Don't Let the Old Man In

  Here it is…

I absolutely love this video! Toby Keith recently received the “Icon Award” at the First Annual Country People’s Choice Awards...The key word is “country”. While there have been People's Choice Awards for some time, they have never before designated one that is only for country artists...until now. I am no longer real big on award shows, because  they have become so extreme with their entertainment, hosts, guests, performers that don't belong, and politics. (Most tend to deny being political, but they often are...especially those outside of the country genre.)  Because of that, country award shows were the last hold out for me; but I have been giving those up as well, in recent years, preferring to stand with AJ and GS in their belief that country isn’t country any more. I think Bill O’Reilly should write a book called “Killin' Country” for his Killing series. I think there is a lot to write about. Just sayin’!

But anyway, I watched the Country People Choice Awards primarily because I had heard that Toby Keith was going to be presented with the "Icon Award". I couldn’t miss it. I love that guy! He is the greatest song writer in modern history, in my view. No bias there at all! :-) I also love him for his dedication to our troops, performing for them countless times; honoring vets and active duty during his concerts; and often honoring our nation by bringing a veteran or two up on stage with him. Toby also started the OK Kids Korral, a ministry for children with cancer and other illnesses. He will get his award in heaven, for that one day too. But I hope that is a long way off.

So for those that don’t follow country and haven’t heard what has been happening with Toby Keith, Toby was diagnosed with stomach cancer in the fall of 2021. He has been privately fighting that battle, since then, though he didn't announce it to his fans until June of 2022. He wanted to explain his absence and not keep his fans wondering. Then, just a couple months ago, he announced he would start trying to do a few small gigs in order to see how much he is able to handle performing. He was wise to start slowly. This event for the People’s Choice was his first television appearance since his diagnosis.

Let me explain why this award meant so much to Toby and ME. ;-) Toby quit attending award shows sometime ago, not caring for all that was taking place with the awards; i.e. drama, theatrics, politics, and whatever...you get the idea. Kinda like the same reason I quit watching! But I won’t go into all of that. One thing about Toby, he is his own man and he isn’t one to put up with stuff like that. He would simply rather not attend. 

To me, that he decided to attend and accept this award speaks volumes. He revealed to a reporter on the Red Carpet before the show, that his disease is precisely why he chose this song, "Don't Let the Old Man In", to sing at the event. He was hoping it would be an encouragement to others. When he was asked how does he get through his illness, he thoughtfully replied: "I just lean on my faith and lean into it. I just do whatever is next. Every day there is a next, so you just do it."

I have been a Toby Keith fan since his beginnings, and I absolutely love his talent. The songs that he writes, stab directly into your soul (at least mine) and leave you better, I think. He writes about the every day, common man, love, pain, family and America. All the things that are important to us. And his voice is just the “[pudding] on the cake” of his songwriting talent. (I don’t like “icing”.)  ;-)  

I know I am not alone. Toby, when asked what inspires him answered, "I've always wrote with a prayer and as long as I have Him with me, I'm cool." Toby writes the majority of his own songs and has had sixty-nine radio singles in the thirty years he has been performing. Sixty-five of those have topped the charts. Twenty of those songs were number one. That's an incredible record! Truly an incredible artist.

His performance at the awards show was a song written by him due to a request from Clint Eastwood for one of his movies - “The Mule”. I didn’t watch it and I am not advocating for it until I do. But I absolutely love this song and Clint Eastwood. 

Toby and Clint were on a golf course in 2018 and Toby asked Clint, “How do you do it?” Meaning how does Clint keep going at his age. Clint’s response was, "I get up every morning, and don’t let the old man in." Toby’s response? “Man, I gotta write that.” (some paraphrase on my part, but that is the essence.)

The You Tube version of that song is absolutely beautiful and Clint nails the character in the video. He is that Old Man. Toby tells an interesting and fun story about writing this song for Clint. I have included a video at the bottom of this post with Toby telling that story. It's well worth watching. 

Anyway, Toby wrote the song and wanted to send Clint a video of him singing the finished product, but he was sick with a bad cold. He went ahead and sent the video explaining to Clint, that he was ill and would send a cleaner version when he felt better, but that he was excited for him to hear the song. He wanted him to know he wrote the song due to their conversation on the golf course that day. 

Clint quickly emailed back his approval of the song and that he wanted it in his movie in its raw form that Toby had sent him. If one watches that You Tube version which played in the movie, you will see just why Clint was so right in his decision. It absolutely melts the heart in its genuine realism.

The performance Toby gave at the recent awards show is every bit as inspiring as the movie version. Even more so, with all that has transpired in Toby's life since then. I can’t get enough of listening to it. I can’t watch it without tears, nor could most of the people in the live audience, it would seem. It’s raw, and personal, and demonstrates an open vulnerability. It is absolutely gut-wrenching, but in a healing and beautiful kind of way. His wife shown, in the audience, is part of that beauty. This woman has stood by her husband through thick and thin; in sickness and in health. Good times, and I am sure bad times due to some probably very rowdy times. ;-) I have the utmost respect for her.

Anyway, there is another kind of beauty in Toby’s performance. And that involves his earlier acceptance speech for the award. Toby’s speech began with thanking the “Almighty, Who has been riding shot gun” with him throughout his latest ordeal. It was a very real moment. The beauty in it is because it demonstrates growth springing from the ashes. TK is one who has obviously been “torn for the healing”. And his faith most obviously came out stronger on the other side. Toby has always included a message on his CD’s that states: “Thank you to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.” But in this performance and in his acceptance speech, one can see a whole lot more boldness and a desire to share and honor his Source of Strength. That is an amazingly beautiful thing. 

"Come, and let us return to the LORD; for he has torn us to pieces, and he will heal us; he has injured us, and he will bind up our wounds." ~ Hosea 6:1

I have been known to over-think things. Probably one of my biggest faults. But as I am drawn back to watch this performance over and over, I am compelled to think deeper. What is it about this performance that so directly hits my heart like it does. I think it is because I have come to believe that even if Toby didn’t know it at the time, he wrote this song for himself. He is a man on the south side of middle age and he may have been noticing that for some time. Clint, in his 90's probably recognized his aging for decades. ;-) Hence his decision to keep age at bay. Toby had some catching up to do. And I think he got there when he developed this dreaded disease. 

But truthfully I think it is reflective of even more than that. I think it is a God-inspired message that he wrote back then for himself. Maybe even at God's prompting...you know; kind of as a result of those prayers he prays before he writes! He simply didn't realize it at the time. As it turns out, it would seem it wasn't only written for Clint's movie, or even just  to himself. It was written as a message to to all of us. And that is this: When we have seen and understood the Source of our Salvation, we would be very wise to try to never let that "old man" in again.

I think Toby gets that more fully now. It's what makes it all so amazingly powerful, thought provoking and inspiring, about what's really going on in this man's life...and if we are truthful, also in ours.

Knowing this that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin.  ~Romans 6:6

Just to put that all simply: Don't let the old man in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And the movie version.

 

Cute Interview

  

Honor, History and Cake

Ok, so this is going to be a rather trivial, probably childish post. Pretty sure most people would rather read that though, than anything political that I have to say; or even about faith. That is a sad commentary on our society in my view. But let’s get sadder...I am going to share a gripe. And enjoy doing it. :-) But I also think there is a lesson in my gripe about honor.

I hate sharing recipes. I just truly do. Some people think that is selfish and stupid. I don’t really care. Now sometimes, even though I don’t really want to share a favorite, I do anyway. Sometimes, depending on who it is, I am happy to share. Sometimes I just absolutely refuse, and I do not feel one bit guilty about that. It’s like sharing your huckleberry spot or your fishing hole. Just have fun finding your own. This one’s a secret. Lol Generational natives where I live, understand that. Side note: those of you who may think you are transplanting or harvesting huckleberries at a low elevation...those are not a true huckleberry! But I digress.

So. Let me explain my reasons for not always liking to share a favorite, most often, a family recipe. Number one, I don’t know how many times I have shared, or I have known someone to share, and the minute the recipe is tried by the receiver and it didn’t turn out as well as expected, the person who shared is accused of withholding an ingredient...or an important means to success! Come on! We have all heard that, haven’t we? Or had it happen to us? I have sure heard lots of stories like that. Maybe my biggest pet peeve that comes from graciously (or not so graciously) sharing is when it ends with an “attack”, for lack of a better word. Lol Because in reality, the one receiving is questioning the honor or honesty of the giver...whether they realize they are doing that or not! Think about it!

Or sometimes, I have been told “Well that didn’t sound quite right, so I changed this.” Whatever “this” might be. “Ok...I’m sure you know best, but don’t ask me for another recipe,” is how I would like to retort. I try to remain silent. Whatever. Lol Good luck with that.

And finally, there is the one who refuses to acknowledge from where the recipe came and instead claim it as their own. It is silly, that I think about that, I know...and probably childish. But I am all about history, and family traditions, and offering credit where credit is due. The borrower gets to take credit for their baking, canning or cooking skills when they use the recipe. Isn’t that enough? What’s wrong with telling the story behind the recipe? And how you came across it? That should be a fun part of serving.

I have a beautiful begonia that my aunt recently gave me. It is a start, probably from a start, that was from a plant my grandma had when she was still alive. She died in the 1980’s. Yet her plant is still living! I would never talk about the plant that I have without sharing that story! Isn’t it the same with a recipe? It is nothing I have anything to do with in the way of success or not. It’s just a cool part of the story that shouldn’t go unsaid. It is kind of a cool way to remember the people who have gone before. I once had a direct start from her begonia decades ago, that I kept alive forever! That’s why this one also means so much to me...it’s like I got it back. I like remembering what my grandma did and liked.

Same goes for a recipe, especially if it is one with which I grew up eating. Some of my most cherished recipes are those from my mom. I like to be sure she gets the credit. It’s called honor. And I want to honor my mom, so sometimes I share her pickle recipe and her peaches recipe, because I know she would...but sometimes I get childish and selfish and guard them with my life. Those recipes truly do belong only to her. They require her name in my opinion. Somehow, I want that preserved. (pun unintentional...or maybe not ;-))

We have had one recipe in our family for generations which has an incredible story with it. It is called the “Waldorf Astoria Red Cake”. And trust me there are a lot of red cake recipes making the rounds today, but none of them are like this..from which I believe, all red cake began. IF you aren’t eating red cake from this recipe, you are not eating red cake...kinda like huckleberries. My grandma started making this recipe decades ago, and always made it for my sister’s birthday. Sis picked up and continued the recipe and is the one in our family that most often still makes this cake. I know other family members do every once in a while and I do too. It is so good! No wonder everyone wants the recipe!! But for crying out loud! Can’t we keep the story that goes along with it, intact??? It is part of the story! And a huge part of the cake. That’s part of the fun! It is history! 

I have another recipe, that I have always gladly shared because I know how good it is and how popular it is every time I make it. It was given to me by my aunt over 50 years ago. She created the cutest little recipe box for me when I was just starting my adult life with a recipe from every single family member. It is one of my most treasured gifts. (*Treasured gifts...note to self: that is for another blog post some day.)

But anyway, there was a recipe in that box that she labeled with her husband’s name (my uncle) and a story about the recipe. I included it in a family cook book that I once wrote, using many of the recipes she gave me from members of our family. I have made that recipe more than any other from that recipe box, I believe. And I have given out that recipe more than any other one I have. That kind of gift I did want to share with family members. And I have over and over. But along with that, I think every one I shared it with should call it by the name it was given, and know a little bit about the person for whom it was named. So I share that story.

Recently, I was so excited, when a 4^th or 5^th generation family member asked me at a recent gathering where the item was served: “Now who was Uncle F?” she inquired after I mentioned the name of the dish.

Well how cools is that! I like that she cared enough to ask. It warmed my heart to talk about a family member that I remember and loved, with a younger family member that never knew him. That’s called family tradition. It’s history and it is an important way to keep our loved ones alive. It is called honor. So just do it. It’s fun. And we are slowly losing all those things that really matter: tradition, history and honor. Sometimes someone’s reasoning may seem silly or even childish...but ask a question or two. You might find out why...or you may find you even want to do the same.

And for crying out loud. Don’t criticize the recipe, the giver or the method, if you ever want another recipe from me.

She Has a Story

So this pretty girl has a story. She is going on 29 years old, (if she isn't there already.) We bought her for my son when he was still in high school. She is a great horse, but he found another one he wanted at the time that was more suited for him. So I said, "Go ahead and get her, but that means Juliee is mine." He did pay for the other horse himself, but he was still in high school and he and all the horses were in fact still living here, so I felt justified in taking claim to Juliee. 

Juliee was once a 4H/barrel racing horse with her previous owner. She loved to run when she was younger and has always loved rides. She is probably the best horse we have ever had. She loves to ride, she spooks at virtually nothing, balks at nothing and comes when she sees me. She saddles easily and does everything I ask. She has always been an easy keeper. And I think she loves me.

The truth is, she has been a great horse for me as I age, as I don't quite ride like I did when I was young. "We are just two old grey mares," I always say, "so we don't ride aggressively."

I just felt like talking about her, today. This is probably our last season together. She is missing teeth and colics more easily, as is common with horses as they age. She has gone from the "easy keeper" to the most expensive animal or hobby that we have ever owned. But she has been worth every penny. Not sure hubby would agree.

Anyway, she colicked badly this spring, just after she made it through that harsh winter. The vet came and got her through the colic with all the stuff they do. But both the vet and I felt there was something more going on, when the next day she was still not back to normal. Not at all like the other colics we had experienced. So, back to our home the vet came. We did the minimal testing in light of her age and considering if the expense would be worth only a few more years of life. The blood work we *did* do, all came back normal. Vet was stumped and said Juliee would have to go to clinic for more tests to know for sure what was wrong. The vet thought maybe she had a stroke, or a neck injury that could cause stroke like symptoms.(Too complicated for me.) I couldn't justify the expense.

She wasn't really in any pain it seemed, so we opted to watch her a couple days to see if anything changed. In those days, I made a couple calls to the vet and they went above and beyond the call of duty in the amount of time they spent with me and my probably really stupid questions. One call was probably a 45 minute phone call on a Sunday, no less.

I don't remember the exact time frame, but one vet told me, I think it might be time to put her down. I agreed. We just couldn't justify the expense at her age and I didn't want her to suffer. Somewhere in there, the farrier had come to trim her feet and agreed she may have had a stroke.

On the final call I made to the vet to ask them to come put her down, the vet told me I could give her a round of steroids pretty cheaply as a last ditch effort. I said yes, and went out to the clinic to get them.

Long story, not so short. The week of steroids worked! We thought we may have to continue them through the summer, but at least she would have one last season with us after being such a trooper through the long winter. As it turned out she didn't need any further treatment.

But I was convinced I would never ride her again...she was still doing stroke like things periodically, i.e. some stumbling and some confusion. I was happy just to have her. The vet had told me no more hay, as she was missing teeth and not chewing well which was probably what caused the colic. So now she is strictly on only grain and Alfalfa/Timothy pellets. Now that spring and summer are here, she can also graze the shorter grass in the pasture.

This plan was to be just for the summer. "I will put her down in the fall," I told the vet. I didn't want her going through another tough winter... especially without having something to graze and keep her busy through the long snowy days.

So anyway, we watched her carefully through April and May, with this plan in mind. But she was steadily improving and had no need of more steroids. The farrier came again and was amazed at her agility for an arthritic horse of her age. "Do you think I should ride her?" I asked him, feeling he had more knowledge than me.

"You know her best," he replied. "Just watch her and be sensitive to her."

So I am not gonna lie. I have stewed and wondered; stressed and worried about riding her. I just don't want to hurt her. Or do anything that causes her any harm. But as I've watched her the last couple weeks or so, she honestly looks better and is acting better than she has in probably two years. It is absolutely amazing.

Today I bit the bullet, and decided to take her for a short ride. Yes I was nervous. But when I swung up in that saddle (not at all gracefully, I'm sure ) and I saw she was ready to go with ears forward, I knew I had made the right decision. She wanted to go out the gate instead of staying in pasture. But I didn't want to do that just yet, until I could see how she fared the ride.

Truthfully, I feel like she is a miracle horse... And the words keep coming back to me that I once read somewhere. "God gave you a horse to ride, now ride."

So we did. She seemed to enjoy it. It really isn't about riding for me any more. It's about the feel of the reins, the creek of the saddle and the nostalgia and memories of better rides when I was younger. It's about being in the fresh air and nice weather as my horse and I watch and feel the same things. At my age, it's kinda about knowing we are still able and that she let me and was in it with me...or maybe just *for* me.

We won't ride as much this summer. It'll be on cool mornings, or soft evenings. And it won't be far and it won't be long and it most certainly won't be hard. But the payoff for a horse like this isn't in the rides anyway. It's in the love she gives.

Meanwhile, Back At Mama's

 I absolutely love this song. 

I read somewhere once, that Tim McGraw doesn't write many of his own songs (if any) but that he always chooses a song that means something to him and that he can relate to. I think that is certainly obvious in all of the songs that have made him the star that he is.

He is one of my very favorite artists for just that reason. Out of all the artists that are my favorite, I think his songs hit my heart the most.

Certainly this one does....outside of the cigarettes and beer. lol That was never a part of my childhood home...but I sure like to think of the days back at Mama's. 

I hope my kids do, too.

Enjoy!

The Barefoot Boy

Long time, (from my youth!) favorite poem.

The Barefoot Boy

BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

Blessings on thee, little man,

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!

With thy turned-up pantaloons,

And thy merry whistled tunes;

With thy red lip, redder still

Kissed by strawberries on the hill;

With the sunshine on thy face,

Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;

From my heart I give thee joy,—

I was once a barefoot boy!

Prince thou art,—the grown-up man

Only is republican.

Let the million-dollared ride!

Barefoot, trudging at his side,

Thou hast more than he can buy

In the reach of ear and eye,—

Outward sunshine, inward joy:

Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s painless play,

Sleep that wakes in laughing day,

Health that mocks the doctor’s rules,

Knowledge never learned of schools,

Of the wild bee’s morning chase,

Of the wild-flower’s time and place,

Flight of fowl and habitude

Of the tenants of the wood;

How the tortoise bears his shell,

How the woodchuck digs his cell,

And the ground-mole sinks his well;

How the robin feeds her young,

How the oriole’s nest is hung;

Where the whitest lilies blow,

Where the freshest berries grow,

Where the ground-nut trails its vine,

Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine;

Of the black wasp’s cunning way,

Mason of his walls of clay,

And the architectural plans

Of gray hornet artisans!

For, eschewing books and tasks,

Nature answers all he asks;

Hand in hand with her he walks,

Face to face with her he talks,

Part and parcel of her joy,—

Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s time of June,

Crowding years in one brief moon,

When all things I heard or saw,

Me, their master, waited for.

I was rich in flowers and trees,

Humming-birds and honey-bees;

For my sport the squirrel played,

Plied the snouted mole his spade;

For my taste the blackberry cone

Purpled over hedge and stone;

Laughed the brook for my delight

Through the day and through the night,

Whispering at the garden wall,

Talked with me from fall to fall;

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,

Mine the walnut slopes beyond,

Mine, on bending orchard trees,

Apples of Hesperides!

Still as my horizon grew,

Larger grew my riches too;

All the world I saw or knew

Seemed a complex Chinese toy,

Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread,

Like my bowl of milk and bread;

Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,

On the door-stone, gray and rude!

O’er me, like a regal tent,

Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,

Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,

Looped in many a wind-swung fold;

While for music came the play

Of the pied frogs’ orchestra;

And, to light the noisy choir,

Lit the fly his lamp of fire.

I was monarch: pomp and joy

Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,

Live and laugh, as boyhood can!

Though the flinty slopes be hard,

Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,

Every morn shall lead thee through

Fresh baptisms of the dew;

Every evening from thy feet

Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:

All too soon these feet must hide

In the prison cells of pride,

Lose the freedom of the sod,

Like a colt’s for work be shod,

Made to tread the mills of toil,

Up and down in ceaseless moil:

Happy if their track be found

Never on forbidden ground;

Happy if they sink not in

Quick and treacherous sands of sin.

Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,

Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

Nothing to Dread

 

I absolutely dreaded the thought of it. Winter had been extremely difficult so far this year and now the local weather man was forecasting several more days of frigid temperatures. We had already had one week of single digit and below zero temps and now we were going to have to deal with it again. UGH! We had had lots of snow in December during which both my husband and I had been ill the entire month. It had made shoveling and other winter tasks that much more difficult. I was not ready for more cold.

During the first cold spell, I had worried incessantly about my 28 year old mare. She had a good thick winter coat, and good weight, but her age caused me to wonder if she would be able to withstand that degree of cold. I have never blanketed her, not really trusting that is the best thing. That old debate among equestrians will probably never be resolved. I am of the mind, that as she gets older, I will probably have to do that; but I didn’t have a blanket for her this year and I have wanted to hold off, if she was doing well without one.

But anyway, with the most recent forecast of the weather, I knew I needed to get out to the barn and make things as comfortable for her as possible. That was what I was dreading this morning. I looked at the forecast again, and knew the temps would be dropping as we moved further into the day. I had almost waited too long. So I swallowed my last bit of coffee and bundled up in my work coat and leather gloves to go get the job done. As I headed out the door, I could feel the wind strongly blowing and I knew I made the right decision to not wait a moment longer. It was not going to get any warmer as we moved further into the day, which would typically be the norm. 

It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies and the sun was glistening on the mountains. Juliee was frisky and happy to see me. She was following me around like a little puppy dog as she so often does. I would have to give her a bit of grain to keep her distracted so she wouldn’t be in my way. Hmmm, no wonder she pesters me. She has this old gray “mare” trained well.

I got busy at my job of cleaning out the old pine shavings in her stall. I love it every morning when I go out to feed and I see shavings stuck to her coat, because then I know she has been resting in her stall. I brush them off feeling pleased that she has been comfortable for the night. This is a relatively new thing for us...Oh, not the shavings. I do that every winter. But that she is actually using them is new. I suspect this is due to her age and she is more inclined to stay in on winter nights now than she was in the past.

As I worked, I found myself more and more happy to be exactly where I was, doing what I was doing. I absolutely love hanging out in our barn. I try to absorb the feel, the aromas, and I relive each and every memory that the barn experience brings back to me. It just feels so good to be doing good things for your critters. It still amazes me how much contentment it brings hearing the munch of hay, or watching a splash of the water as my horse tests it before she takes a drink. I love the joy it brings to be outside in our amazing surroundings as I shovel pine shavings and poop! YES! I love it.

I once said to a friend, “I hope I get to shovel manure forever.” “Why???” she had exclaimed, crinkling her face and looking at me like I was nuts. She didn’t get it. I thought it was simple to understand. For one, it meant I had a horse. Two, I would still be able to physically care for that horse. And absorb all the joy that care brings. It would mean I am still alive and so was my horse!

Juliee and I had finally reached a great set-up. I feed her in one barn and have dry warm shavings in the other. I have little to no manure in the barn where she now sleeps. But I do like to put in dry shavings, periodically and that is what I need to do today. Not sure which one of us figured out this is the best solution. But this barn is where she goes when she wants to be out of the rain, snow or cold...and to sleep.

As I worked, I tried to pay attention where any wind might blow through and I found means to block it. This horse was going to be as warm as I could keep her when 0 degrees hit us tonight. With everything ready, it was time for the new dry shavings. They were still in my car. And I was thankful I had thought to start it to defrost windows, so I could easily drive the shavings over. As I opened the gate, I saw a hinge was loose from the weight of the snow, I guess. Spring job for hubby, I noted to myself. But I love this old gate… It just feels so…farm like and nostalgic.

As I spread the shavings, satisfaction filled my soul. Sorry. I don’t mean to sound dramatic at such a mundane task. But it isn’t mundane to me. It is the aspect of taking good care of something you love. Doing the right thing. Working hard in inclement weather. I wasn’t even cold in this old barn. Maybe she wouldn’t be either.

It didn’t take me long; maybe 90 minutes or so. And I found myself wondering why in the heck do I ever think I dread this! What in the world would I be doing if I lived in town and didn’t have acreage. That is the thing to dread. This is something that keeps me alive. 

The Things That Call Us Home; II - The Golden Chain

He was my grandma’s favorite grandson. And that is perfectly OK. He was my mama’s favorite nephew. And that’s understandable, too. He was the first of my generation in my mom's family. And I think it is no surprise if we all loved him best and are not afraid to say it...because he was, after all, the first born child of my mom's three siblings, as well as her self.

He was a lot like our grandpa; strong yet quiet, with all the characteristics a Norwegian heritage brings. He was a private individual and modest, with not even an iota of pride in the negative connotation of that word. But he was like our grandma too. He sparkled when he told a story, or relayed a memory from his youth. He loved it all. And he laughed only sometimes; but when he did, it was honest and real. I am sure he was like his dad, too; though I never had the opportunity to know his dad, since he and his mother (my mom’s sister) divorced when they were young.

The grandparents’ extra love for this grandson was not so very surprising. They had a huge part in his upbringing. He spoke more of them, than he did anyone else. Likewise for my grandma when she was alive. We could actually breathe in and feel our grandma’s love for this firstborn grandson. It was so exceptionally deep. She exuded pride when she spoke of him. We could feel it and it would warm us all.

I remember as a child looking up to this older cousin of mine. He played with us and made us laugh. He loved deeply and we knew it; he didn’t have to say it. As a child, I bragged to my friends of his strong, honorable character and spoke of him with pride when he went off to college.

I remember years later, (decades, actually) my mom and him walking across the yard of my childhood home. Hand in hand they sauntered, as Mama led him over to see the new little tree I had given her, and which my dad had planted along the fence line – A Golden Chain. It was a start from my own tree. The effort to share that tree is probably what had killed the tree in my own yard, by taking too many shoots from it at once. I had given away many of those shoots, but Mama’s was the only transplant that survived. I always said, that I didn’t kill my tree. I simply moved it to a different yard. Mom was so proud of that little tree. It brought her so much joy. And she loved sharing it with her “favorite nephew”. He happily shared in the joy that day with his “dear old aunt”. I captured that image in my mind, in that moment, never to let it go. 

He was so proud of my dad. I loved it when he shared those stories. The two had a special bond. He told me many times that Daddy taught him much of what he knew about firearms and shooting; the thing that became, for my cousin, a life long necessary skill, hobby and love.

Years later in life, he and I shared a love of reading and we often discussed the books we had both read. We had many conversations about the state of our nation and the concerns we both held. I often wondered if he learned that from my dad, too. I never asked where he came by his point of view. I should have...that, and a whole lot more.

I got the news yesterday of his passing. I didn’t think it would happen. I knew he was sick, but I simply believed it would all be OK. I thought we would soon be meeting him for lunch in the town we both loved. I thought we would be making a summer trip to finally bring to fruition all those plans we had discussed – of four wheeling in the beautiful countryside they lived; of a family reunion; and pitching a tent in their yard; a plan of taking our son and daughter-in-law to see their beautiful home.

I failed once again in all the things I should have done.

I should have been there on Christmas Day. I should have been there when he went home. I should have recorded him telling stories on video, or tape. I should have written down all the stories and knowledge he had. It is mostly gone forever now. We will remember some of it. We will pass it on. But it is no longer a first-hand eye witness account expressed with all the love that he exuded for whom he remembered and spoke.

I want to go “up home” today. This is one of the things that calls me "home". My husband is not as agreeable to that today, as he was last time. It is wrong timing, I suppose. Perhaps it should have been yesterday; or in the days before now. Perhaps there will be a need tomorrow and we will go. Life gets in the way of life sometimes, or we are restricted in some manner not always through any fault of our own. Sometimes circumstances, or even the unknowable simply leads to the unintentional, but not for lack of caring.... 

Maybe a long time ago in the holding of a hand, or the joy of a moment shared together, a seed is planted and a root established and grabbed hold of somewhere along the way. Maybe it isn't always apparent, but maybe there is a shoot, a living root like Mama's Golden Chain that is the only one to survive, left to live somewhere in a heart. Even though everything seems to be lost, perhaps nonetheless a part of it - a link, a connection - has survived. Something to grab hold in ones darkest hours.

What I do know is God provides and makes a way when we ask...it isn’t always where we can see it, or in the place we think it should be. But rather, maybe it is a root that remains because someone planted with love which allowed it to live from somewhere within; to be grasped at just the right time...a bit like reaching for and holding onto someone's hand to lead the way to see the Golden Chain.

I choose to believe that.