious, greedy or an overachiever.
Well, maybe just a little of all that.
It’s not about aspirations, goals, achievements…
just… reaching.

A reaching born perhaps of the low-key work ethic instilled by my parents.
(is that an oxymoron, “low-key work ethic?”)
Like this:
If you take one step, you might as well take two.
If you’re an apprentice, you might as well become a journeyman.
Once you’re a journeyman, you might as well aim for foreman.

There might as well be a chapter in my memoirs called “Might as Well.”

My memoirs would describe how I progressed through life in this mindset.
And how one day it flipped.
If I lost a step in my journey, I would likely fall back two steps.
If I missed a rung in my ascent, soon thereafter
I’d likely land on my butt at the bottom of the ladder.

And so it was.
Until finally I just stopped.
No up, no down.
Just full stop.

◊ ◊ ◊

Two summers ago I took up whittling.
I sit on my deck on warm afternoons
in the shade of a lopsided black walnut tree.
Opportunistic squirrels steal green nuts from the branches above me.
I place a glass of water or sun tea next to my chair,
and I whittle.

I don’t whittle to carve shapes into wood,
or to carve wood into shapes.
It’s just relaxing to take a sharp knife and a found piece of wood,
and shave away layers until I’ve reached… no, not reached…
until I know I am done.

Maybe this is the perfect last chapter for my memoirs.
I will call the chapter “Whittling,”
and I’ll describe my practice of peeling back layers
to see what’s beneath.
Not like some deep introspection, where I
lay bare the depths of my soul to reveal all the
rot and grisly scars.

Much simpler (and much more interesting) than that;
kind of like a low-key work ethic.

I just whittle
on found wood,
one shaving at a time
to discover the layers
of life,
of nature,
of squirrels,
of being in this world
on my deck on a summer afternoon.

finished

In response to the NaPoWriMo prompt: What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? Seems I had to go to the past to get to the future. 

RE: Journeyman/Foreman: my parents were of a non-gender neutral generation, but they never discouraged my career choices based on gender. 

this wall

Posted on by
6

can you imagine
a wall that keeps us apart
when we stand so near

Berlin wall 1

In 1982, I visited the Berlin Wall that separated West Berlin from East Germany. The original wall was erected unannounced in the dead of night on August 13, 1961. Where the day before, one might walk across the street to visit a neighbor, friend or relative, now they were separated by an impenetrable wall, and remained thus separated for decades.

The original wall consisted of concrete posts and barbed wire. When I saw the wall in ’82, it was in its fourth configuration, 12 feet high and four feet across, with an additional inner wall, anti-vehicle trenches, watchtowers, electrical fences, guard dogs and mine fields.

Berlin wall 3

Berlin Wall, 1961-1989

Berlin wall 2

Berlin Wall, 1961-1989

On June 12, 1987, President Ronald Reagan stood at the Brandenburg Gate in West Berlin, and — in a now famous speech — challenged Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev to “open this gate… tear down this wall.”

The wall came down in November of 1989.

 

history teaches
if we but open our minds
better yet, our hearts

The Daily Post one-word prompt: Inscrutable
Cee’s Black & White photo challenge: Walls

One Spoke

Posted on by
25

spokes

I am but one spoke in the wheel.
I carry only a small portion of the load.
The wheel could function without me.
It sustains itself as a whole.

I am but one spoke in the wheel.
I do my part.
I carry my share of the load.
I hold strong.

We are but spokes in a wheel.
We support one another.
We rely on one another.
We work together to carry a load that
none of us could sustain on our own.

Without each spoke,
the wheel weakens.
Without us all, the wheel would collapse.
The vehicle’s motion would cease.

We cannot steer the vehicle.
We must rely on other mechanisms to
choose our direction.
We must trust in others, as others trust in us.

Together, in faith, we make the journey.

spokes2

The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Weathered

in honor

Posted on by
6

dad army (2)

You look so young
smiling nervously for the camera
quite handsome in your new uniform

A farm boy called to fight in a war
a world away from the Oklahoma crossroads
where you grew up

You told us about the time
you got shot in the arm
You said the nurse was really nice and
the needle didn’t hurt too much

We laughed at your joke
but knew you escaped heavy combat
only by a twist of fate
and a revised timetable

You came home and raised a family and
taught us to appreciate life
No lectures; you taught by example

We learned civics and civility and
truthfulness and trustworthiness
We learned to honor the honorable
and to try… try… not to judge

I’m not the most stalwart patriot
but I cry at parades
when the flag bearers pass by
in their crisp uniforms

flag3

and I hold my hand over my heart
in respect for the flag, and I
remember that some fathers or mothers,
sisters or brothers, sons or daughters
didn’t come home

and I vow to raise my family, and
teach them civics and civility and
truthfulness and trustworthiness

… and honor

flag4

Autumn Equinox

Posted on by
6

leaf

Today is the first day of autumn. In my hemisphere that signals shorter days, cooling weather, leaves turning color and then dropping, and animals preparing to hunker down for the cold, dark days to come.

Autumn is my favorite time of year. I love the colors of nature. I love the feeling of soft sweaters and the comfort of holding a warm beverage between my hands. I love the brisk breezes that bring a crisp freshness to the air. I love the sound and sight of geese flying in formation across the sky as they noisily make their way south for warmer climes.

Autumn is a time of turning inward. Trees draw their sap downward to protect them from the cold weather to come. Squirrels “squirrel away” acorns and walnuts. Preparations are made for upcoming hibernations. Homeowners might turn their attention to weather-proofing, making sure cold drafts won’t seep in around windows and under doors this winter.

leaf2

For me, there will be fewer outdoor projects and more time for dusting off and opening those books I’ve intended to read all summer. There will be more careful consideration of making use of daylight, as my poor night vision restricts my ability to venture out in the dark.

There will hopefully be less fur flying about the house as my American Eskimo dog settles into his winter coat. Maybe that’s asking too much, though.

I am perhaps at risk of spending too much time turned inward. Introspection can be very healthy and helpful, but — like anything — it must be done in balance. My personal challenge will be to venture out when I am most tempted to stay at home.

As I write this, a squirrel has climbed into the planter box by my front door and is peeking through the picture window. My dog Chules, perched in his favorite spot atop a glass end table, lazily returns the squirrel’s gaze. Fortunately – for all of us – Chules is only mildly curious about small critters and usually leaves them in peace.

chules on table

The sky is cloudy, but my “wind gauge,” the drooping branches of the tall fir in my neighbor’s yard, indicates only a slight breeze this morning.

Chules tells me with heavy sighs and pointed stares that it’s time for his walk. I would love to take him to the community park a couple of miles away or to the semi-scenic Burnt Bridge Creek trail, but his foot is slightly injured so we will settle for a short jaunt around the neighborhood. It will feel good. We both need to get outdoors and stretch our legs.

The squirrel has skipped away across the slowly greening lawn and crows have swooped down to see what the squirrel may have left behind. Chules drops from his perch and nabs the napkin off my breakfast plate. He is rightfully commanding my attention. Season to season, some things remain constant. Chules and I are off for our walk.

The Daily Post daily one-word prompt: Leaf