Campfires and '56 Fords

It was cold. I lay in a fetal skrunch on the front seat of our family car. I could see my breath when I poked my face through the layers of blankets. The windows inside the car were fogged, but I didn't get up to look out. I wasn't going to mess up my cuddly cocoon.

The door of the car opened with crunching sounds. It was not the hinges of that old Ford, but the snow under my father's foot steps. Pop's voice came in a low rumble as he began to drag the covers, with me in them, out into the bright, cold Rocky Mountain morning. "Come on son, I've got the fire going for you. Come be with me by the fire." I was glad he got me and when I noticed no one else around, I felt special. It was bitter cold, but my dad had made a fire before he got me out. I like my dad.

As I sat there getting toasty on the front side and frigid on my backside, I noticed another portion of my bodily function had awakened as well. "Oh no!" I thought, "I'll have to leave the fire and walk the snow into the woods!" I resolved to just hold it as long as I could. The gentle low rumble of my father's voice interrupted my squirming thoughts. "Come on, let's take a pee." Wow, my dad said the "p" word! Momma said I could not use that word. Well, we were alone so I guess that was guy talk. Better than that, he tossed me up over a shoulder and lugged me to the woods so we could decorate the snow together. That wasn't all that easy for I was seven and had lead in my bones. My mom had told me that a number of times. Dad was a small man at 5'3", but he was very strong and toting his youngest was no problem for him. It was cold but it was also cool. I like my dad.

When we came back toward the fire others had begun to stir around. My mom was doing something with pots and pans and making noises under her breath. My teenage brother and his school friend were laughing as they went over by the gurgling creek. It was iced over but there were spots that the water flowed around. They were brushing their teeth and getting the foam all over their mouths and hands and down on their wrists. They were actually having fun brushing their teeth! I didn't know that was possible.

Momma's murmurs awakened into a bark in my direction. "Go brush your teeth little one! And don't make a mess like those two owl-hoots!!" I just looked at her with my mouth agape, wondering at her capacity to douse moments of coolness with embarrassments. I had not done a thing but was already in trouble. I also thought how unfair it was that my mother could read my thoughts. Dad had somehow disappeared and the moments of menfolk, warmth and Pee-Caso in the snow had ended. Now we were on Momma-time and I was the primary male figure that HAD to mind her.

I like my dad.

IT ALL STARTED WITH A LEMON

Kevin leaned over our table and spoke softly, "an anonymous couple has given $20.00 toward your bill this evening and asked me to say how much they enjoyed dining in the same area as you two." We looked at each other and remembered the lemon.

It was Valentine's Day and dinner out was the extent of this year's celebration. My wife had been particularly busy and did not desire deliveries or gifts, but was very open to not having to cook. We went to an Italian place nearby and found they had a 75 minute wait. It dawned on me that the preferred language did not include the phrase, 'over an hour'. Artful articulation adjustment not unlike children that take years to grow out of months. "Oh, he's already 27 months old." uhhhh, back to lemons...

My sweet love noted an empty spot near the bar so we wove a path thither. After I had ordered a glass of wine and attempted to settle into a waiting siege when she observed some people getting up from a nearby table. "Go get that table." she urged in a forced whisper. I grunted a little resistance as I began to move over to the table. I assumed the fullness of the establishment would render all available tables to the wait list. If I hadn't obeyed my wife I would certainly fell prey to the ol' assumption rule. However, Cholocate Day had given me a booster shot of cooperation.

Turns out that the five or six tables near the bar were up for 'dibs'. So the 75 minute wait was reduced to about 5. I love this woman! We ordered some muscles as an appetizer, tasted from a new bottle of wine and enjoyed the day, our company and the grace at which we had overcome an interminable wait. Our generous appetizer arrived sporting a huge hunk of lemon in the center. I noted that it longed to be squeezed upon the surrounding sea creatures. So I gingerly picked up my butter brothed yellow condiment and tried to squeeze. But it was too large and I was holding it too lightly trying to avoid completely baptizing my hand in the warm broth. So I added a digit to the two already assaulting the citrus and put some grunt into my squeeze.

Two things happened nearly simultaneously. The first, barely noticeable, was a couple drops of fresh lemon juice dribbled into the previously seasoned broth. The second, and several eyes noticed this, a giant yellow hockey puck flew from my hand, and shot diagonally across the room landing with a sklishhh, in the center of the dining area.

My first amazement was that the projectile did not hit anyone as it flew through the crowded room. Light laughter lofted from a few nearby tables and I noticed three or four pairs of eyes upon me as I tried to slurp off any evidence of the incident from my butter-guilty fingers.

My lovely wife laughed along with the strangers and said, "you'd have thought it was a hockey puck. We're glad we didn't hurt anyone...heh heh heh". I noted a sense of relief as my dear partner claimed joint custody of the moment. After 35 years, I've experienced several moments in public that she was perfectly willing for me to have individual ownership. It felt good to truly share this slapstick moment together.

Dinner went on wonderfully after that. No spilled wine, no dribbles down the front of my shirt. I did note a glance our way a time or two and thought they might be looking for an encore from the orchard. As we finished our dinner and Kevin delivered the secret message, we just nodded around the room with smiles at any eyes we might connect with.

A really special Valentine Dinner for two, including wine and lavish desert and plenty of left overs... and all for less than if we had fast food at a drive thru, and it all started with a lemon.

FRIGID FACE FORWARD

The longing for Spring comes at different times to different folks, but it comes. The longing may come so late as to hit the dead when they notice Spring blooms only available on slides. Others long for Spring before Fall is finished, thinking to skip Winter all together.

With means, or large loans, there are those who skip Winter via multiple dwellings in various climate zones. Some walk winter's white waiting while wishing water wings wiggled wondrously in the warm. Yea, some get a little "W'd" in Winter. Spring beckons and draws our face forward.

No more profound time of Face Forward than 11:59 PM on December 31st. It is called New Year, but the energy of the moment is truly New Beginning. New, get-it-right-this-time, beginning. Since our youth, the electric moment of last year ending and this year beginning has been something to loose sleep over, literally. Face Front. We look over the past year, but only to let go of it and turn to the unknown possibilities of what lies ahead. After its short death, the seed may root for a while downward, but only for the purchase to secure it in order to spend the majority of life's energy pressing upward. Amazingly, it reaches deeper so that it can grow higher. Face Forward. Face UPWARD. All have certain cells that, by design, desire to align to light. The more suppression, the more muscle to break through. I took a short cut across a huge parking lot of a closed business. I was walking and started to be amazed at all the plants that had broken through the black-top and seemed to be thriving. Some might call them weeds, but I was thinking of them as life. Living plants, breaking through from beneath and from above, but tearing up that man made crust. Face Forward. I walked across an enormous parade ground. I was on lunch break and headed across the field to find some private place for my break. I became aware of so much space around me that I found my private place in the midst of a parade ground. I read awhile, ate a light lunch, and eventually lay down to rest in the Mid-Spring sun. The field was newly cut and I could see the fresh cut tops of blades of grass. I had a flash of feeling of the violence each blade encounters when mowed. Then of the billions of blades. I wondered at the brutality suffered to produce order in another life zone. I gazed down through the chopped grass, beyond the dead bodies of the blades, and saw tiny new sprouts reaching forth in the shadow of elder brothers. Face Forward. New Life. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall. Winter, SPRING, Summer, Fall. Winter, SPRING, Summer, Fall. Face Forward. Face Forward, we don't need no varmint rodent to broadcast our longing for Spring. Just wait a spell, rest a little, take deep breaths, keep warm, read a little more, Spring IS coming.

QUADRUPED KITE FLYING

It is a most excellent invention. Well, for dogs at least. The retractable, 16 foot leash is nearly freedom for a collar-bound pooch. Who needs to heel a K9 when you can reel? Of course one need recognize that 16 feet is the radius and the same leash has a 32 foot diameter and a Pie-R-Squared moving mess of panting tongue, wagging tail, whizzing poop and pee anywhere in the midst. Heel is starting to look better and better.

What if a brave, (ig'nant*) soul multiplied this equation by two? In other words, walked two pups on two separate 16 foot retractable leashes, thus creating two 32 foot diameter moving circles of joy. Joy for the quad's. You don't mind if I call them that, do you? For the quads it is fun most of the time. However, after particular macramé movements there are incidents of strangulation. But, for the most part, the dogs have a great time.

What of the brave soul? If you make it home with both pets, neither strangled nor run over, then you're trooper. It is not really like flying kites. It is more like mercury on a string. Perhaps, it is like sentient mercury tied with two strings, moving in circular arcs, in between legs, round about with sudden stops and evacuations of solid and liquid waste by products. Did I mention the plastic poop gloves?

However, when all are walking in the same direction with no line entanglements, you have a thing of beauty. People gawk out from their passing automobiles. Pedestrians pause with cuddly words of praise and puppy affection. This is often when the macramé sets in. Ahhh, how can I express the beauty of the thing? It may be fleeting, and I have a new respect for that word, but the movement of two precious pups, constrained just a little, is, well, it is art! hold it a minute I'll, Woahhhh..arghh.. , hold that thought,

d.e$#@ .. dang, cord... well, come here and you won't strangle ,hey, come back here, don't you see your sister is choking.... dan#$%@@!!.. ok, ok.... HEY....get out of those flowers, ok, now, join your sister, it'll be ok.. Hey #@$&&8!!.. the button. the button, press the dag nab button!

I forgot to mention that this wonderful invention has a button on the handle that enables the human host to restrict the leash to lengths UNDER 16 feet. It is most useful when you remember to take advantage of it. Ok.. one dog is dragging the other one under her hind legs. I’ve got to come back and pick up that poop I missed.

I'll sign off for now and see you UP the road.

[ * ig’nant = to dumb to spell ignorant ]

GREEN SNOW WINGS

In Iowa I learned that snow angels turn green when Spring begins to creep under the cold.

I was on my way to school and this, this eye gouging green grabbed at my face. Yes, I was a kid and No, I didn't think like that. I did feel it, though. It might have been the angle of the morning sun hitting the slope of the yard. It is also possible that color deprivation caused my visual cortex to scream at this genesis of Spring color. I don't know the reason. I do remember the green. But that is not all.

When images of afflictions placed upon the tardy loosed my eyes from the baby grass, I proceeded on the half block to school. Looking back, over my shoulder, I abandoned attendance once again. From several yards away, virescent radiation outlined a shape that had once been a snow angel. An angel that I had made. I was stunned by the emerald beauty but realized that I did not do the making. Oh, yes, a month earlier I had laid down and flailed arms and legs and got up with giggles. But I didn't make the beauty in the moment of its beholding. Something bigger made that.

It melted in little ripples of nausea as the tardy bell began to ring. For 50 years it lay hidden. Then, about a year ago, I walked around the building that once was my elementary school. Very little had changed. Too much of what once was play ground had grown a black crusty shell of parking spaces. Some flowering bushes and a few trees had graduated and gone on, but other than that, I recognized so much that I was overcome. A flood of sliver memories. Sliver, not silver. You know, it is just a sliver of a window on a nano second in a play ground...

Looking over where the soft ball field use to be, beyond to the corner where I stood road guard, and a little further, catty-corner across the street, I saw the sloping yard. The fluorescent angel flew back into my tattooed memory of Spring Green. I stood there and wept for joy, thankful that Father keeps His glory moments from eroding in the gray matter of human clay.

I was going to talk about why we face front in the Winter, but my angel caught my eye.

See you UP the road.