The River, Part 3

From the days of Huck and Tom, rivers, for many, have symbolized escape and freedom. This has been the case for me, I realized. Yet this morning, as I began my walk, things were different. On Saturdays I start a little later and go a little farther. Normally, the third of a mile through our little town which takes me to the Maury River is what must be endured to gain the vistas and beauty and escape found at the river's edge.

But for some reason, this morning that all changed. It was a bit lighter outside, and people already stirred about. Rather than silence and slumber-born stillness, I heard the sounds of small town life. A hammer struck somewhat rhythmically as a part time renovator got an early start on what promised to be a long day. I heard dogs inside, insisting to groggy families that it was, indeed, time to get up and get moving. I heard the symphony of crickets and morning birds and the bass of traffic simply added to the melodious mix of the morning. Intermittent lawn mowers provided an opaque percussion to the morning's harmonies. Even the basso profundo of an occasional semi-truck just brought depth to the heady mix.

And then, just as I was beginning to notice and hear and really listen, I was engulfed by the wondrous aroma of bacon and eggs cooking. Who knows from which home it was emanating- it just filled the neighborhood and spoke of home and love and sacrifice and good old time family breakfasts. I realized that this beautiful little town was not one which gave cause for escape. The sights and sounds and smells of this morning brought me home again and helped me feel peace.

As I did get to the river, I was still struck by its beauty. The river takes several gentle, graceful curves as it glides by our town, almost as if it's saying, "Wait a second....this is nice....let's slow down and enjoy this a bit." It snuggles up against us and cradles us into small town Americana. It does move on to the larger James, heading off to Richmond as so many of our young sons and daughters do, but first it relaxes and enjoys the moment it has here in this peaceful haven.

As I scanned the river and pondered my small epiphany, I met an older gentleman, walking a brand new puppy on a much stronger than needed leash. He urged and taught and spoke to the puppy as if it were his newborn child, in a constant stream of niggling encouragements and corrections. He broke from his canine counseling to look up with pride in his eyes and say, "Good morning, partner." I had never met this man before in my life, but this morning, I was his partner. I gave him the biggest smile I could muster, looking with admiration at his companion and back to his eyes, and replied, "Good morning, sir." I hope that in my glance and smile he felt my sharing of his pride.

I continued along the long slow curve of the river, and saw another form approaching. He too, was clearly enjoying the sights of the morning, but as he jogged closer, I realized he was my good, good, friend. "Hello, Scott!" "Hi Joe!" and he jogged past. Yes, he's as jogger- I'm a walker, but we're still friends! Yet with these two people, one a close friend, and one a new friend, I shared a brief bond which made the morning walk so much more pleasant.

I did my river loop and re-entered the town, pacing past businesses about to open. I realized that I knew just about every owner of every business- some quite well and some not so well. But we knew each other. We shared the gift of this small town and the magic that makes us wave to everyone we see and not feel the need not lock our doors- car or home.

As I prepared for the climb up the hill which acts as the capstone to my walk, I noticed the churches- 27 at last count- in a town of 6,000. That's a whole lot of religion going on! Perhaps that's what makes us even more quintessential of small town life- the good, good people who choose to live there. I also saw another friend loading a lawn mower into his car after having already mowed an elderly lady's yard. I'm sure he was unpaid, but I know he was very appreciated.

At the base of the hill I saw a flurry of activity. Sure enough- a yard sale and the deal bandits were already out- making the scores of the day and already preparing their war stories. "Well- she was asking $3.00 but I got her down to $2.25!" A family was loading the camper for a weekend trip- with a good deal of tension- "Get that stuff in here Nay-oh-wuh!!" (Yes, in some places in the South, the word "now" is polysyllabic.) Personally, I thought the trip did not bode well for the family, but good on them for trying. I hope it turns out beautifully. Finally I headed up the steep hill, and as I lumbered up it, I heard a voice call out words of encouragement. There she was- a good friend and former athlete I'd coached - urging me on from her balcony. We laughed and I moved on- a bit more quickly, with a bit more lightness to my step. I do love small town life.

Yes this small, serpentine river we have is gorgeous and mystical, but it is not an escape. It enriches and enhances the beautiful little town which it softly caresses as it wanders through the Shenandoah Valley. I love that river, and I love this town.

Fear Not

I know there will be fears
As man can be a weak and shallow thing.

But I say unto you, "Fear not."

For as the sun rises each day
And rivers amble to the sea.
As the tulips are reborn in spring
So you will be with me.

And herein lies my truest joy.
For I, love, will thus be with you.

The Bridle

Your patience with me has been phenomenal.
Wordlessly enduring the fears and questions.
Supporting, defending, consoling and comforting.
Bridling passions to allow passions to flow.

My grandfather's old pasture horse didn't do much.
He had seen his best years, and mostly just chomped slowly,
Tail swishing languidly to swat a persistent fly.
The irony of the bridle was his.
In restraining- he was set free-
To romp and play and run and feel-
To Be.
But with the bridle off,
He quietly resumed his slow chomping.
Not daring to live.

The Airport

Our eldest daughter finished her summer term teaching duties and decided to come out for a visit. She rode to Virginia from Utah with a friend who was beginning medical school at MCV, and then had a week or so to be with us. We stayed up late talking, rehashed old times, visited the relatives, went out to dinner, and just had a glorious time.

When the time came to head back to Utah, we had arranged for her to fly out of the Raleigh airport, the closest to her grandparents who live in Fayetteville, North Carolina, so she could have a chance to see them before heading back out for the fall semester. (Yes, the obligatory grandparent visit....)

We arrived at the airport uncharacteristically early, got Elizabeth checked in, and called the grandparents on their cell to see where they were. They were an hour away! As we walked back to the main terminal to wait, we saw a police lady on on of those two wheeled people movers. Granger, the eight year old, thought that was very exciting!

So we get back to the baggage claim/lobby area, and I have everyone sit down, while Elizabeth and I went to scout out where exactly she would be going through security, etc. Just as Elizabeth and I walked through the airport concourse, we saw the police lady again, having just arrived at her destination. She was saying, "Sir! Sir?" And then we saw him. The older gentleman had obviously arrested. His gray face contorted in an open-mouthed grimace. His left hand and fingers were similarly contorted. And he was quite obviously dead. No doubt. We must have been among the first on the scene, because there was no other security or other people around. We moved along and let the police officer do her morbid chore.

We found the security gate and then went to walk back to where the rest of our family was sitting. As we reached the scene again, they were just beginning to ask people to go around and not have any pedestrian traffic in the area. I sat down with my family, and, in a few minutes, saw a nice middle aged lady run in the doors of the terminal, obviously, or so I thought, late for a flight. She ran to the left and right, and then I heard her wail as she found her father. My heart rent in her sheer and utter agony.

Her sister had met their father just earlier that day in the airport. The family was meeting there to go down to the Outer Banks for a week at the beach. Her sister had said to their father, who was fine at the time, "You sit here, and I'll go get the luggage." While she did that, he quickly and quietly passed away. The only reason we know that, is that we offered to help the family- in particular the sister who had gone to get the luggage. Her sobs filled the airport, and, for some reason, the two sisters kept missing each other. One would be taken to an ambulance, one to a chapel, etc.. So she had been left alone. She was quite distraught, and no one seemed to be helping. My kind wife just went over and offered a hug, and which she readily and completely accepted.

Emotions ran high as the afternoon wore on. Finally the grandparents arrived and we had our obligatory visit, strained as it was by the circumstance. In due time, Elizabeth went through security and to her gate, as the terminal- even the word took on a whole new significance- returned to a more subdued normalcy. Crowds dissipated, officers moved on, families found solace in one another, and a solitary body was finally wheeled in to the airport chapel.

I learned three things from this experience. First, I learned that no beach trip, or day in the country or even a sacrosanct round of golf will stand in the way when it's time. We can't choose the time we leave this earth, and it may not always be the most convenient. Frankly, we'd better be ready and grab life with the gusto of an young man driving his first car while we can.

The second thing I learned has to do with the previous post. What was initially disappointment gave way as my anger rose towards the crowds that gathered to gawk and whisper and stare and point. Parents led their children and got as close to the cordoned off barrier as they could, as if Tiger was getting ready to tee off and they might miss the opportunity. I came very close to asking everyone to disperse, but my children urged me to remain quiet. We had retaken our seats waiting for the grandparents, and were facing the other way. It truly does seem that, for some people, life is just one big reality show- one more chance to catch people at their worst or most vulnerable. "Come see the dead guy!" "Watch the grief flow freely!" "Today only in the Raleigh Airport!" My heart ached to see this horrible time for this family made a cheap sideshow by the gapers and intrusive onlookers.

The third thing I learned was another testament of the tender mercies that so often surround us. Had my family not sat down to wait for the late grandparents, all of my children, including our 8 year old Granger who may not have the capacity to deal with this sort of trauma, would have been first hand witnesses to the event. As it was, it was the first time Elizabeth had ever seen a dead person. I had before, but his contorted visage was discomforting even for me. I am so grateful that they were spared that. I am also grateful that they could learn a lesson about how NOT to act at the hands of the crowd and how TO act at the hands of their loving mother.

When we were first dating, we used to go to the local mall or airport, just to hang out and watch people. That has taken on a whole new meaning.... Life comes at you in ebbs and flows, at various times and in various ways, and you need to be ready to deal with it yourself or to help others deal with it. Whatever you do, don't be one of the gawkers.

What Kind of a Question Was THAT??

So I'm sitting quietly in church yesterday, trying to mind my own business, as has been my habit of late, and a friend sidles up to me and asks, "So..... are you keeping the weight off?" I'll let the reader chew on that for a minute while I give some background. I began a serious weight loss campaign in mid June of this summer. Since then, in two and a half months, I've lost right around 30 pounds. I call the program, of my own creation, EBL/EBM for Eat Better and Less; Exercise Better and More. My ultimate goal is to lose another 20 or so pounds and then rebuild my body and keep it in shape. I've been very judicious about watching what I eat, minding portions, and I'm working out six days a week. So far things have gone quite well, and, while I've still got a bit of excess weight, I feel SO much better and, I hope, look better as well.

So this guy asks this question, and I guess my reaction was a bit obvious. He quickly added, "Or are you still losing?" To which I replied, perhaps a bit curtly- "Yes- still losing." He then kindly added, "You're an inspiration to my wife and I." But I could never get away from that first question! Why do people relish so much the failure of others, that they almost wish it upon them?

I AM still losing weight and I WILL meet my other goals, but questions like that just irritate me. It reminds me of the classic Don Henley song, "Dirty Laundry." "It's interesting when people die- give us dirty laundry."

It seems that so many in our populace now crave the failure-- no crave to to be a witness to the failure- of others. Reality shows flood the airwaves; tabloids scream at you from the checkout stands; and there's not a lot of local gossip about the GOOD deeds Mrs. Jones did last weekend. Why can't we savor the success of others rather than froth at the failure?

While I know not many people read this blog, I'd like to challenge those that do to congratulate someone today on a job well done. Give them a sense of encouragement and accomplishment and let me know, if you wouldn't mind, of the reaction you get. Perhaps we can begin to "pay it forward" and create at least a little ripple of encouragement and genuine esprit. Let's learn to encourage those around us and ask the NICE questions!

30th Reunion vs. "Boring"

Last night marked my 30th high school reunion. The shindig took place three and a half hours away. We had considered going, but opted not to.

I went to my 25th college anniversary last year. As I recollect the weekend what mostly comes to mind are sad thoughts. I like to think that I have changed quite a bit since my college days. (At least I HOPE so!) But as I reunited with my friends, so many seemed about the same. The language, the thoughts, the college humor, sophomoric sex tales. Excuse me, didn't we get off that train a long time ago? Do I really need to hear about your college sexploits? Geez, does your WIFE really want to hear about them? I remember that all I wanted to do was get home to my family. I spent too many of my college days and nights cleaning up literal and figurative messes after my drunk friends and roommates- I had no desire to do that in my forties.

So we opted to NOT go to the high school extravaganza. First, most of the people there I had not seen in 30 years. I delicately sent a list of my close friends and asked who, if any , were planning on attending- only one. Not enough incentive for 7 hours in the car.

Instead, we went out to lunch as a couple, went with the kids to the local college football game, and then took them to the teenage social event of the weekend and then watched a movie at home, together. As we watched and talked, my wife commented that, though our little town may seem a bit boring and the weekend's festivities were not those to write to Town and Country about, they were all she needed in the way of social endeavors. "Give me my family and small town life, and I'll be happy." I realized how right she was. All in all, it was a lovely evening wherein every person in the family felt fulfilled and happy.

So rather than an ephemeral and strained reconnection with a host of long-forgotten friends, we opted for real and present continued reconnection with family here and now. It was, I think, the better choice .