When The Bagpipes Say Goodbye

I got out of our pickup just as the emergency vehicles arrived. Chief’s SUV leading the way, The Division Chief’s SUV, directly behind it – but he wasn’t driving it; my son was. So began the procession. Ambulances, and firetrucks from around the area following. On the ride down, we had already observed other responders’ vehicles along the highway: state patrol, county, sheriff, a city cop. I suspected they were either waiting to join the procession, or were simply there to provide a presence and to honor a fallen brother.

It was the day to honor and remember one of our local fire departments’ most loved and respected men.

I had never attended a fire Line of Duty Death (LODD) ceremony before, at least not in person. But I knew what it entailed and I knew what it meant to these men and women who would be attending.

As people started to gather in front of the venue, I stood there rather awkwardly, but it wasn’t long before I began to see a lot of old familiar faces. Hugs and recognition so appreciated. Pretty soon someone came out and announced it would be about 30 minutes, so this would be a good time to take care of any business before taking our seats.

I stood there a moment longer watching a uniformed firefighter standing with ax in hand stoically guarding the bus, from where our friend’s casket would be transported. It was all a part of the tradition, that would make up this traditional moving and reverent service for a fallen brother.

There at the entry was the guest book, along with photos of the chief and a copy of the poem my son had written for him when the realization of his death had hit him. I looked around the auditorium and noticed how beautifully the stage held a few remnants of this man’s life. Obviously this had been done with much love and understanding.

At precisely 1100 hours the bagpipes began to play “Going Home” in the distance. I didn’t understand at the time, but fire personnel lined the walkway as the casket was brought from the ambulance to the building. The uniformed first responders, were then instructed to find their seats before the casket was presented.

As the flag-draped casket was brought to the forefront of the stage, my husband was first to stand. And I was grateful. The room was filled with silence with the only sound being a creaking leather shoe, or a sole landing on the surface of the stage.

There would be a beautiful presentation of colors, while everyone stood silently in respect. Only the voice of the commander filled the room with his instruction for the march. So continued the solemnity of this event.

Throughout the service the casket was guarded with the men who held the ax, changing guard periodically throughout. The service is rich with symbolism and tradition, which adds to not only the respect, but the beauty. It is a reminder of all that our lost loved one has given in the line of duty - a time of thanks, recognition and honor. Above all of that, the service is a healing salve for those who remain.

We watched a beautiful video of our friend’s life and then his daughter spoke eloquently, with words deep within her. Sharing a part of her dad, continuing as she always had; sharing him through this man’s service to his community.

One of the most poignant parts in her sharing, was when she told of a time, that she was deep in despair. She told her dad, Daddy, you have prepared me well. You taught me to even be able to fight off the apocalypse, but I was not prepared for this. What do I do? His answer was pretty simple but often lost on most. “Just pray,” he responded, “read your Bible, and find something to laugh at every day.”

Pretty cogent advice, I would say.

Certainly the most moving part of the ceremony is the Ringing of the Bell and last call. And then the bagpipes said good-bye.

One thing I know, this man was always there, as many would attest to, throughout the day. One fellow firefighter took opportunity to tell us, “It was more unusual to be on a call when Chief wasn’t there, than be on a call when he was.” And he was the first to be in the mess of it all, tending to whatever was required.

From the time of his death, there was a lingering of his presence, but suddenly one would feel, and realize, “Oh wait, no.”

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

There is a magical beauty in the way these services bring all first responders together. There was both police and fire there. The often fun rivalry between the red and blue come together at moments like this.

It took my breath away as we joined the final procession leaving the area to see two ladder trucks making an arch across the road way to fly the flag in honor of this civil servant. I was deeply moved that for most of the 20 mile trek back to burial, city cops, state cops, sheriff, whomever it took, blocked the side streets to prevent traffic from disrupting the funeral procession. What a wonderful city, county, state, nation we reside to know that this kind of service would be provided. 

I don’t know if it was arranged or not, but a local tow truck straddled the center lane of the highway to prevent impatient motorists trying to enter the procession. He wasn’t about to allow it. As one tried, he simply moved to the right lane and stopped dead in his tracks to stop the disrespectful motorist from moving any further, forcing them to pull over as they should. One person in a brand new expensive car without a license made it into the procession. He eventually moved into the left lane where the procession traveled and turned on his flashers like the rest of us. But soon, that wasn’t even enough for him, and he turned off his flashers and hopped back to the right lane hoping to make an inside pass. I actually had to laugh when I saw this tow truck block his path any further. He had no choice but to move over to the side of the road. It was the only negative moment in the day, but Chief would find a silver lining in that. Of course, respect cannot be forced; but stopping disrespect can.

As we arrived at the burial site, the sun had come out revealing a beautiful blue sky on a wondrous winter day. The sun shone through the pine trees and as drops of water fell from the warming of snow on the trees, it felt like tears raining from heaven. As I looked up, there was a fine mist of water revealed in the sunlight. Just a sprinkling of tears and love, that didn’t present sadness, but rather hope. I think Chief would have liked that and he would say: “Carry on. You are ‘hope’ in the worst case scenarios. That’s your job.”

Pretty sure, there is not many who did it better.

He will not only be missed by his family and friends, he will be missed by an entire community. Here’s to those who carry on.

All of Me

I received a friend request not too long ago from a classmate from high school. I didn't know her well back then, but there has been a Facebook page created for our class and it has connected a lot of people. I really didn't know much about this person, or what had happened to her over the years. But from our class page I knew she and I had diametrically opposite view in politics. Actually, it was that way back in high school too.

I was happy to see her want to friend me, but I almost cringed. Ugh! She is going to hate me, I thought. Another one that will just bite the dust, i.e. "unfriend" or restrict me, once she sees how political I am. Yes, one knows when that happens. It is actually so strange to me, that someone would be so offended that they would restrict someone. Can't they just scroll? How are they ever going to learn anything outside their bubble, if they only see and read what they believe? That's pride. If one isn't willing to see other view points, how are they going to influence anyone, if they believe their view is so absolutely correct? Wouldn't they want to bring others along? To speak for truth? If indeed they have the truth? I don't get it.

Anyway, I'm not gonna change. It is who I am. Part of the "You do You" campaign. Or as I like to say, ur sing:  "All of me. Why not take all of me. Can't you see...." Ha! OK, enough humor; in truth, I view politics as my responsibility - even my mission from God. I am to do "politics". But back to my story. I accepted the friend request with a disclaimer in messenger to my new friend.

"I am kinda political on here,"  I told her. "You will not like my politics. We are on opposite ends of the spectrum. But I am happy to accept your request, I just want you to know up front. I will not feel bad, if you change your mind or have to restrict me. You won't be the first."

Something to that effect, anyway. It is not the first disclaimer I have given when someone asks me to be their friend. In fact, I simply do not make friend requests, myself, because I am so afraid someone will be sorry they accepted one from me when they find out I talk about "politics" on my page. It isn't so bad if they are the ones that ask and it is on them. ;-)

Anyway, the other day, I accidently posted some misinformation on Facebook. I was angry and I forgot my rule to verify every article before posting. Even my comment at the top of the post was angry and not what I like to do or how I like to represent myself. It was simply not how I like to be seen, publicly.

Well, to her credit, my newest friend who is a liberal commented on my post and corrected me. "This article is from January, 2019." She simply stated. And then politely and calmly stated what the article was about from that time. I was ELATED to get her comment. I quickly posted: "Thank God!!!!! Thank you!!! My apologies."

 And I meant it. I was so thankful she corrected me. I was even more thankful that the article wasn't in regard to what I thought it was about when I shared the post, in the first place. That would have been horrendously shocking and sad.

But truly, I was so happy she commented. And then I got to thinking. Why don't we do this more often? What are people so afraid of? Why can't we simply communicate and discuss?

I am a firm believer that one of the biggest lies from the devil in these times is "Never talk religion or politics." I have written about that before. Why would we not??? That is the most dangerous philosophy we could ever believe. How else does one ever learn Truth. Yes, Jesus = Truth. I meant to capitalize it. He is our Truth, and that old message tells us not to talk about that.

But also in the political realm, it is a dangerous message. However would we - do we learn? I have always been so discouraged by that belief. I think it was probably my dad that first taught me how wrong that expression is. "Never talk religion or politics." RIGHT!! Who learns from that???

But anyway, I was tempted to post a statement about my new friend's comment and how respectful and kind she was. We do not have to be rude, or uncompassionate. We don't even have to be argumentative. She had the facts correct and I did not. I have no problems with her correcting me. In fact, I was extremely thankful!!! I do not ever want to be the author of incorrect facts, or dissemination of incorrect facts.

And truthfully, I do not even care if she responded with a statement that was her belief, at any time. If she gave incorrect facts or truth, I would just give mine back. I would do as she did, and provide some information based on facts. It SHOULD BE OK to do that!

I simply want people to discuss! To be able to say their feelings and have a logical conversation or even debate! It's healthy and it is wise. It is how we learn. It is how right information goes out and bad information gets stopped. Ideas and thoughts are birthed in discussion.

It is my firm belief, that because we have been so trained, or shamed into being quiet, that our nation is in the shape it is. Our faith cannot grow in silence. Right thinking cannot grow in silence. We are neglecting our responsibility given us by God in remaining silent.

Of course there is a time we should keep quiet and keep our thoughts to ourselves, but we rely on that far too often for our own comfort and convenience. In truth, we thrive in communication. And it should be easy to do it politely.

 

 

 

 

Just As They Are

I went to my high school reunion this weekend – 40 years!  Wow, that is almost painful to say.  I remember when my folks went to their 40^th; I was totally flabbergasted at the time, when I heard 40 years.  It seemed like an eternity! And now, here I am at the 40 year mark.

I really debated with myself in deciding whether I should go or not.  I simply wasn’t sure I would be comfortable. My husband’s reunion was the same week-end and though it was out of town, he wanted to go to his as well. In the end, we decided he could not miss his after being gone from his hometown for so long. It didn’t really work out for me to attend with him. In the end, he would go to his and I would attend mine.  That is, if I didn’t chicken out at the last minute.

Quite honestly, I don’t see any of my old classmates any more. Whereas it used to be that one could not go to town without seeing someone they know, our area has now grown enough that it is extremely rare for me to run into anyone from school. So, going alone, made me a bit nervous. Our graduating class consisted of about 350 people, I knew there would be no where near that attending, and I wasn’t sure if any of the “kids” that I was closest to would be there. I am not the most outgoing person in the world, so I knew it would be difficult for me.

There would be an afternoon cruise around the lake to begin the event. I decided I could do that even if I sat alone and just enjoyed the view…maybe no one would notice me.  If the cruise didn’t go well, I would simply skip out on the dinner.

I was, after all, most excited to see the kids with whom I went to grade school.  Our grade school was out of town, and we didn’t join the rest of the kids at the high school in town until our freshman year.  We were known as the “country bumpkins” in those grade school years.  I think when we finally joined the rest of the class as freshmen, they found out we weren’t so different after all. But those bonds from grade school have always seemed to mean the most to me.

I was glad I had decided to attend.  I really did have a wonderful time and found myself surprisingly bold. I knew I had to be, if I was going to pull off this potentially uncomfortable situation. 

I checked in, and there was one of my best friends from grade school.  I knew that I would be seeing her, as she was one of the organizers. I’m sure I hadn’t seen her since the 10^th reunion, but she hadn’t changed a bit; she gave me a warm hug, a big smile and some small talk as she continued with her duties.  I had to move out of the way quickly, so as to not hold up the line.  I scanned the people quickly that were standing at the bough of the boat.  Yikes!  I didn’t recognize anyone there and no one said hello to me.  I got out of there quickly and headed inside where I knew I could grab a bottle of water.

Inside were a few faces I recognized, though I was never close to anyone. “Get in line and look like you are doing something,” I almost frantically told myself… “Say hello to those two women you know.  You don’t have to stop and chat. That line will save you, giving you a reason to be in here….alone.”

“Hi Lynn!” one of the gals replied to my hello…but she caught herself quickly, “I mean, Jan.” I laughed and moved on.  I learned that from my brother; just laugh and move on.

So, once I had my bottled water, I moved out the other end of the boat (the natural way to go) and climbed the stairs to the deck. Once on top, I scanned the group of tables quickly. Wow, scary!  I recognize a few, but would they even know who I am?  I moved through the tables, until I was just about at the end.  I decided just to approach any table - a man and his wife were seated at the table I chose.  “Do you mind if I join you?”  I was running out of anywhere to go!

“Not at all; have a seat,” the man answered.

“I’m Jan”, I showed him my name badge. Then I laughed. I knew him. He was the one that gave me my first cup of coffee.  Some of us would meet at one of the popular restaurants to visit before or after school and he had talked me into trying a cup of coffee.  “We can stay longer,” he had explained, “and it’s less awkward.”  So began my addiction.

I visited a while, and then realized I was a bit uncomfortable, so I decided to use my camera as an excuse to move on.  “I’m going to go take a picture of the gals at the check-in,” I told them. “Good seeing you.”

So out I went to the other end where I thought more stairs would be; but as it turned out, there were no stairs at this end. However, there were some people I knew. I greeted them warmly.  I’m sure I hadn’t seen them since high school or maybe the 10^th reunion, which was the last one I attended. We had all attended the same church and youth group. We visited a while, and I grabbed a photo of them. They were genuinely friendly and it warmed my heart to see them. I visited awhile and then made my excuse to move on. That’s when I found out there were no stairs at this end.

But I continued in a circle moving along the end of the boat, and around to the other side, where I ran into a couple other women that I knew.  I had never known them well, but they greeted me warmly just the same. We caught up a bit and the boat started moving. Well, too late to use getting a picture of the check-in table as an excuse.  The gals at the check-in would be moving up stairs too, at this point.  But it was ok.  The few people that I had visited with had allowed me to warm enough to the crowd, that I knew I would be ok.   I just rolled with the flow, now.  After I moved away from the two ladies, I don’t really remember who I visited with, but at some point I spotted my grade school classmates.  This would be easy, I knew these “kids” well, and I was anxious to catch up with all they had been doing. Turns out there were just seven of us from our grade school. Such a sweet communion, though, and I realized I really did love these people that I hadn’t seen in at least 30 years. I laughed hysterically when one of the guys joined us and had no idea who I was.  I’m sure I hadn’t seen him since high school. “Hi, Steve!” I exclaimed. I had the advantage; I had already been told he was on his way over to join us for a grade school photo. I wouldn’t have recognized him otherwise. 

“Ok”, he said quizzically, “You will have to tell me who you are.”

So began my laughter, “Guess!” I said like a stupid, little grade school kid. I must have been reliving my childhood at this point…He didn’t know.  I eventually had to show him my name tag.  He joined me in my laughter and immediately broke into a story involving the two of us. He remembered something I had totally forgotten about, and I remembered another side to the story…both sides were true; we simply had remembered different things about the situation. It is a very sweet memory from something that literally was a life time ago. Turns out he is a successful lawyer, and still a very sweet man.

One of the other men from our class was the son of our 3^rd grade teacher.  It was so nice to hear she and her husband - who was my 8^th grade teacher - are still alive and doing fairly well for their age.  “Remember Mykey?”  I asked him?  He had no clue.  Mykey was how his mom always referred to her keys while in class: My Key.  He was never taught by his mom, so her unique personality in class is something he was unable to enjoy.

At some point, I visited with someone that proudly told me he worked with my nephew!  “Guess who I work with?” he asked. Like I would know!

“I work with N, and he is awesome!”  He was speaking of my brother’s oldest son, and it warmed my heart to see him so excited about it.  With my brother and I only being a year apart, and attending high school at the same time, I had many, many people ask me about him. Again, it was so heartwarming…There is no one, it seems, that doesn’t think the world of my brother. Their concern and compassion was obviously from the heart – in some things, we are family. They seemed to understand, where many do not. Family sticks together; family understands when hurt runs deep.

We were on the boat two hours, but it all went so quickly. At one point I noticed a couple who really weren’t visiting with anyone. I knew what it was like to be uncomfortable, and I thought perhaps these two were. I boldly walked over to their table.  “So who are you guys?” I asked laughing.

The guy answered, “Well you won’t know me, but that’s DM,” he identified his wife.  “Oh, hi,” I replied, “Yes, I remember you, D. You really haven’t changed, but to her husband I said, “But you look familiar, too.” He gave in, and told me who he was.  “Oh, I knew you looked familiar!  I see your mom all the time!  I love her!”  That’s all it took for him to break into conversation, and he honestly seemed to enjoy it.

So dinner would work.  I would be ok.  When we moved from the boat to the restaurant, we found we would be up by the pool and be able to eat outside.  It really was lovely. We took a class photo, and had a good laugh when two of our classmates, that had struck a pose on the floor in the front of the rest of us at our first reunion, assumed that same pose for this class photo.  It seems they have posed the same way in every class reunion photo since that very first one.

We chose tables where we would sit. Again, I had to be assertive, and say, “Do you mind if I sit here?” I had no idea who else would end up at our table of eight.  It worked.  This table was in the sun, with the best view of the lake and the soon to be sunset. It was the best seat in the house in my opinion and I obtained it quite by accident.

To begin things off, the planners let off some blue and white balloons, with a few words, that I had missed, or didn’t hear. But I knew why the blue and white; they were our school colors.  I had purposely worn blue and white…yeah, that silly kid in me coming out again. I’m sure no one even noticed.

Next, they had a power presentation in honor of those of our class that had passed on before us.  It was very moving, some of our classmates that had died, were a surprise to me, but I knew about most of them. One in particular, PBW, I was especially close too – well, four or five of them, actually – and I had to wipe away tears as I watched.

Finally, RP, an amazing woman with a wonderful talent for drama and speech, gave a little talk that was in part hilarious, ending rather seriously about just who this high school class really was.  It was a time to laugh, and a time to reflect. She did a wonderful job; she really should be famous.  ;-) Upon reflection, I discovered another topic, that I think would be fun to blog. It will come next.

As we moved into dinner, I came to the understanding that we were all once again the same. We were united on this evening, though in most ways, we were lives and worlds apart. Tonight, we were united in our memories, and as a class we were united in knowing some things that only our class, the class of ’72, would know.

I won’t see most of these people again, and that’s ok. I probably won’t go to another reunion. Some of the “kids” will pass, some won’t attend again.  But this moment was nice. The reflection was sweet. We were a group of classmates in a little town before the growth, before the change; our folks were miners and loggers, and mill workers. Many of our moms stayed home. We know some things not very many others know…and it’s sweet.

Oh, by the way, when my husband returned from his reunion, he carried on and on and on, much as I have here.  I listened attentively.  I heard his mama in his voice, I heard our son.  I heard things that only his classmates know and understand. I heard his laughter at the pranks and jokes he played on classmates that at first didn’t recognize him. The car show that his class began the reunion with revealed the era. The DJ had to be straightened out, but the dinner was great. Many had changed, some had not.  He spoke of much that usually doesn’t affect him. He had connected, he had come home.

“I’m content now” he said.  “I probably won’t go to another reunion. I know they are all ok, and I want to remember them just as they are. I’m glad I went. It was good – very good.”

 A Few Of Us!

Courageous with Friends

We had a day in town running errands and following through with civic obligations. Finally finished with our duties, we were about to head home, when my son decided to use the drive home to follow through on a phone call to a friend to confirm plans they had made to go to a movie.

As I drove, I couldn’t help but hear his conversation as he sat in the passenger seat next to me.

“Hey, TB! We still on for tomorrow night?”  There was a distinct pause, letting me know Matt had made his connection and TB was answering his question.

“Yeah, the others can’t go after all.” (Pause) You’d rather go tonight?”  (Pause) “Sure, that’ll work.” (Pause)

As I listened, I could tell Matthew was really trying to get to the point and get things done. TB must have been at work or in the middle of something, because it was obvious he didn’t have a lot of time to talk. I could tell by Matthew’s responses that he understood TB was in a hurry and Matthew wanted to accommodate him.

“Ok, well I will call for tonight’s times and call you right back” (pause)

As the two men were about to finish their conversation, I heard Matt ask with surprise, “What?! What did you say, TB?”  (Laughter; hearty laughter) I was listening more intently now; I had a feeling I knew what had been said.

Courageous with Friends

“Did you just have a Courageous moment?!” Matt laughingly asked.

Bingo! Just as I suspected! TB had just expressed his affections, albeit accidentally, to the wrong person on the other end of the phone - in this case, Matthew.

I laughed, too. I loved this!  I loved that I knew Matt’s friend well enough to know exactly what happened.  I loved that I knew TB’s family well enough that I knew why it happened. And I love that my son, his friends and I all have enough in common that I understood everything simply when I heard the comment “Courageous moment".  Rather, I knew even before that comment!  I, in fact, knew (pretty confidently, at least) at “WHAT?!”

Most of you will know, too.  If not, I highly recommend the movie Courageous.

It's Just a Little Thing

Yeah, I guess I enjoy Facebook. Sometimes I wonder why. I mean one especially has to wonder why anyone who is on dial-up would even bother. It can be such a huge pain!

But I like keeping up with my friends this way, and it is an easy way to view photos. I have friends that I barely know, and friends that I really know. There have also been friends that I have found again through Facebook with whom I had previously lost contact; and that is the biggest asset of all.

Granted, there are some things that are really annoying about this social networking thing. Maybe some friends post things that one would rather not see. Maybe there are some facets of it that really wastes ones time. And then there is the little spam issues, and most of all one has to be careful of viruses. Ugh! But yeah, I do it anyway.

The other day, I received a notice in my email inbox that stated I had a post on Facebook from one of my friends. It gave me a link to click on so I could comment on the post. It wasn’t a very nice notice, but I laughed. I knew without a doubt it was not really from my friend. I knew it was spam, or a virus, and something I should not click. In an odd way though, I found it kind of refreshing that this even happened. It caused me to think about this particular friend and I simply knew my friend would never do that to me. He would never say those things; he would never embarrass me publicly like that, and he would in fact never even think those things. It warmed my heart that I could trust my friend. It made me feel good that I had a friend that I knew well enough that I knew he would never be so thoughtless. I was correct. When I went to Facebook just a short time later, the post was not there. Now had he been hacked, or if it had been spam, he would still have the ability to remove the post, even if he was not the one that placed it there, and that is what I believe happened. This friend cared enough, to not even let it remain there to be seen, but rather removed it as quickly as possible. He also cared enough to later mention it to other friends of his that also may have received it, so all would know it was in fact not from him.

I know this is a little thing, but I really like that there are those in my life that can be trusted; to know they would not intentionally hurt me. That just by judging the action or the situation, one can absolutely know it isn’t the kind of person ones friend is, nor is it the type of behavior this person would do. I have a few friends like that. I know how each will respond to any given situation. I just know.

I like that. I know; it’s just a little thing…but it’s really, really important to me.

The Sergeant and the Gentleman

Every once in a while, one hears something, that one just shouldn't forget. Ever! Thank God, for blogs! What a great way to share stories that really should be enjoyed by all.

When I got home from work, today, my son, Matt, and I sat down to catch up on things that have been taking place in our lives the last couple of days. He had been off to Emergency Services Training, and we really hadn’t had much time to talk.

He had a story to share about a friend of his, that I got such a kick out of, I simply had to share it with you. Let me preface things just a bit, first, though.

This friend is a member of Civil Air Patrol along with Matt. For those that might not know, Civil Air Patrol is the civilian auxiliary of the US Air Force. It includes a great program for youth that allows for some great experiences in community service, aerospace education, moral leadership and physical training. CAP teaches military bearing and a presence of mind that is very important for any cadet that would want to enter the military, but it is also great training with wonderful experiences for every aspect of life.

CAP also has a senior member program for adults. Both men and women participate. Every once in a while in life, we find women that simply resent being treated like a lady. It doesn’t only occur with military minded women; one might find it in any profession. An example that comes to mind - which happened recently - was when the lady Senator reprimanded the 5 Star General for calling her "ma'am".

"I worked hard for this title", she told the General. "I expect you to use it! Call me Senator," she demanded. 

I’m still shaking my head over that one.

But anyway, you get the idea. Well, this week-end, a similar experience happened to this friend of Matthew's; TB I will call him. TB is a wonderful young man, whom our family has grown to love. He is just a flat-out, all-around, good kid...and I admire the way he has been raised.

While at a CAP activity recently and while in uniform, TB held the door for a female staff sergeant. As his flight sergeant, she of course had authority over TB. Rather than thank the cadet for his thoughtfulness, she lit into TB with both barrels. "Don't you ever hold that door for me and treat me like some lady when I am in this uniform!" she scolded.

Without so much as missing a beat, TB responded, "I'm not holding the door for you because you're a lady! I'm holding the door for you because I'm a gentleman!"

Yep, "presence of mind", right from the heart.

In Honor of Our Friend

We just got word, yesterday, that our good friend Bob, has passed away. We got to know Bob when he became one of our best customers at our book store and coffee shop. Before long, he was more than a customer; he was one of our best friends. We didn’t know Bob’s family. We were blessed enough, however, to get to know a few of his friends; some that were local and some that had visited.

Bob found out he had lung cancer early this spring, and I have to confess, though I continued to pray, I had trouble mustering hope for him. When he told me it was inoperable, I was very afraid. I had two other friends that had survived lung cancer, but it was only because part of their lungs, were able to be removed with surgery.

Right away, Bob made the decision to go back to his hometown. There was a VA hospital there and he had family and friends there, as well. Though I didn’t want to admit it, I was afraid we would never see Bob again. I was right.

So what does one do, when someone you love passes away, but you have no opportunity to attend a funeral, or share memories with family and friends? I don’t want to simply let go of a life that is that important to my family with just the receiving and accepting of bad news. I have to do something to honor this life. So I will write about Bob. I hope this is a tribute to the man that he was.

Bob was in his 60’s three years ago when we met him. He was a Viet Nam Vet, and when I first met him, I thought he looked like he might have had a bit of rebellion in him. I wonder if he would say he had a good life; I don’t think so. I believe he had a scary life. I believe in his later years, he tried fervently to correct much of what had happened in his earlier life; wrongs he felt he had done, lives he felt he had hurt.  We all want to do that, don't we?

Bob had a strong and moral heart. He was a man of strong beliefs and a man that lived by his word. If he said it, you could count on it. Bob had a very creative side, and a sentimental side, as well - though I am sure he would not want to admit that part. He loved deeply, I believe; but he had built walls that would protect him from accepting that fact.

This man was always a bit of a mystery. He wanted to get to know us, but he didn’t really want us to get to know him. My husband and Bob hit it off right away. They were both Viet Nam vets and there was a bond there because of that, which was almost immediate. They were very much alike in a lot of ways and I was thankful for this friendship for both of them.

Bob could not have been kinder to my son. He always took an interest in what Matt was doing, and wanted to help with advice, or in what ever way he could to fuel and support Matthew’s projects or activities.

Our friend was a very generous person, and he liked to give gifts. Not expensive gifts, just thoughtful gifts that you knew were from his heart; and when you opened that gift you knew he had listened. He would often bring an item that Matthew needed, that he said he wanted to give to Matt, because he “no longer had use for it”. He was always the first to offer any equipment he had if my husband mentioned anything he was working on and in need of. He would often bring me candles for my store. His favorite was “Crème Brule”, which he purchased from his friend’s candles shop.  He killed two birds with one stone that way; he helped her business, too.

When things were slow at the store, Matt, Bob and I would often have discussions about faith and the Bible and life. I'm afraid Bob was very angry with God, though I think he would rather believe that God wasn't even there. We agreed to disagree, respected one another’s beliefs and I believe I saw his anger soften somewhat. He told me once that his friends back home were shocked that he would hang out at a place such as ours; i.e. a “Christian” place. I took that comment as a good thing.  He only offered respect for our values, and always acted accordingly.

Bob did not like crowds, struggled with being around people, and did not have a lot of respect for the establishment. But I will never forget the day, when two new customers came into our coffee shop and began talking to me about their lives and how they had become friends. One had been a Navy SEAL during the Viet Nam era. One was a short little oriental man, and he was very proud of the medal he had received from the United States government which he offered to show me.

While sitting at his normal table, I noticed Bob had started to listen to these two men as they talked to me, so I introduced them to one another. The conversation went a little further about the war, and pretty soon, Bob asked the smaller man, “Wait a minute! Are you a Mong?”

When the little man said yes, Bob leaped to his feet and with a rare smile on his face said, “Let me shake your hand, and say thank you!”

Whoa, didn’t see that type of thing from Bob, too often. My curiosity grew.

Now I did not know what a "H’mong" was at this time, but I knew I had just witnessed something very special. I knew this was important; I knew this was between brothers and I knew it was deep. I backed off a little bit now, and just tried to listen and learn as the three men talked.

When the two gentlemen had left, I asked Bob what a "H’mong" was. These men had Bob’s deepest respect and gratitude. They were integrated Vietnamese that fought with the U. S. during the war and they had rescued 100’s, if not 1000’s of American pilots that went down during the Viet Nam War. H’mong soldiers, on the front line of the war, put their lives at risk fighting for the United States in what came to be known as “The Secret War”. They were a Special Guerrilla Unit supported and trained by the CIA to block the Ho Chi Minh Trail. They were the toughest, bravest men he had ever known, Bob told me.

Wow, I had just learned a very important part of history, and I was witnessing an after-effect of that history. It was one of the most moving experiences of my life. Don’t care if anyone thinks that is an exaggeration. Anyone in that room that day would have felt and understood the same thing. It was awesome.

But that was Bob - hardened with all the affairs of life, but always more than willing to pay respect, wherever respect was due.

Another time, a situation occurred in the little town we had our business and I cannot write about it out of safety concerns, but I will never forget the day Bob witnessed part of it and demanded, “I am NOT leaving here until you walk down to that police station and report it.” I wasn’t quite convinced it was the issue that he believed it to be, but deep down I believed he was probably right. So I made the walk and I made the report. And I learned a little more about the type of person Bob was. The side he most often didn’t want others to see.

Bob was conservative in his politics, radical in his attitude, mysterious in his past, and private in his affairs. He was warm and he was cold. He would share only to a point, and listen forever. He would advise and provoke thought; he would offer comfort and concern, then walk away and leave you wondering.

Bob acquired much in life, and enjoyed the “finer things of life” as they say. He loved his art and his music; his animals and his friends. I believe he gave far more than he ever received in this life. He was honest and he was forthright.  He was a casualty, who became a success through his own hard work and determination. We were not there for him in his last days, but I know the Lord knows the important things and someday I pray I might know, too. He lived and he died; but he lived and died with the love and respect of my family. Though try as he might to prevent it, I know there were many others that knew Bob the same way.

We will miss this friend a great deal and when I burn Crème Brule, it will always be in Bob’s honor.
We are grateful to have known him.

Thank you for your service, my friend. I know it was not without sacrifice.

Meet Jake

For someone who writes, there is always a person in our life that is so colorful one can’t help but believe that they must have been born for no other reason than our character sketch. Our farrier, Jake is just one such person. Now obviously I don’t believe that is the only reason for his life, but it is for certain, I had to write about him.

Jake was recommended to us by a friend that had often used him to shoe her horses over the years. I will never forget her description of Jake. “He’s this big, huge guy, with gigantic, tattooed muscles and to tell you the truth, he is a little scary when you first see him; but he does a really good job!” she said. Now my friend is just a little thing, so maybe that is why Jake seemed so huge to her…I have a nephew that is 6’8”, one that is 6’5” and a son that is 6’3”, so when I finally met Jake, he didn’t seem so big to me. Scary? Uh uh. Well, maybe if I met him in a dark alley, he might seem a little intimidating.

Jake is a Sioux Indian with dark skin and a long pony tail, which without, he would not be true to his heritage and identity. Yeah, he has a few tattoos and he might be a little gruff and rough around the edges, but underneath it all, we have learned this guy has a heart of gold.

I will never forget the first time he came to shoe our horse, Lady. The people that we bought Lady from warned us that Lady didn’t typically like men. She was a lady’s horse, they said. Over time, we learned this was indeed true. We always believed the reason she took to Matt so well, was because he was young when we got her, and he didn’t yet seem like a man. But right off the bat, I knew Jake and Lady would do just fine when I saw Lady giving him soft nuzzles while he talked to us about what he would be doing. Seeing this big, tough guy reciprocate those nuzzles revealed a great deal about who this man really was.

Some of our conversations have helped us understand Jake is a man that cares greatly about his craft, but also about his customers and most of all the horses. Another time I was able to see this side of Jake was when he proudly showed us a piece of jewelry hanging from the rearview mirror in his truck. The daughter of one of his customers had made it for him offered with some kind words that caused him to hold on affectionately to that item. He proudly talked about it to us and others as well, I am sure. When Matt was younger, Matt had made a horse shoe belt buckle for Jake for much the same reasons; and Jake accepted the gift in the same manner of appreciation.

Jake is one of the best farriers we have known. He is one of the few that the local vets request due to his experience and knowledge. He is thorough, quick and neat.  He can do a horse’s shoes in about a half the time as anyone else and the horse's feet will look much better!

Like most people, he admits to little patience with knot-head horses, so I was somewhat worried when it was time to call him to come trim Skeeter’s feet. Matt has been working with Skeeter so he will become more accustomed to having his feet worked on, but Skeeter is still not quite ready to be shod. I was afraid Jake would be disappointed after being so impressed with Lady. When Matt called him, I realized my fear was in vain as Jake assured Matt he wanted to come when he had plenty of time to spend so as to allow Skeeter to get to know him. He also wanted to have the time to try some things that would help Skeeter through it. I should have known. I love to see that kind of commitment to ones job.

Skeeter was trimmed up in no time, and as we suspected, Jake recommended we wait on the shoes, offering Matt some tips to help Skeeter get ready for it. This type of professionalism and dedication is exactly what makes us so glad my friend recommended the “scary guy with the tattoos” …and the heart of gold.

Let Freedom Ring!

I stood there with the camera around my neck, listening to the roar that was hiding in the pine trees. I turned my eyes skyward knowing full-well I was about to see what it could be. As the roar grew louder, I knew it was headed our direction. It was one of those moments where one actually feels the rumble vibrate in ones heart and literally takes ones breath away. I stood in awe as a (retired) U.S. Navy T-28 Trojan Trainer flew just yards above my head. You would think I could have grabbed that camera strapped to my neck and photographed a piece of history; but instead I just stood there watching, fighting back tears that suddenly sprang up and welled deep from within the place where that rumble had vibrated. It was - as Matt had learned a few years ago - the sound of freedom; and it began our Independence Day Celebration for 2010.

For the last two years a friend has invited us to a 4th of July Celebration that he plans and orchestrates each year. His name is Mel and he was a Colonel in the US Army, serving in 3 wars: World War II, Korea, and Viet Nam. My family got to know Mel, when he became a customer at our coffee shop a few years ago. He had recently lost his beloved wife of 60 + years and he often dropped in for a latte and a visit. We grew to love him. Col. Mel was very instrumental in encouraging Matt to go Military Academy rather than enlisted, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

Colonel puts on an awesome celebration each year, opening with a bang from the black powder rifles of the CDA Muzzleloader Association, always dressed in period costume reminding of us of our nation's humble beginnings.

There is always a heartfelt, opening prayer; and wonderful music from local musicians. Usually Colonel will say a few words, encouraging us, and reminding us of the wonderful country in which we live. 

The local American Legion will present a 21 gun salute, in honor of our military that have served this country so well for so many generations.  Finally, everything winds up with a marvelous breakfast hosted by Mel at the Clubhouse.

For the last two years, due to Matt’s service in Civil Air Patrol, Mel has invited Matt to stand in Rank with the other military men that are present each year. It has been an incredible honor for Matthew, and really a highlight of our Independence Day experiences. This year, there was a Navy Officer; 2 Air Force Officers - one being a Red Beret, Combat Rescue Officer; and an Army First Sergeant; all present in Rank that Matthew was so very proud to join.

The music was presented by a wonderful group of singers and musicians that rang out several old-time Gospel tunes, keeping the audience clapping, and toe-tapping until they finished with America the Beautiful. Mel invited the children, to come out from the crowd to join him in leading the Pledge of Allegiance. We could tell this had become a tradition for many of the families, because their children - all dressed in patriotic red, white and blue - knew just what to do when it was their cue to participate.

Mel and his daughter made us both feel really special when they told us they wanted us to join them at their table for breakfast and neither would take no for an answer.  Matt and I both loved every minute of it.  We were also able to visit with other friends we had come to know while we had our book store and coffee shop, and Matt was able to visit with several of the Muzzleloaders that he knew when he was a member of that group.

It could not have been a better start to the week-end, thanks to that wonderful Army officer and gentleman who steadfastly reminds his friends each year of our nation's roots, birthday, and hard fought freedom for which we should rejoice!

Let Freedom Ring - It's Independence Day!!

Reflections - Mr. and Mrs. B.

He was a World War II veteran; she was a little English lady that still drank tea in the afternoons while she nibbled English muffins. They met while he was stationed overseas, and married before he finished his tour of duty. They had four children, a strong faith, and a good life. He loved wood working, she loved poetry. They were my husband Sam's neighbors, long before they became my neighbors; but they accepted me right away and our son, Matthew, became like one of their own grandkids.

He had to call on me quite a bit as he and his wife got older, and I know he didn't like to have to do that. But we were neighbors, we were friends and we lived just across the street from one another, so it only seemed the natural thing to do. Matthew was just little at the time and I have to admit that there were times interruptions could be difficult, as I was homeschooling him. But I never told them no; and now all these years later, I am so thankful that I didn't. It is bad enough living with the guilt that I wasn't always cheerful about helping them. I never let them see that though.

I remember one day in particular, Mr. B. was apologizing for having to call us once again. I could see it really bothered him. He was so independent and they both had done so much for other people throughout their life, it was hard for them now - especially Mr. B. - to have to ask for help. Anyway, as he stood there on the porch and I started to walk away, he gave me another apologetic thank you. I quickly responded, "Are you kidding, Mr. B? This is the least we could do for you, after all you have done for us." He looked a bit surprised, so I continued. "Remember all those times you brought your snow blower over and made sure our driveway was cleared of snow; and all those times you watched out for us when Sam was out of town?" I will never forget his response. His head went up, his chest went out and he stood a little taller with a big smile on his face. "Oh, that wasn't anything," he replied. But I could tell a thank you from me and reminder of what he had done for us, was exactly what he needed to hear that day. It made him just a little bit stronger once again - made the burden of now requiring help, just a little bit lighter.

That was such a lesson to me. We all just need to be needed. We all need to be appreciated every once in a while. I remember for years I had a sign on my refrigerator with a quote by Arthur Gorden that said: " 'Compassion' - Why wanting it so much for ourselves do we so often deprive it to others?" Don't know. But what I do know: neighbors like these two, are few and far between.

They gave my son a wonderful understanding of what a "neighbor" should be. They praised him and taught him and gave him gifts. Mrs. B. made us morning muffins and brought them to us warm, wrapped with love. She sometimes shared secrets and she sometimes shared poems. Mr. B. shared history and knowledge and strength. They both shared their life; they both shared their love.

I love them and I miss them.