The Lady Tries

I am very much in love with my wife. Terry and I will have been married 16 years this November 22, 2007. Rather than get all caught up in a love letter, there are characteristics people exhibit that that define their "style." One of the words that exemplify one of the characteristics I admire is summed up the phrase "she tries."

It has taken me some time to explain the word "try" in the context of Terry. Terry tends to be a very serious individual. She does laugh, she can appreciate humor but does not have what one would call a great sense of humor. Many things that break me up she sees no humor in whatsoever. As a result I would define her normal behavior as business like. This has lead some people to believe her to be cool, aloof, distant, and peculiar. Terry is a very private person. I find her to be warm, you just have to be tuned into her behavior.

Trying is a strength for Terry. I do not mean the word "try" in the sense of "trying new things." I mean "try" in the sense of making an effort to do the best you can given limited physical capability and strength. When shopping Terry will look things over, ponder and study trying to understand the features or contents always looking for the best value. Shopping for clothings leads to a close examination of seams, a search of the cloth for flaws. Always trying!

Working around the house means Terry often runs into problems with physical limitation. She is not physically strong, and being diabetic her stamina is a little short. But she tries! She is independent and hates to have to ask me to help her reach, hold, or lift something. Terry has a good understanding of her limitations and does not push herself too far. When she works on even things as mundane as yard work she is focused and tries.

I end up admiring her effort. She tries to understand things that may cause her some confusion. She tries to do work to lift burdens from me and be an equal of effective partner in our marriage. I don't ask that of her. All I can say is "the lady tries."

I love her for that.

Longing for security

I find myself sitting on the porch these days, drinking coffee and thinking about my childhood. I would characterize my life today as easy. The job I do is rewarding emotionally, it puts bread on the table and is as secure a job as I've every had. I will not grow rich, and I will probably have to work until my late 60's or early 70's to establish enough financial resources to protect our retirement. I do wonder about the long term outlook, my wife is a type I diabetic, but is remarkably symptom free according to her doctors. I recently had cancer surgery and the prognosis is excellent, no follow-up radiation or chemo-therapy was needed. Given what we know today Terry and I should live long, relatively healthful lives. However, that can change in a moment and what financial security we have be wiped out. It makes one think about the balance of saving for the future versus enjoying the fruits of a person's labor now. I'll still opt for the future.

This thinking makes me recall a time when security was the back seat of a car on a cold wintry night. Being from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and born and raised in a small community on the shore of Lake Superior I know snow and cold. My father owned and ran a small insurance firm and dabbled in real estate as he could. He never made much money, but I always had clothing, food and shelter and when you're young there is not much more than that.

My dad's brother lived in Marquette, MI some 50 miles West of Munising. My Dad's family were not close but several times a year we would journey to Marquette and have dinner with my uncle and his wife. The road (M-28) wound along the Lake Superior shoreline providing a spectacular view of the wildness of Lake Superior. One Sunday evening in particular, the year must've been around 1948-50, for I was quite small, we were returning from Marquette after spending the afternoon and evening with my Aunt and Uncle and cousins at their home in Marquette.

It was cold out. The kind of cold that especially penetrates clothing worn for a Sunday afternoon with relatives. In other words, were not dressed to be out in the cold for a long period of time. Driving back from Marquette in the dark one was aware of the isolation that exists in that part of the country. You do not pass many homes, and the shores of Lake Superior are not lit with street lights. The wind bites deep coming off The Lake and exposed necklines invite the cold breeze down your back.

In those days car heaters mainly warmed the front seating area. The warm air did flow over the front seat and warm the rear portion of the car, but as we know, heat rises. Therefore the floor board was usually cold making for cold feet. It was, as I said, a Sunday evening. I was full of good food, pleasant times and it was quiet int he car. Dad was smoking and R.G.Dun cigar and mother was sitting on the passenger side keeping watch for the unknown. The radio was on and on Sunday evening you would hear Fibber McGee & Molly, The Hornet, The Shadow, and other much listened to programs. The radio was tuned to the Marquette station and we listened to the Sunday evening fare. I was sitting in the back sea. After fifteen or twenty minutes the back seat area was warm enough to loosen your coat, but the floor was cold. So I lay down across the back seat with my feet up so I was nice and snuggy warm. There were a soft place for my head, my dad's cigar smoke gave off the familiar aroma, mom and dad talked quietly as adults do sometimes. The radio was providing entertainment and the instrument panel gave off a soft glow that slightly illuminated the front of the car, the back seat was dark. I lay in the dark traveling in our warm mobile cocoon, listening to the road noise, the sound of my parents talking and the radio adding to the background. It was nice, at that moment I remember feeling that nothing would ever happen that was bad. I was safe, secure and loved. It is a reassuring feeling and heartwarming at the same time.

As an adult when I've gone through rough times and had children of my own I remembered it was important for children to feel that security. To feel that things would be OK, even if Mom and Dad were a little unsure. I know that feeling, I return to it often in my thoughts. I appreciate that feeling and thanks to my loving parents knew peace and security at a young age. It is a shame that all can't.

Old words

Meetia Tasia Poo Hoo! What the heck is that. Well, my Dad made that one up and it was a response to a question or a statement. For example, I might say at the dinner table that I really enjoyed the meal my mother prepared. My Dad would respond with Meetia Tasia Poo Hoo, interpreted Me Too!

Before the days of radio young person living in remote parts of our country had to find a means of amusement. My Dad and his brothers used the interplay of words creating somewhat nonsensical phrases that stood for simple responses. Each of the three boys were experts at spoonerisms and made games out of saying things then having the others guess what they had said. It took clever minds to rearrange words, syllables and emphasis to misstate the obvious. I was raised in such as house as were my brothers and sisters and to this day each of us carry some capability to do what my father and our uncles did.

I don't hear people play with words anymore. I don't hear people develop creativity by making games out of such antics. It seems to me we've lost a little something. Forshum, forshum.

Have a good day

Lessons we learn from out children

Through the years I think I've got a bit of a reputation for being a talker. Seems like if a void in the conversation occurs I will rush to fill it in. However, I also listen and think about what people say. I've learned a lot through the years from many people I've come in contact with. I can say I think I've grown to be a better person for the lessons I've learned from others.

My daughter Kristi taught me a lesson many years ago. Kristi took years of piano lessons and I always thought was quite accomplished. I had thoughts that some day she would be quite a performance musician. Early in her years, say 9th grade she participated in music festivals in Wisconsin. It got to a point that both she and our younger daughter Jenny participated and I really got to looking forward to those times. We would go to Green Bay where the competition for our region of Wisconsin was held and spend the day among kids, listening to their talent, listening to there talk, and have some family time that to me was quite important.

The first competition we went to Kristi was the sole family competitor, Jenny was too young. I became concerned that Kristi was focused on doing so well that if she didn't score at the highest level her spirit might be crushed. Kristi can tend to be a perfectionist and I think has lead to disappointments in her own capability that can plague all of us. As we were riding to Green Bay I began talking about the fact that she had worked hard in developing her performance, put a lot of time into practice, but even after all that work the possibility existed that she may score less than outstanding. I was trying to point out that much of the pleasure is in the competition not only in winning.

Kristi mulled my parental words of wisdom and then said from her position in the back seat, "Dad, I didn't practice all this time, or work this hard for second place, if I get a second place I'll deal with it then." Ah, the lessons we learn. Sometimes children are wiser than we give think. I always remember that little interchange, I hope I became a little bit more understanding and I know my daughter grew quite mature in my eyes that day.

Since that time I've come to believe through observation that competition is at the very root of all human behavior. We temper it, sometimes we ignore competition, but in the final analysis everything I can think of in the natural world or that of populated by the human race finds its roots in competition. Her in the wisdom of a 14 year old I found the understanding that trying is important, focus on the goal and deal with the outcome later. Thanks for the lesson Kris!

Her kids harrassed my Grandmother

My father told me a story worth passing on. My dad, his brothers and Mother moved from Grand Marais, MI to Munising via fishing tug back in 1913. Munising was not very old, I believe the town was incorporated in 1897. I am sure some buildings and people lived there earlier than that, but my Family moved to Munising just sixteen years after its incorporation.

I do not know all of the addresses they lived at, but I do know that my Grandmother had the task of raising three young, energetic, witty, fun living boys. My dad and my uncles were sharp, all the days that I knew them they had a way with words, I am sure they provided my Grandmother with laughter and amusement during their younger years.

One day my Uncle Earl walked through a room my Grandmother was in and mused to himself, out loud, "hmmmm, is it is souls or am souls." Then he would pass on into another room without a sound leaving my Grandmother pondering what he was up to. Then a while later another visit to Grandma's domain and another, "is it is souls or am souls?" Then he would leave the room. This went on for several hours. I am sure my Grandmother's curiosity was building. along with her urge to provide him with the answer. Finally on one more trip through the room Uncle Earl said "is it is souls, or am souls?" Of course my Dad and Uncle Cecil were waiting nearby to hear the outcome of this question. Finally my Grandmother blurted out, "is is are souls." Whereupon she realized she had just been had, grabbed a broom and chased all three boys from the house in punishment for their prank. My Dad said that he paused and turned around to look back just in time to see my Grandmother lean back against the door, chin on the broom handle and laugh herself to tears. What a time it must've been in that household so long ago. I would've like to have seen the action.

Imagine Reality

It is hot here in Arkansas. We were over the 100 mark for the fifth time in five days. I am watering the flower beds and a few shrubs and small trees that are heat stressed. We are heat stressed, it is just too hot to work outside for any length of time. In the morning when it is a little cooler I do my 40 minute walk to improve my overall health, but that is about it.

Sitting on the porch this afternoon with the late afternoon sun behind us and the heat warming our bones I got to reflecting on Gramp's Cabin. My grandfather built a log cabin on the shores of Ostrander Lake in Alger County, Michigan. Gramps built the cabin by hand with some mighty large logs. It was probably built back in the 1930's. Ostrander Lake is a nice lake, it had structure, held some fish and most people who owned camps on the lake were long time residents.

I was sitting in the afternoon heat thinking how nice it would be to sit on the front porch of that old log cabin on a day like today. First of all it would not be this hot. The next picture in my mind is me walking down an old path to the little dock. A small row boat is tied up there, and my fishing tackle is lying in the bottom of the boat. All I have to do is to loosen the line, push off and I'm fishing. I could row out a small distance, let the boat drift and lazily cast about, hoping not to catch anything so the mood isn't disrupted. Near the water I can see tall pines surrounding the shore of this lake. I can see cabins with camp fires and people toasting hot dogs, cooking steaks, or making "somores." A cabin door slams, laughter is heard floating on the slight breeze, the boat lazily turns this way then that way. A child laughs, people tell jokes, discuss problems, drink a cup of coffee, a beer, or pop.

In the meantime the sun is setting to the west, the sky is streaked with oranges, golds, and various shades of reds. The western shoreline is in shadow, the eastern side has some small hills and the sun is climbing the hill casting a shadow on the shoreline. A fish tugs at my line, I pull it in, a Bluegill, no sense keeping him that isn't the purpose of this fishing trip. I slip him back into the water and with a dark flash of his tail he's gone. Probably telling the other fish to watch out there some guy up there fishing.

It gets dimmer, the colors in the sky become pastel. A jet contrail streaks overhead, I wonder where those folks are going. From the direction maybe the plane is coming out of Canada and heading for Detroit. I hope everyone is OK on that flight. The contrail takes on an almost fluorescent look as the sun strikes it at an odd angle.

It is dimmer now, a slight chill in the air. My best girl, my wife, calls out and asks when I will be coming in and do I want some coffee. My answer is soon and yes. There is a kindred spirit back in that cabin, her company reassures me that I am loved and we have things to talk about. She is a diabetic but her health is fairly good and she is pretty much symptom free. God, I hope she stays that way, I do not know what life would be like without her and I don't want to think about it.

Along the shore I hear a splash, a raccoon, a deer, what? My eyes strain but it is becoming so shadowed I cannot make out anything. I imagine it was a deer coming down for a drink. Perhaps a big old bass came close to shore and grabbed a frog for dinner. Bass feed at night you know. The lights in the cabins start to shine on the dim shore like beacons calling me to safety. I know in the set of lights just in front of me there is coffee and warmth, and the smell of wood and cabin.

A screen door slams somewhere, I think of my youngest daughter who used to announce to us that she like the sound of a screen door slamming. This was her way of making sure her mother and I didn't yell at her for letting the door slam. You know though, there is a special noise an old wooden screen door makes when it slams that I like too.

Memories flood my mind, old memories, warm fuzzy memories. Children growing up, playing with cousins, reading books, talking about boys, and trying their hand at water skiing. Where did those times go, and why can't I enjoy them again. I can't that's all, I just can't.

So, my best girl gets up from her seat, gives me a kiss and heads back to work. She has to work late tonight. I get up, stare at the dry grass, the wilting flower beds, pack my memories back in my mind, and wish her a good evening. She leaves and I come inside, alone! Damn the alone! But memories of daughters, of the smell around a small inland lake, of friends and family now old, but still young at heart. Its OK, everything is just OK!

Ah Children!

While my wife and I were in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan my two daughters joined us. One day we went to Miner's Beach for some swimming, sun, sand and a picnic. My granddaughter Marissa joined us. As you can see above she enjoyed the beach. What tickled me was when we got back to my sister's home after the outing Marissa gave up and went to sleep. Kids play so hard, they just become exhausted. I can think of nothing more healthy than a child playing in the sun on a sugar sand beach, running, eating, and being held. Finally their little bodies have had enough and require rest. Limited stamina that shall increase until they can stay up with mom and dad. I really get a kick out of process.