Chicken Feathers

Today is Father's Day. I miss my dad every single day, but it helps to remember all the good things. Today I thought about something I had not thought of in quite some time. When I was about four years old, we were getting ready to move from our apartment to the farm my parents had bought. The farm had a large barn with a tack room, which I thought was called a "tacker room" for some reason.

One evening I was with him when he painted the tack room doors. I really wanted to help so I went to find something I could use as a paint brush. There were a bunch of chicken feathers in the barn and I thought one would make a good brush. I grabbed the biggest one I could find and proceeded to dip it into the can of brown paint. Daddy was a bit worried about me helping because my mom might get upset if I came home covered in paint. I told him not to worry that if he held me up to the sink so I could wash my hands mom would never know! He let me help and we spent a pleasant evening with dad painting the doors while I "helped" by painting the bottom with my chicken feather. Of course I was not very careful and soon I was covered with splatters of brown paint.

When I was older we would laugh about this story. Mom said dad was worried about using turpentine to clean off my hands since I was so delicate. He did his best to clean me off with a rag and then we set off for home to face mom's wrath. Fortunately she found it more funny than foolish. She thought it was funny how I told daddy if he helped me wash up mom would never know.  I will always remember that. We did not spend a lot of time together one on one like that, but when we did it was very special. Even if it was doing something as mundane as painting some doors, dad with a broad even stroke, and me dabbing paint on with my chicken feather.  After he died, I went to the tack room and rubbed my hand over the flaking brown paint we had put on all those years ago and it made me smile.

Happy Father's Day, daddy. I love you.

Watch out for Falling Rocks

This has been rattling around in my head for awhile so I thought I would write a blog post about it. My dad died 10 years ago and there is not a day that goes by that I don't think about him. Recently I have been thinking about a story he used to tell me. Whenever we were driving somewhere and he saw the sign "Watch  for Falling Rock," he would tell me to look quick to see if I could see "him." The "him" was an old Indian named Falling Rock.

According to my father he was an Indian who was very upset by the mistreatment of the land by other people. He was a small, old man who lived in a hollow log and refused to participate in society. Instead he wandered around the mountains he loved so much. Whenever Falling Rock encountered a roadway where people had littered or polluted the surrounding area it would make the old man very angry. He got his revenge by pushing rocks down the slopes and into the road or possible at an offending car that had just thrown trash out the window. He might have been old, but he was strong and quick so it was very rare that someone actually caught a glimpse. Whenever he was spotted a sign went up to warn people to take care and be on their best behavior or else Falling Rock might send a boulder into the road.

Of course I would eagerly peer out the window to see if I could find him. Sometimes my dad would say he saw him and that I just needed to look harder. It was a great story to tell to a kid to keep them entertained in the truck. Not only that it taught me to be respectful of the land. I don't know if he made it up or heard it somewhere else, but I will always associate it with daddy. As an adult it helps me to understand him even more. My dad loved the outdoors and spent as much time as he could out either working in it or enjoying it. He wanted his children to appreciate the land. He was a farmer and he used the land as a tool, but he also cared for it and respected it. I doubt he would ever consider himself a "green person," but he certainly was an advocate and a conservationist long before our current trend of eco-awareness. I owe much of my awareness and awe of nature to him.

Every time I see a Falling Rock sign I think about my dad and have a little chuckle. Of course I cannot resist looking up the hill to see if a tiny wizened man is waiting to push rocks down on anyone who dares to disrespect the land.

Good Friday Earth Day

As is bound to happen sometimes, Easter holy days and Earth Day fall at the same time on the calendar. Today is both Good Friday and Earth Day. I find it very fitting since these evoke feelings in me about two ideas I care very much about, but that I struggle with. I care very deeply about the environment and taking care of it. Threaded throughout this desire is the idea that this lovely world was created and given to us by God. We are suppose to care for it as God does, not destroy it. God created it so therefore it must be good.

The conflict for me comes from my inability to be as "green" as I should be and also my conflicting feelings about religion. I go from atheist to true believer and then somewhere in between constantly. I think it is good to question your beliefs and analyze why you feel the way you do. I think there is a God or some divine being, otherwise I cannot fathom how this world got here. The rational part of my brain says there has to be a reasonable explanation, whether I know it or not, that does not include any divine intervention. Yet there is something that tugs at me saying there has to be something else, a guiding force. I find no problem in following the teachings of Jesus whether you believe in him or not since I feel if everyone lived the way he did, the world would be a much better place. A philosophy of love and compassion can never be a bad thing.

This is why I tie my love of the earth to a sense of religious obligation to protect and care for it. Whether I am right or wrong on the whole religion thing I suppose I will find out when I die. In the meantime I see nothing wrong with living in harmony with our planet and trying to protect it. If there is a God who created this magnificent world then I would think God would want us to take care of it and not abuse it  and by extension to take care of and not abuse our fellow humans. After all we are a part of this creation too, we are tied to it and cannot live without it. The Earth however can survive very well without us, she has in the past and will most likely survive and thrive without us in the future.

So on this Good Friday and Earth Day, I will reexamine my commitment to green living and contemplate the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross. I think he died to redeem all of creation and we should honor that by living the best life we can.

Bird's the word

I saw an interesting sight on my way to work this morning. As I was stuck in slow traffic moving up the hill toward Broad Street I saw a huge bird sweep low and then land on top of a traffic sign. It was a hawk. He was large and handsome. I thought it was a treat to see such a bird up close. He was perched very nonchalantly scouting the ground below. Suddenly another bird came swooping out of a nearby tree right at the hawk. It was a much smaller bird. It flitted around the hawk and then back to the tree and then repeated the maneuver.

At first I thought it was a blue jay since they can be quite territorial and I thought it would be up to the task of taking on a hawk. As I inched up the hill I could see it was not a blue jay. I took note of its markings. When I got to work I checked and I believe it was a Northern Mockingbird. Apparently this bird will take on a bird that is encroaching in its territory. Even though it was not a laughing matter for the birds, it made me laugh to see this bird take on the much more fearsome hawk. It is one of the few times I wish I had been stuck in traffic longer.

Auld Lang Syne

It has been a bit of a rough year, but it could have been worse. In the end I am thankful for my family and friends who have held me through the worst of it. My hubby has been amazing and more than I could ever ask for. I finally found a job in November working as an archivist. It is only for a year, but I feel very fortunate to have the chance to work for the institution that I am and that I found employment at all. I also started back to school (again), but I am really excited. I am working toward my Information Science degree (read Library Science). I think it will be most useful for me.

I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, and people who care about me. I could not ask for more. Thank you Lord for the blessings in my life. Another year has passed and I am still alive and thriving. I could not ask for more...well maybe world peace and an end to hunger and disease, but I suppose I should not be greedy ;-)

A new year is always an exciting proposition. Anything can happen, but it all begins with me. I hope this is the year that I can make a difference. No it is not all about me, but I hope that I can help someone else even in the smallest way. Then I will know that I have not lived in vain...even if all I do is make someone giggle and forget their troubles for an instant. It will have been worth it all. Happy new year!

St. Nick and bear traps

I have not been in the decorating mood for the past 3 Christmases. My sole decoration this year was to buy a Febreze luminary that has snowman on it. However I enjoy reminiscing about decorating when I was a kid. We always put the Christmas tree up on Thanksgiving day. We did this partly because my mom loved Christmas and liked to have the tree up early and also because she was home from work long enough to do it. My best memories though are of when I was young enough to still believe in the magic of Santa.

I realize now as an adult that my family had some quirky traits (as I am sure all families do), but it did not seem strange at all then. We always opened our presents on Christmas Eve. Since Santa had so many children to visit he came to see us early. My mom usually had to work on Christmas Eve, but the store closed early and she was home by about 7:00. While we were waiting for my mom to get home, my dad would pile my brothers and me in his truck to go visit Sam and Mary. They were very good friends of my dad and I always thought of them as my adopted grandparents. We would visit with them and give them a gift. I would bounce around their living room peering out the window for Old Saint Nick. Sam and Mary would usually say they had heard on the news that he had been spotted around Roanoke. I loved seeing them, but it always felt like we were there forever. Finally daddy would say it was time to go home.

On the way home he would take the long way around the river and I thought I would die before we got home. Once we arrived though my brothers and I would find presents under the tree from Santa. He had come while we were gone! Mom always had a great story to tell about his visit.

Now I should mention that in the days leading up to Christmas that my dad would tease me as was his way. He would tell me that he was going to let all the dogs loose to keep Santa from getting to our house. We had plot hounds who were wonderful animals, but also were bred to hunt. I was terrified that the dogs would attack the reindeer. Daddy would also hint that he was putting out some bear traps on the roof to catch Rudolph. I would beg him not to scare off Santa or to trap the deer. I made sure to put out treats for the reindeer along with the cookies so that Santa and the reindeer would have some incentive to dodge my dad's traps.

While we looked in awe at our gifts, my mom would tell us that when she got home that she needed to take a quick shower. When she was in the shower she heard the dogs going nuts, barking and howling outside. She'd jump out of the shower, throw on a robe, and dash outside to find Rambler (one of our most fearsome dogs) tugging on Santa's pant leg trying to stop him from getting in the house. Santa was prepared though and would throw out a huge bone to distract the dog. Then quick as wink he would wish my mom Merry Christmas and leave our gifts for us. He would stay long enough for a cookie and to take the celery and carrots to the reindeer. Santa, who had managed to dodge all my dad's obstacles, would get back in his sleigh and the reindeer would take off with the dogs nipping at their heels. Every year during my "Santa years," we would have some variation on this story and every year I believed it!

I, of course, would turn to my dad all smug and tell him that nothing he could do could keep Santa from coming. Dad would grumble and say he'd get him next year. We would then eat shrimp, open presents, and have a wonderful time. Of course my brother were older than me and were past believing in Santa, but they kept up the charade for my benefit and I suspect they enjoyed it as much as anyone.

Those years of belief were short and before long I outgrew Santa. The season was still wonderful and special, but it lost a bit of its magic. I miss the stories my parents concocted to explain Santa's visit. I'm sure some people would be shocked at my dad's way of "teasing," but that was the way he was. He did not show a lot of emotion, but I think he loved Christmas as much as any of us and I'll never forget how he tried to "catch" Santa.

9:30 in the a.m.

I am actually up, thought not necessarily awake, at 9:30 on a Tuesday. Why is this so strange? Well, I have been out of work for nearly two months now and I have become something of a night owl. I much prefer being up at night even though I have "sleep issues." I have been looking for a new job and keeping busy with graduate school and other odds and ends. I hope that very soon I will have a new job. I have my phone glued to me this week in hopes that I will receive some good news. In the meantime, I think I might go read...in bed. It is very dreary outside and even though I did make the effort to get up, I still am sleepy. I should exercise, but I am not quite up for it just yet. Maybe in a couple of hours...