WAITING FOR

What are you waiting for? I remember those words coming out of my mouth; looking up at my son, standing at the end of the diving board. People were lined up on the ladder behind him, waiting their turns. He had jumped off earlier but something wasn’t right and he danced a little anxiety dance, trying to drum up some courage. Finally he lay down, grabbed hold of the edges at the end of the board and slid over the side. There he hung, grasping the end of the board with his legs wrapped around it like a little monkey, clinging to its mother. Then he let go his legs and dangled for a while, looking down those ten feet to the water. Whether he lost his grip or let go of choice, you couldn’t tell. But the splash was less than spectacular and his swim over to the ladder lacked the bravado he had brandished climbing up the ladder.  He was 6.

What are you waiting for? Same words, different situation, many years later: I was thinking and it was a monologue. In the Midwest, seasons change on a predetermined date but it takes a while for the change to manifest itself. It’s well into Spring and the grass is green but we had ice on the glass yesterday and the breeze had a cutting edge that would not have made me notice in Dec. or Jan. Maybe there is a difference between waiting for something and just squatting in a warm place. Whatever the difference, I wasn’t excited about doing anything. 

By 8:00 a.m. I’m back from an hour in the pool and breakfast is either in progress or past tense. I didn’t feel like reading or writing or going somewhere so I trekked down to the basement and set to straightening up and putting tools away. My latest project was complete and it would be impossible to start a new venture on the cluttered work bench. There was a short piece of a door jam, too short to make something but too good to throw in the scrap box. The scrap box; full of good wood, just too small or not enough for whatever I was doing at the time. So I dug around, sanded some and sawed a little. A little glue and drill some nail holes: a couple of hours later I had a bird house. As is my custom, there were no measurements made nor taken; everything by feel and intuition. This morning the sun was warm today when I got home and the bird house was sitting on the bench. That must have been what I’ve been waiting for. A quick paint job, a bungee cord and we have a vacant wren house in the Tulip Poplar, in the back yard. Maybe I’ll make another one soon; don’t want the Bald Cypress or the Maples to go unoccupied. 

SOMETIMES

Sometimes you can’t wait to go to sleep, so you’ll wake up soon and meet a new day. Sometimes the long list of things to do is exceeded only by your enthusiasm. Sometimes you catch yourself smiling for reasons, too many to shuffle through. Then there are times when all you think about is coffee. It’s like in the water at 6:00 a..m. with a mile and a half to go: you know the last lap will be great but you don’t swim any faster. Sometimes you keep on putting one foot in front of the other just because. This is one of those times. 

Last December I visited a church in Dayton, Ohio. The building was on the edge of an open field where thousands of blackbirds scurried around, pecking here and there, looking for food, finding shelter and security in large numbers. That’s what blackbirds do in winter. Inside, the stained glass windows were aglow with sun light as we churched. Then we heard a muffled, rustling, whirring sound that had nothing to do with worship. Blackbirds had taken off in mass. They were flying in tight formation, so close we could feel their wing beats. It was a huge swarm that seemed to be going nowhere. You could see dappled shadows streaming across the opaque windows as they flew from left to right, then right to left. Up and down, around and around; the side windows darkened with only ripples and flashes of daylight at their passing. It went on and on, for a minute or more. 

I’ve seen the swarm phenomenon before but never so close or experienced it from inside a building. They flow like an airborne river, first one way, then swerve and dive, only to reverse direction and come around for another pass. The sound was too much to ignore and they were so close you could see individual shadows flash by. The congregation kept churching, right through the din of light and sound. I wanted to stand up and shout, “Hey, let's hear it for the blackbirds.” Did they think there was a hymn in the book or a prayer that could top that: I don’t think so. It made my day. 

So here I am today, feeling like a blackbird. I’m just shuffling around in good company, waiting for something to stir inside my head or my heart that will give me wings. Daylight is coming back, dawning sooner and dimming later. I’ll keep swimming early but one day soon I’ll wake up like Bill Murray, in the movie Ground Hog Day and know that it's time to fly..

DOWN TIME

West Michigan -This time of winter it’s easy to think about Florida and a warm breeze. I know it sounds good but I still hang onto the frosty morning and snow crunching under my feet. I went for a walk in the woods today. The sun was just bumping up behind the trees and last week’s snow has a thick crust on top so I can walk without sinking to my knees. Blackbirds are all heading north again, breaking out of their mid winter swarms, looking for a mate. Spring peepers will be out as soon as the ground thaws. I’m in no rush. 

This winter has lacked luster but the down time has its own rewards. I’m not very motivated yet but I can hear the highway calling. I’ll make time for a nap this afternoon and then start checking air fares and road maps. 

SAY CHEESE

I have always liked snow, in the air and on the ground. Something about snow crunching under my feet and the way winter’s earthy hughes retreat under a pristine, white blanket that gives me peace. Snow that piles up on my sidewalk and driveway can be a nuisance but it’s a small price to pay. I’m lucky, my driveway slopes down to the street and I can push it down to the curb: then it’s a short throw into a heap, out of the way.  I usually have to go to Michigan to get my snow ration for the winter but Kansas City just got its first meaningful snow in several years. I’m getting too old or too lazy maybe; only cleaned off one side of the driveway and a narrow path from the stoop across the patio. 

A few years ago I got the idea of photographing trees throughout the year for a calendar. But snow was hard to find and at least one winter scene should have snow. There is a gorgeous tree that I have been admiring for years, up north of the river. It’s on a Seminary campus with easy access. I kept thinking it would make a great winter study but without snow, it’s just another naked tree. Then, on Thursday, we got more snow than we wanted. In the first hour it snowed 6” and then tapered off for the rest of the day. We got over a foot of snow on the ground and for all practical purposes, Kansas City shut down. 

Yesterday, Friday, I started working my way north. Side streets were still clogged but I made it to my morning, coffee group and then through the city, across the river. After parking in the Salvation Army’s lot, I had to walk in the street as the outside lane in both directions was only half clear and the berm along the curb was over waist deep. With camera safe inside its case, I rolled across the snow and struggled to get my feet under me. I knew it would be deep and I’ve bucked deep snow before but that was when I was still leaping tall buildings racing locomotives. 

There was a man with his little kids, sledding on the hillside between me and the handsome Sycamore. I finally got to the right spot, with good light and background; changed lens’s and took a few shots. The light was so bright, my eyes so constricted, I couldn’t see the image on the screen. The man and his kids had moved out of the way and I moved down hill to a spot I thought would offer the best view. More photographs; all I could think of was the disappointment I would feel if I didn’t get at least one terrific shot. The long drive and bucking snow, struggling up hill in waist deep stuff; it was incumbent on me to just keep taking shots, all angles, near and far. Getting back to the car wasn’t any easier but it was down hill. I was covered with snow and inside the car it began to melt. 

I dried out in a local grocery store and had to hurry back across town to make an appointment at the Apple Computer Store. I down loaded from camera to computer, culled through nearly a hundred photos and kept nine. One of the nine will have to be good enough. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance like that. 

Blood's Thicker Than Water

After about three weeks, anywhere, I start thinking about the road. It’s been three weeks and as much as my house needs me and my stuff needs order, I find myself checking maps and destinations and interesting ways of getting from here to there. I’m in the middle of a project in the wood shop and have an adventure planned with my granddaughters for week after next so I can’t just drop everything and run off. But my wheels are turning and it will happen. 

Today took the edge off my wanderlust, at least for a while. I have two nieces by my little brother; one lives about an hour’s drive away, but whom I seldom get to see. The other used to live in Florida but followed her heart to South Korea and I haven’t seen her for a while either. Today, they were hanging out together and I got to join them. Terry is the taller, world traveler while little sister Julie just appears to be short. Nobody in my family can tease any other about a vertical challenge. My mother used to say, “It doesn’t matter how tall you are as long as your feet reach the ground.” Not that it bothered us but there is a logic buried there that is hard to resist. 

Isn’t it great when relatives turn out to be more interesting and appealing than newly coined strangers? That’s what we rediscovered, again today. Time flew by and before you could shake a stick: that’s another of my mother’s famous quotes, it was time for me to leave. But I’m going back tomorrow and we’ll laugh some more and be so happy that we have each other. There will be plenty of time to juggle maps and itineraries for a yet to be planned road trip. 

IF I COULD FLY

Sitting in a coffee house is nothing new for me. Today I’m at CC’s, on Coursey Blvd., in Baton Rouge. It’s rained more here in the last two weeks than it rained all of September in Halifax; and they set a record then. It’s really flat here, almost no gradient so with nowhere to go, the streams and bayous just fill up and run over. But I got to spend some time on the beach, over on the Florida/Alabama coast. Cloudy or not, a warm day on the beach is better than any rainy day in a coffee shop. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s a thousand black birds, rising up in close formation over a grain field or a lone pelican, riding an updraft like a surfer on an endless wave; they all get my attention. I’ve loved birds and wings for as long as I can remember. They’re all special but the ones that left me open mouthed and wide eyed were the ones that soar. They find columns of up-rushing air and hover there like an acrobats, hand standing on top of a flag pole. Most times, they are either too high or far away to see much. But on the beach they are feeding and it brings them down, suspended over the shallows, maybe just a few yards away and low enough to see feathers spread like fingers, flutter in the wind. 

It was windy; gulls would find a good spot and hang suspended there for a while, then float off to one side, turn back into the wind and take off like a kite. The sweet spot wouldn’t stay vacant for long: like a game of musical chairs, they took turns there. I watched a gull arc up in a climbing loop and streak away. Looking back to see who would take its place, I was amazed to see a big, heavy bodied bird; too big to be a gull. No mystery, just a surprise: pelicans are unmistakable. This one did a little fan dance there that stretched from 10 to 20, to 30 seconds; enough time for me to hatch the idea, reach around for my camera and check its settings, take time to steady myself and frame the image. Shutter-click and pelican rotated its wings just enough to act like sails and rebound up and away as if on a long stretched rubber band. Saints have visions, Prophets have revelations and Moses had his burning bush. I have close encounters with birds; wouldn’t want it any other way. 

SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE . . .

Nine stories up, looking out over the balcony at Alabama’s sandy shore and the warm Gulf, lapping up on the beach. It’s New Year’s Eve with about six hours left to celebrate its passing. The plan is to wander Gulf Shores and Orange Beach, listen to music, sip a little vino and not eat too much. 

Funny how we single out today and tomorrow for the sole purpose of wrapping up one story and beginning again, fresh and new. I find myself celebrating the end of every day, even when I get bad news or break things. They are milestones that, at my age, take on more and more significance. The wake-up is equally sweet, with bed-head and stiff joints I smile at myself in the mirror. We get to play this game another day. But 2012 has been a remarkable year. Besides multiple road trips to Dallas, New Orleans/Baton Rouge, Chicago, Michigan and Ohio, I spent three months in Nova Scotia: swam a couple of hundred miles and lost twenty pounds. My doctors are all happy with my numbers, my friends still talk to me and every day is full of Story & Music. My children and grandchildren are well and I have a delightful new daughter (Pete & Betsy married on 12/21). So for tonight: Here’s a hand my trusty friend, give back a hand of thine, we’ll raise our spirits and the cup, for days of auld lang syne.