In rememberancs of..

 Cutting the cemetery always makes me reflect. Today, was no different. Usually, I'll reflect on how the family is now, what it used to be like back then.. Etc.. But today, my mind went a different direction. 

With each name, came a memory.. One name immediately brought back the stories he would tell. A man, who couldn't read nor write, but a man as big as this world, who was a master at life lessons. He had been there and done that... Another name, brought back memories of me as a kid, looking up to him, wanting to be like him. I wanted to hunt like he did, jingle bullets around in my pocket while by a campfire, spitting my dip of snuff into the hot coals.  Another name brought back memories, not of the man, but of his wife who lost him right when they had finally achieved everything they had worked for.. and how her Faith to this day, still sustains her. A man who I have heard nothing but good, and I wish I could have known personally.

One American flag and an urn, reminded me of a man with many talents, book smart, world smart, could make a lighter knot grow, and name most trees, flowers, birds and animals.. A well traveled man. A quiet man.. But, a fine man. 

Two names, I remember greatly, but not them. My grandparents... Whom I lost before I was old enough to know them. Another name, who folks say I remind them of.. Not of his brilliance, but my talking fast. They say I got it from him.. I am honored if it's so. 

My point is this.. With each name came a memory, not a possession. I didn't think about the truck they drove, the house they lived in, the land they owned, but of how they treated me, or what others have told me. Their whole life boiled down to a 3'x6' piece of land, a nice tombstone, their name, and a story untold unless you knew them. 

When we are gone. What will your name mean to others when they hear it spoken or when they read it... Kindness? Resentfulness? Thankful for having known you, or glad you're gone? 

In this life we have but two things we truly own, that no one can take away.. Our name, and our word.. 

What has your life said about you??

Beautifully broken.

 I have always had a knack for picking up on small things.. And for the most part, can see a good person pretty easily.. Not by their words, but by their actions. Same goes for a bad person, or one of questionable character.   It's a vibe I get. It's always been strong and probably one things I am most thankful for - intuition Simple things, like the way a conversation goes.. the evasiveness of an answer, the number of excuses, answering a question with a question, a glance away.. Or just overall disconnect with small talk. 

Sometimes, I am surprised by letting my guard down to quickly That's fine though. I learn quickly and will not adjust the "me" because of  the one, and ruin the chances of many.  Having said that, never take someone's trust for granted. It is one of the hardest things to earn, and yet one of the easiest things to lose. Don't abuse it. 

I heard it put once like this.. "Take a plate and throw it down onto the floor. Watch it shatter. Can it be fixed and glued back together? Yes. Will it ever be the same as before? No. Do you understand?

But then a friend told me of an old Japanese  art called Kintsugi, which roughly translates to “golden joinery,”. It’s  the Japanese philosophy that the value of an object is not in its beauty, but in its imperfections. Crack are filled with gold, to illuminate the brokenness  and show the beauty - despite the break. I prefer that stance. If a broken clock can be right twice, if a broken crayon can still provide color, then a broken pot, can still serve a purpose as well. 

The smell of memories.

 Lawnmower Chronicles 

Little did I know when I wrote this, How quickly things would change, and how now, we have another dog to love on, and sniff "sunshine"..

I've said for a while now that if anyone wants to know what sunshine smells like, it's simple. As soon as your dog comes in from laying in the sun, grab them up, bury your nose in their fur and take a deep breath.. Sun warmed fur off a dog, is what sunshine smells like. 

At least to me. 

But I was thinking last night, that it's more than that. It's memories. It's memories of a dog named Bandit who use to go hunting with me. It's how he smelled.. While squirrel hunting on an oak ridge in Holly Springs, late January.. Cold fur to the touch, but warm to the face and smelled like fall.. Like cold sunshine.. It was cold. He was my hunting buddy.. We kept each other warm.. I was a boy.. And he my buddy.. We took care of each other, more times than not, we wrestled instead of hunted. Every boy needs a hunting a dog. What they hunt, doesn't matter, even if it is just trouble.   

It took me back to a dog named Beasley.. Who came into my possession in an unexpected way.. Out of the blue she showed up.. Smart dog, well taken care of. We were in the middle of a neighborhood football game. She had to be someone else's dog.. We put an ad in the local paper, lost dog, and two weeks later, it was answered. A man came to claim MY dog.. I was bawling... He knelt down and told me "buddy, I'm on the road all the time.. She is always getting out.. She loves to play and I can't.. I don't have the time... But if you will let me come see her when I can, you can have her.."... 

DEAL!! Beasley was mine!!

After school she would play football with us.. She wasn't much of a receiver, but she could tackle with the best of them and when it came to baseball, she could catch like no other and tackle whoever was running ball or not! She was a tackler. 

It reminded me of her always walking me to the bus stop in the mornings, and then meeting me there at 3:30 to walk me home in the evenings. She didn't need a clock. She knew when it was time for me to be home. That smell of welcoming warm fur reminded me of when I told her bye. The time for me to leave home had come for reasons I couldn't understand, but I knew I had to.. I couldn't carry her with me, she had to stay.  It reminded me of the phone call I got years later from my brother, telling me he had buried her.... I never got to tell her bye, or thank you. For reasons I'll not go into, when I left, there was no going back. 

Oakleys smell reminds me of other dogs I've had.. Bailey, who I had for 14 years.. How when I hugged her and took a deep breath, the smell of her.. Her love.. How proud she was when she found a deer we'd been tracking. Or, just how she smelled when she wanted a hug or loving... A rattlesnake took her life.. I held her until it was over.... 

Memories of my little man, Rimshot, of almost 9 years.. He was an old soul, even as a puppy.. He didn't trust many, but he loved us, he trusted us and he protected us.. He didn't weigh but 7lbs.. But in his mind, he was 10 feet tall and bullet proof... A heart attack took him peacefully. He simply laid down beside his mommas feet one day while she tended flowers, went to sleep, and never woke up.. I didn't get to tell him goodbye... Another phone call I'll never forget. 

Then came Paisley.. A hard headed heeler/basset hound mix.. Full of life.. Beautiful.. Soft fur.. Wrinkles and flabs of loose skin like a hound has, but the smarts, speed and loyalty of a heeler.. Chewed on anything. Shoes, pine cones, lighter knots, everything except what she was supposed to... But at one roll over on her back, belly up, totally submissive, knew she'd get away with it.... Then the licks all over the face and clumsiness around your feet was her was of saying "I'm sorry"...

On my birthday, I found her floating in a mudhole... Victim of a car.. Taken way before her time... She was 2.  

I had intended this to be uplifting and talk about how sunshine smells.. But it took a different turn. It's how memories smell. It reminds me that everytime I get to hold my dog Oakley, I squeeze a little harder, and breathe in a little deeper, because one day too, I will tell her good bye, and will want to remember how she smelled as well...

Sunshine and stubbornness. That's her.

He knew Momma before she was Momma.

 Lawnmower Chronicles 

I don’t believe in chance encounters. God directs our paths.. so there is no “chance”.  

On my way to town a few hours ago, I saw a vehicle pulled off on the side of the road with an old man leaning into the back seat, looking for something. Down here in South Georgia, on a warm spring day, that usually means he is looking for something to either shoot, or beat a rattlesnake with.. 

“Sir, is everything ok?”

“Yeah, just looking for my crow call!”

Yep, it’s getting that time.. heard any gobbling?

“Nah, I don’t turkey hunt.. I just shoot crows.. and I know, season ended two weeks ago, but I still like trying for’em.. 

Inside I laughed. “Bless this old man.. out here all by himself.. being a rogue!”

We started talking about crows, turkey, quail,  how the perch were biting, how big the redbreast were.. etc...

Mind you, I’m parked in the road, and he’s standing at my passenger door, leaning into the window.. 

Calloused hands.. leathered skin..hunched over back... crow-feet cornered eyes from years of squinting... or smiling.. and a voice that boomed. I’d assume he’s yelled over some equipment in his lifetime and it just stuck with him. 

He wore overalls.. straw hat. Reminded me of my uncle Clyde.. their old bodies told the same story, though uncle Clyde was soft spoken.  

I even told him “you remind me of my uncle Clyde..used to live right down...”

“Yessir! I knew him! I talked with him many’a times.. great man! He had some kin folk around here... matter of fact, I  think they buried one of them last week. Name was  Mitchell..”

Yessir. We did. I’m kin to them. 

“No way? I knew Mitchell from the store he owned up there in Zaidee!”

Yessir. That was him. 

“He was a fine man... had a bunch of brothers and sisters..”

Yessir, there were 12 of them total. 

“I remember he had a baby sister... went to school with her. Man, what a fire cracker she was! Always fighting, getting into trouble.  She didn’t know her own size.. a hellcat. She’d fight anybody.. didn’t matter big or small. But what a sweet heart.. if she was on your side, you knew it.. and if she wasn’t, well son, ya sure enough knew it...  I heard she moved off shortly after school, towards Atlanta.. oh, about 1970’ish.. and years later came back. I ran into her at a lil’ ol’ store down in Lyons years ago... she ain’t changed a bit! Same laugh! Same attitude, and she even gave me a hug and told me she loved me... even though its been, hell, 30 years or so since I’d seen her...and son, let me tell ya.. she was still a pretty thing.. nothing disrespectful.. just callin’ it like I see it... she was a pretty lil thing back in school too! Seems all her sisters were! Coal black hair.”..

Yessir...... ... (holding back tears)

“Her name was Janice... ya know her?”

Yessir.. but I didn’t call her Janice, I called her “momma”... 

I choked up while saying it.  Couldn’t help it..  for many reasons. 

“Well son, I sure didn’t mean to hurt ya.. why didn’t ya say something? I heard she’d passed away a few years back..”

She did. And, you didn’t hurt me. You’ve spoken highly of her, and I just wanted to listen to ya talk about her.. 

He proceeded to tell more stories of momma, before she was “momma”. 

For an hour I was parked, truck running, in the middle of a two lane asphalt road.. passing a beautiful spring day with a beautiful old man.. 

Neither of us in any hurry to go anywhere... until his phone rang and it was his wife wondering “why the hell wasn’t he home yet!?”. ☺️

Old women are protective and worry about their old husbands when they go off to do things by themselves! 

I shook his hand, introduced myself, and drove off with him saying “yeah baby, I’ve been standing right here talking with.......”

The world needs more old men like that..... I pray our paths cross again.

Friends and small towns

 Lawnmower Chronicles

While sitting in the parking lot, soaking in this beautiful day, I noticed an elderly man helping a young lady load her groceries. Neither had masks, both were laughing and cutting up. 

They just met. He was on his way in to the store when he saw her start to load her car.. “young lady, you need some help?”  It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t an offer, it was more of an order as he proceeded to help her. They carried on the conversation for a few minutes after the car was loaded, and when done, she thanked him with a smile and hug.. 

She either needed it, or he did, but they parted ways, both smiling.  A day made better by a chance encounter. 

Then I heard a young man yell to another man as he was driving by.. 

“Jim!! Does your wife know you’re out of the house?!”

“No! And if you tell her, I’m gonna come by your house!”  

They both laughed.. 

The younger man yelled “it’s ok, I’m here with Carol!” And then proceeded to ask for prayers. 

I’m not sure who Carol was, but it seems she was a handful... which is probably why the young man was outside .. “waiting on a woman”...

A stray cat roamed the parking lot looking for handouts or dropped goodies....  I then saw a dog round the corner doing the same thing. Only he was panhandling from the couple enjoying their lunch on the outside bench. 

He’s been here before. He knew the easiest way to get food... offer a happy tail and puppy dog eyes.  It worked, they fell for it, as most probably do... Softies. He knew it. 

When he saw the cat, he started walking towards it.. ears perked, tail wagging. 

I’m expecting the cat to take off running, but it didn’t. It started walking towards the dog. They greeted each other by touching noses and then sniffing each other. Then both trotted off together... looking for food. Teamwork. 

Seems they were friends and had met before. Probably doing the same thing as today.

Living. And being content with where they were and who they were with. 

My mind then went to the situation of today, yesterday and what tomorrow may hold...

It doesn’t matter.  While most of the world is in chaos and worry, life still exists in small towns... and people are happy.  Even the dogs and cats. 

No matter the results of the election... God is in control. 

We are alive, today... and that alone should be good enough.

Fifty

or,  25 twice…