Bob stood stoically, staring straight ahead; waiting for the results.  He has been through this same ordeal maybe 30 times in the past, he’s an old hand.  He has developed many coping mechanisms and has a myriad of philosophical nuggets upon which he can lean and maintain resolve.  The phone will ring and the voice will say, “This is Dr….”; and the waiting will be over.  The news will be anticlimactic to the ordeal of waiting.

“How you doing?” says a family member

“Fine”

“You sure?”

“Yep”

It is just time. Time will pass and Bob stares out the window; time moves so slowly sometimes.  Can I really cope with this again?  How can I make time move faster?  Get busy!  Occupy yourself!  But, I can’t seem to concentrate.  This is hard.

Bob feels a hand brush against his and, without looking, he curls his finger lightly into the outstretched finger.  A shoulder brushes slightly against his left shoulder and Bob releases a barely audible sigh, allowing this person to support just the smallest amount of weight.  He can feel the breath of another on the back of his neck and further succumbs to the offered support.  In the glass, Bob can see behind his image the reflection of hundreds of faces, some familiar, some not;  Anjou, Doffie, Jerry, Dave, Skylin, Char, Maurice, Faith, and so many more.  This isn’t so hard.

It really is the simple things;

I was in the shower last Sunday morning when the curtain pulled back and my wife handed me my one year old grandson.  Typically, if you can get him to hold still for more than 10 seconds you can consider yourself lucky.  This time, however, he snuggled close to me, laid his head on my shoulder, and we let the warm water pour over us for fifteen minutes or so.  I could have stayed like that for a much longer time.  Like "the man" said, "It doesn't get any better than that".

Birth of a nickname

I was busy at the computer last night (friggin tax returns!) and was vaguely aware of my wife and grandson doing some activity over on the bed.  The level of noise and commotion escalated to the point that I looked over to see what was going on.  It was just a diaper change; something they both had been through a few hundred times.  This one, however, was not going so well.  Grandson was exceptionally squirmy and the diaper was exceptionally….well… in need of change.  So, I offered to help.  My challenge was to contain grandson generally on his back and stay out of the way of the dirty diaper.  It was one of those times when you are doing something that you’ve done so many times that you usually just go absently through the motions, but this time everything was going wrong.  The dog walked in and was way too interested in the dirty diaper so, had to be ushered out of the room; there were not enough cleaning supplies of the right sorts, and so on.  In the furor of the moment I let Grandson stand on the floor while we waited on grandma to get another round of clean wash cloths.  I turned, she turned, he stumbled, and a quick grab saved the day.  However, the athletic rescue resulted in a streak of diaper goo across the top of Grandson’s forehead.  With a shreak from grandma and an “ewwww” from me, grandma went into emergency mode to get everything cleaned and disinfected.  As I quietly watched the cleanup operation, I was struck with the realization that we have witnessed the birth of a nickname.  My only problem was that I didn’t have sense enough to keep it to myself; “You know, honey, that we’re going to have to call him Shithead from now on”…

Lady Dragon

The Story tellers tell of lady who lives by the wood.  A deceivingly unremarkable woman who mothers her children, works hard in the town, and partners with her husband as life rolls by.  She is said to connect with nature in a way uncommon to most; a bonding and synergy found usually in the animal world or worlds of creatures long gone to myth.  It is this lingering ethereal image in the minds of the local folk which renders believable the stories of the rise of the mystical beast, the winged one, with wings and fiery breath thought long lost to ages past.  It rose in the morning mist and took wing, gliding over the wood and river bottom to rise above the innkeeper’s fortified inn.  The Story tellers exclaim that the beast’s fury melted the air and fire burst from the dragon beast falling all about the wooden inn.  Yet, the fire never set tinder to flame, as if this were only a warning; a warning of the most severe kind.  With brief pause and beating wings the beast turned again to the wood and has not been seen since.  The inn keeper has removed his locks and barriers torn down.  And the lady by the wood smiles as her children play beneath the trees.

{LMFs dragon imaged blog was perfect.  For a day I tried to grasp what it was that seemed such a perfect fit of humor, mood, contrast, etc. Finally, this little quip emerged.  Beware the dragon}

Uncle!  I must finally admit defeat in the battle of the sexes.  For the last 40 some years of adolescence and adulthood, I have tried to do my part for the brotherhood in the battle to establish the inherent supremacy of the male gender.  Much to my chagrin, over the weekend, I was witness to almost superhuman feats by a female friend.  Given the same demands, both emotional and physical, I would have feigned some excuse for bailing out of the situation and probably found solitude with a beer, lounge chair, and tv.  We were at a Chinese New Years Celebration at the local University.  It was held in a crowded ball room and amounted to an hour and a half of watching various singing and dancing acts and then a dinner.  It was entertaining if for no other reason than its uniqueness.  I was with my wife.  My friend had her two young children, the youngest of whom was not feeling real chipper and thus had preferred seating in friend’s lap during the whole show.   Afterwards, there was a dinner which was provided by the celebration organizers.  The logistics for getting the 300 plus participants through the chow{mein} line required that we file out of the doors at one end of the ball room, snake around the hallway, and re-enter the ballroom at the other end where they had set up two lines of tables to hold the food.  The duration in the line may have be 20-30 minutes, but seemed like two hours.  Friend’s older child was extremely patient and well behaved for the duration; a major blessing for friend.  The younger, however, still required to be held.  I know from recent experience with my 10 month old grandson that holding a child for any length of time can become a slow torture as the pain starts in the lower back, creeps up either side of the spine, and threads its way up the neck and down the arms.  Not only was the duration excruciatingly long but, the temperature in the building was creeping up, trapping friend in a heavy winter sweater.

I would have given up after the first five minutes.  Friend, however, not only endured the long line marathon, but then, patiently assisted both children through the food line with flimsy Styrofoam plates (realizing here that I should have figured out a way to be more help during this part).

I went home and watched the end of the Super Bowl where extremely well conditioned monstrous men push themselves to the limits of mental and physical endurance in the battle to win the holy grail of professional sports.  They feel quite righteous and deserving of praise (not to mention deserving of $millions) for the pain they endure for their cause.  However, in my humble opinion, they could learn a lot from my friend about real dedication of purpose and endurance without reward.

And, when I stop and think about the other women in my life, wife, mother, grandmothers, aunts, neighbor/farmer, and on, I realize where the real strength lies that keeps this world glued together.

{Why wait ‘till mother’s day?}

"Two-bit, #%@&^ nag!" That's what I called her. I was not in the best of moods anyway after trudging up through the snow in the 6 deg. air with gusting wind.  I had slipped on the ice that has newly formed by the gate.  A nice gesture by the "wandering" spring that seems to pop out of ground at varying locations about the field.  I caught myself just after my legs had spread beyond the point that is the stretch limit these days. The rest of the walk up to the shed was more of a limp while I assessed the extent of the damage hoping that it didn't extend too far up the groin.  I flipped on the light and started through the ritual of finding where she had flipped the feed bucket (can't seem to get my act together to get screws and driver up to the shed all at the same time) when I became aware of something that didn't seem right.  It took me a moment to focus on the subconscious anomaly.  But,damn, sure enough, there was my wheel barrow leaning up against the stall with the left handle nearly chewed in two.  There was only the thinnest web of wood still connecting the last six inches with the rest of the beam.  I stared her right in the eye and she stared, defiantly back.  Then, she had the gall to give me an impatient snort, which meant, "get on with it, I'm hungry".  I stomped around, jammed the scoop into the feed barrel, and threw the feed into the bucket.  She, in turn, very non-plused, took her usual piggish mouthful, and raised her head happily chewing on the sweetened feed.  "You two-bit, #%@&^ nag!", I said under my breath and she replied with a look, "isn't it time for you to muck the stall?"

Anybody wanna buy a horse?

just kidding about the buying thing, but she may get some extra hard lunging sessions come spring.

I know that I am often slow on the uptake, but I think that I have recently amazed even myself in my ability to not get it.  My older brother, who is 56 y.o., is at the point in his career where he wants to scale back a little. He also very much wants to move back to the S.E. Ohio area where our family's roots are and where much of our family still lives.  His problem is that he is a really smart, accomplished guy.  This is where I have missed the boat for 40 odd years.  He is a really smart guy.  The Phd from Harvard should have been a clue, but you know how siblings are...  The Vice Presidency of a huge Pharmecuetical company should have been a clue...  But to me, he was just my brother.  When we would get together once or twice a year for a couple days, we would spend our time being goofy, watching stupid movies, playing Risk (I think I let the fact that I would beat him sometimes sway my perceptions), or building something out in my garage.  The problem he is having is being able to find work in this area of the country for which he is qualified or, rather, not over-qualified.  We did some brainstorming over the holidays and, other than possibly teaching at one of several Universities, we only came up with one company in the area (not that there isn't more).  He sent his resume and a cover letter to me so that I could deliver in person (cold-call resumes often don't make it past trash can).  I just got around to reading his resume...Wow.

The people reading this blog (both of you) may not be able to relate to what I am trying to say here at all.  I just amaze myself sometimes at how long it takes for some things to register with me.  This thing with my brother would be sorta like:

"what's your brother do for a living?"
"he's the President of the US."
"Really!?  That's a really important job"
"Yeah....I guess it is...Wow, that makes me like...First Brother.  Kewl!"

Oh, well.  This is a place to muse about the little non-sense things that make us tick.

New Year Resolution:

1)  I will stop blogging while at work…

The bluster and rush of Christmas floods over all of us, pushing and rolling us along as the waves wash the sands of the shore.

The peace of Christmas comes to those who pause to let it in.

Peace and Joy to you and yours.