Manly Maturity

In a world of constant motion.  Days turn to weeks, weeks turn quickly to months, time moves rapidly.  As we near the month of September, this Fall feel is different from others in the recent past.  A damp coolness has settled over the valley and in the high mountains you can find anything from late summer flowers to snow on the peaks. 

Today was a day of unsettled weather.  As if it was grieving the passing of summer, the sky was grey and the winds turbulent.  In the high mountains, the wind could be heard from a far distance.  Rushing, rumbling like a freight train in search of its destiny.  The tree tops rustled and were tossed to and fro as the violent burst of quickness disturbed everything in its path.  Pine needles rained down on the road as we reached our destination.  Hunting was top of the leader board for our agenda today as it always is this time of year.  However, there was different urgency as the need to care and honor our parents was on the forefront. 

 

 

 

My "fine figure of a man" had spotted a cedar tree, down, strategically placed for easy wood getting.  Maturely, hubby and Trevor had secured a wood cutting permit.  So prepared.

The log was still in its place and with manly fortitude, hubby and his brother began the process of getting a load of wood.  Rod, large saw in hand, cut the log into 16" rounds.  Hubby set out to cut these rounds in half.  Surveying the scene, I assessed how I might be of assistance in this manly situation and determined that I would work the half rounds down the hill toward the road.

Maturity.  That's the word that crossed my mind.  Previous wood cutting expeditions with these guys has, at times, yielded different results.  The truth is that full rounds roll to the road much easier than those with a flat side.  The interesting thing is that the full rounds don't stop in the road out of courtesy to those who are working hard to take winter heat home.  They pick up speed, skip over the bank, light once in the middle of the road and keep on goin'.  It's a tough day of  wood cutting when even a couple rounds head for parts unknown by way of the bank.  Maturity.  Manly maturity has shaken hands with these fine men and victory was won when we left our isolated mountain road wood lot with all the rounds we sent off the hill.

On the way out, hunting was once again on the top of the agenda.  Conner, Rod and hubby took a hunt in between the roads.  I was the driver.  "You know what we are up to?"  my "fine figure of a man asked.  "Well sure"  was my reply.  I knew I was expected to drive down, around the switch back and pick them up on the lower portion of the road.   I waited a little bit before starting the heavily laden wood rig and heading down the road toward my destination.  The spot where the road angles back and heads the other direction was a corner I recognized from many previous trips.  I pulled out on the wide spot, pulled out my notebook and pen and started to write.  Pretty sure I got lost in the textures and depth of the varying species of green, lush trees.  Just enjoying my little bit of extreme quiet as the world seemed to melt away and the rush of life came to a halting.  The constant motion I spoke of earlier was now the rush of the wind and the falling of the pine needles. 

Figuring I should be moving toward our meeting place, I once again started the pickup and headed down.  Along side the road was Rod and Conner with the puppies.  Sitting as if they had been there a while.  Where's my man?  He headed down the road in search of his lost pickup.  Nope.  Not lost.  Just delayed.

Bunco Days

Tonight I got together with some dear old friends.  Back in the day we played Bunco together once a month.  Over the 10+ years of dice rolling, candy eating, loud talking, prize giving memories, we shared births, deaths, laughter, silliness, good and poor health.  There were silent votes, days we couldn't have bunco (because it was Flag Day) and baby showers.  These nights were always filled with sharing, caring, advice, head shaking moments.

Tonight was a reunion of sorts.  With 8 of the 12 in attendance, we had dinner at the pub to share the warmth of our forever friendship, to catch up on how many grandchildren everyone had and to reconnect after many years of the casualness of seeing people around the valley.

The pub was busy.  The talking and laughter, deafening.  We had a lot to say and a lot to laugh about.  Do you remember....  came up a lot.  Do you remember how worried Mr. Z was about us when we all loaded in Marsha's van, rolled out, filed into the store?  He knew all of us.  Worked with some of us.  Taught some of us in the 5th grade.  It's a small place we live in. 

We lost one of our bunco members some years ago.  Kathy was a dear sweet lady.  Quiet, always had a kind word to say.  A couple of us have lost loved ones not so long ago.  It was nice to be with friends who were compassionate and thoughtful. 

Our friendship and memories will be cherished forever. 

Fall Movement

 

Fall is upon us.  The dampness has turned to wet and the sunshine of summer has faded.  I can almost count on two hands the number of times my walking partners and I have abandoned our lunchtime ritual due to high moisture.  Today might have been one of those days.  But it wasn't.  Here we are at the top of Pioneer Street, standing in a circle.  Contemplating.  Do we turn back?  The thick raindrops were pelting us, discouraging us from our essential daily routine.  Naw!  I needed that walk today.  It'll be okay.  So Jenn and I switched coats because mine had a hood and I didn't care if the rain soaked my head.  At least I'll know I got out of the four walls of my office and went for a walk.  Drowned rat was talked about but I said I don't look like one anyways.  Ha ha.  So we continued on, up.  Around the corner the rain was relentless.  "Lord"  I said.  "You've given us so many days of sunshine, where are you today". 

Lament.  The word came up in a sermon I watched last night.  Pastor Rick Warren was talking about loss, grieving and how to successfully get through the tough times.  Lament.  He said it was to "cry out to God" and that it is a form of worship and is one of the steps to walking through grief.  I shared this with my walking partners, my authentic community.  As we gained elevation, the rain subsided.  We were relieved.  Our walking was quick and steady today as if we all had renewed energy.  As many of our days, our conversation was a time of sharing and reflecting. 

I don't know when the rain began again, lightly; but it had to have been on the down stretch.  None of us minded at that point, we were doing what we do every day and the air and talk of Jesus gave us an extra lift.  One of the things Pastor Warren said is that "God hates loneliness".  Pretty sure that is why He gave me dear friends.

Frosty Breath

God's creation is amazing.  This past weekend I spent time in the "high mountains".  High mountains as in thick, fresh air.  High mountains as in views of splendor where tree tops dot the horizon and birds sing a chattery alarm.  We set out from our pickup.  It was dark.  It was cold and damp.  The ground was covered with wet grass, bent over, tops touching the ground as if to say they were happy to lay down as Fall approaches.  Tired from the hot sun.  Tired of low moisture.  Just tired and ready for a change of season. 

Making our way through a creek, up and over the first ridge, the day was starting to lighten.  In the deep forest, the light comes from above and works its way down the tall, majestic timber.   My son and I went up toward the bluffs, high on the hill while my "fine figure of a man" took the low spot.  As we increased our elevation, the light was filtering to the ground.  No match for his long strides, young lungs, he would stop and wait for me.  Honor.  Such honor for his momma. 

High on the hill is just a description.   So high on this steep mountain ridge that I felt like the tree tops were looking us in the eye, waving to us.  Looking over the top of this tall timber was only surpassed by looking across the deep canyon to the mirroring of the sister side and realizing the vastness of our world.   I asked Trevor "how tall are these trees?"  "Probably 200 feet tall momma" he replied.  It seems as if they were dancing like nobody was watching, singing as if the words were passed from generation to generation.

The bluffs were sheer and craggie. The hillside steep and the forest floor deep with pine needles and shed branches. The benches timbered, gulches gurgled water to feed the thick brush and the rain turned to snow.  Quiet.  Only the breath of a worn out soul was audible. 

We sat beneath the bluff long enough for me to unlace my boots, fix my socks that wanted to create a blister, and re-lace.  Down and around we ventured.  In the next gulch, there was a spot where the hillside flatted into a benched canyon.  With rain pouring down, dripping down my rain hat, running toward the ground by way of my forehead, nose and chin, I was unable to take a picture of the most amazing tree I have ever seen.  Maybe it struck me amazing because of my journey.  Maybe it struck me amazing because of its stature and greatness under what I would term as a look of sorrow.  This tree was tall and seemed to slouch from the weight of the dead branches and green moss that covered it from the top of it's head to the tips of the branches nearly touching the forest floor.  How could a tree that seemed destined to topple over at any moment from deadness seem so sturdy and full of life?  A tree that stood tall under its years of adversity, under the cold winter snow and summer heat and continual high winds.   As we continued on around the hill, I was overwhelmed with a  feeling that this special tree knew a journey of love, blessings, sadness and sorrow.  I glanced over my shoulder several times at this new friend and as if to say "I'll be back".

I reflected on a poem that was in my devotional a few days prior.  It went:

I walked a mile with Pleasure,
She chattered all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.
I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne'er a word said she;
But oh, the things I learned form her
When Sorrow walked with me.

For me, what seemed like a day of traditional hunting and hiking turned into a deep and meaningful morning with my boy in a forest of life.   So blessed.

Tradition

Family tradition.  Interrupted.  Life so different but still every bit tradition.

To look backward. Complete.  Sweet.  So very sweet. 

 

Opening weekend.  The smell of mountain air, thick and heavy.   Lofty smoke from a camp fire.  Sneaking along.  Open spaces.  Tall timber.  Steep mountain faces.

 

All about family and the time you spend together.

Thanks for the memories!

 

Blessed

Tonight we went to dinner at Grandma Lewis' house.  She wanted to cook a big Thanksgiving style dinner for her family.  We sat down at the table, preparing to say grace.  Papa asked Trevor to bless the food.  A bit uneasy about that request, he said he thought Papa should.  "Naw, I'll be too emotional".  "But I have to say that I am thankful to have Jake's feet under our table.  And I'm thankful to have Trevor's feet under our table" Papa said in the biggest voice he could muster.  At that point Trevor knew he could say grace.  "Bless...."  Yes, Bless.

Dinner was like going to the Hometown Buffet.  Choices.  Lots of them.  All very delicious.  My 95 year old Granny sat between Trevor and I.   She paced herself.  She wanted to try everything but soon had a plateful and I don't think she had much hope for finishing it all.  But she kept going, small bite after small bite.  She looked over at Trevor's empty plate and back to her own.  "You gonna eat with me?"  she asked with a grin.   He grinned back.  "I'm pretty full Grandma".

I sat and visited with my Granny.  At age 95 she is still very spry.  Her theory in life is "motion is lotion".  Even at her ripe age, she is still very active and has her morning chores of feeding the horses and her one bull.  Her garden still produces enough to even feed the sheep.  She told me that her bedroom window faces the highway.  At night if she opens her eyes she sees lights on that highway.  "You know, one night I counted 17 cars during the middle of the night.  Where do you suppose they are going?"  "You're supposed to be sleeping Granny" was my reply.

She spoke of having her first child at home.  It was an accident.  The home birth; it was an accident.  Uncle Clyde came in a hurry.  No time to get anywhere.  "We were so stupid" she said.  "We didn't know anything".  Uncle Clyde turned 75 today.  "I guess it worked out okay".

She talked of her sisters and their last days on this earth.  She talked of growing old and how she's okay with it as long as her mind is still good.  She talked randomly of grandchildren and their children.  She told me to never grow old.  "You have to keep walking"  she advised. 

I could feel her protectiveness that I've never felt before and a gentleness that has ripened with age.  This is the same "I'm not gonna cry with you" Granny who 18 months ago just wanted to fight through the pain with a tough heart and a gruff exterior.  Her eye sight is dimming but she reads lips better than she actually hears.  She has killed a lot of bucks in her life.  Walked many miles in the mountains while taking cows to their summer supper place.  She's just a pretty good gal.  One of a kind for sure.

It was a very nice evening.  With the feeling of Fall in the air and lots of garden harvest to fill the table, we are a blessed family.  So blessed to have relatives and their feet under the table for dinner.

Thanks for dinner mom!  Thanks Easter Bunny.  Bock. Bock.

Outside Looking In

Years ago we lived in a medium size house.  Three boys, mom and dad.  Our pattern was to come in the back door from the garage, kick off our shoes in the small hallway by the laundry room or come in the back door.  Whatever door, there was a shoe bone pile.  As the older boys grew, so did their shoe size.  In a small house, 5 pairs of shoes is quite a heap when a couple of them wear size 13 and 14.  One day I was standing on the back patio.  Upon a glance inside, I scanned through the windows and I can still remember the feeling.  I had men in my house.  It was such a realization that my kids were growing up.

This weekend has been filled with the larger than life family I belong to.  As I watched my middle boy run away from us this morning, effortlessly, like a low flying stealth, this momma's heart swelled.  My oldest son was so sweet.  He stayed behind, to run a little, walk a little and talk a lot. 

Yesterday we spent the day together.  Part of our day was at a car dealership.  Certainly not a favorite place for me.  Always stressful.  Trevor is back in the States and needs a vehicle.  So he did a test drive with a limpy, car salesman.  When they took out of the parking lot, I wondered if our young man who has been driving on the left side of the road for the past two years would stay in his American lane.  We all chuckled at the thought of the car salesman clinging to the dash, yelling "get over!"  After a short while, they returned in one piece.  You always know what is coming when you dicker to purchase a vehicle at a dealership.  True to form, the boss came out to "get down to brass tacks".  "I'm gonna treat you like an employee"  he said.   We all wondered exactly what that was supposed to mean.  No pickup.  Still looking.

Tan and Michelle did a good job showing their little brother the town they now call home.  Lunch at the Bend Brewing Company.  An in-town construction detour in the nice "old" part of town with houses I wish I could take home.  A photo shoot at Tumalo Falls.  Costco.  Safeway for Starbucks. Growler Guys.  Chicken Ceasar Salad.  Giants game on the big screen at home.  Culminating the evening with James Bond.  Sweet day.  Sweet sleep.  Miss our sweet boy.

This morning Tanner and my "fine figure of a man" are playing cribbage.  Keep in mind that we are a competitive bunch.  Tanner starts with a "kick fanny" hand.  Got the turn.  He says to his dad "Welcome to the advance game".  Ha Ha.  The competition is on.

 

For Kicks

Today there's a lot in my head and heart.  Forgiveness, I told a friend.  That's where it's at.  Keep the wound clean.  That's one of the first things I learned after I lost my precious boy.  So every day I pray and stay close to Jesus so that the disinfectant for my soul is constantly applied.  Lathered on.  Deep like a canyon are the wounds and He is the ointment.  Free of blame and hardness.  Free of dust and crust.  Keeping it healthy so the healing process can happen, completely.  Memories....not all sweet... at times....gather in the recesses of my mind.  Entertained.  Not pushed to the depths.

I heard recently..... live like you don't mind if the drawer is open.  When there's open drawers, all is seen.  Not sure I'm completely there but that's the direction of this lady. 

Ran a legit couple of miles with friends last night.  It was fun but the calf cramp was not.  Made me tired and gave me a satisfied feeling.  The jury is still out as to whether I'm really a runner, jogger chick but it feels productive and gave me a moment of clarity because I was breathing too hard to catch my breath that not much else could enter my mind.  LOL.  Really, that's funny.

This morning on the way to work, my "fine figure of a man" and I were talking.  Mostly random subjects.  The last few mornings we have been fixing smoothies for breakfast.  You know the kind, frozen blueberries, strawberries, kale, cucumber, cottage cheese.  A new adventure for us.  Drinking this grayish liquid is a challenge.  This morning I added a fresh, quite ripe tomato.  Needless to say, my man about had a run away.  It wasn't quite what he had in mind.  I told him "what?  You've never had a V-8 before?"  He talked about a V-8 kick his mom went got on one time when he and his brothers were young.  She insisted they drink V-8.  They insisted they didn't.  Okay, she consented, "at least try it".  So they tried it.  And they were sure that they weren't drinking V-8.  We laughed.

So I talked about the time my mom went on a bran muffin kick.  You know, when you make bran muffin mix in a gallon jar, store it in the refrigerator and make bran muffins every morning for what seems like ever.  Makes me laugh just to write about it.  Not that the bran muffins were bad because I actually enjoyed them a lot more than the pancakes, it was just the thought that as a mom I can relate to this sort of thing.  These kicks you get on.  Who knows why it happens but as I look back, it makes me smile.

Probably the only kick my family didn't mind me getting on was when I'd make a selection of desserts.   :)

Higher Air

It was a day filled with family.  Eastlick family breakfast at Danielle and Morgan's.  Hall of Fame dinner and awards.  We got double our money.  Both mine and Grant's dads were inducted into the Scott Valley Hall of Fame tonight. Congratulations to a couple of great guys!  The generations of ball players in our families since their high school years has been awesome.

Tonight my "fine figure of a man" and I took the puppies and headed up.  Up to overlook the valley floor below.  There are times when the need to get out of the "valley" overwhelms me and just being in a spot to overlook the fields of various shades of brown and green is what I need.  Psalm 23 has spoken to me for a long time.  "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death".  It's real.  It's hard.  But mostly I believe that walking through the valley is a season and one of these days we will be in the hills, standing in the gap. 

As darkness descended upon the view and in the hills, the tears flowed.  Release.  There are just some times when this momma's heart just needs a good cry.  Sitting in the darkness on this warm summer evening, knowing that Fall is coming quickly and time marches on, there is a knowing, once again, that Hope is in Our Maker.

So I think that my need for higher air is just an indication that healing in is in the wings and gives me a glimpse of what is to come.  No matter my elevation, I will keep looking up. 

The Fruits of Labor

Choosing to be thankful.  God's love, like the never ending circle of a ring.  Continuous.  No start. No End.  Today I felt pressed upon to be thankful.  Thankful for family unity that has come from something unimaginable.  Thankful for a summer of sunshine, planting, harvest.  Thankful for the filling of vessels and the ability to give away ringed goodness in a jar. 

Step 3.  Blackberry Jam. 

Step 4.  Blackberry Syrup. 

It seems that in life, good things come out of intense stretching and heat.   Take jam and syrup for instance.  In our family, we separate the juice from the seeds.  The crushing process causes intense stretching of this juicy fruit.  The heat breaks down the juices while blending all the ingredients to create a masterpiece.  Just like the trials and tragedies of our lives.  If we let Him, Christ will take our adversities that stretch and take us through the fire and refine us. 

Isaiah 43:2-3 says "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you.  When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior."

This passage has gotten me through many dark days; just knowing the intenseness of life may surround me but He will not allow them to over take me if I hold onto Him.  Pretty sure I'm still waiting for that refinement but knowing it exists, whether in this lifetime on earth or in the Heavenly realm, keeps me looking up and moving.

In the meantime, we'll continue to do Step 1 and Step 2 (pick the berries and make berry pie) and continue to live on God's promises.  Thankful.  Yep.  Thankful for all the blessings He bestows upon us daily.

 

Duly Hacked

It was a memorable weekend.  Nice. Long. Busy. It was the weekend of Oregon visitors here in Mugginsville at camp one bathroom.  Tanner, Michelle and Rueger got here on Friday night.  Always nice to see the dynamic duo and the little side kick puppy.  Sister Rosie (no, she's not a Nun), Randy and Ryan arrived Friday night as well, blessing mom and dad with their company presence.  We all had a dinner, after dark on Saturday night.  Papa and Grandma almost starved out.  However, the Blackberry pie was delicious. 

Take a houseful of company, both young and old, add electronic devices plugged into all available receptacles, and you might get some tom foolery.  Yep.  It happened here in Mugginsville.  Hacking.  Facebook.  I'm sure you're putting it together.  Smart phones.  The need for a flashlight that doesn't seem to exist at our house.  A very creative app for a flashlight.  Amazing what is available these days because someone was smart enough to create a phone with apps to do just about anything.  Pretty sure that guy is quite wealthy, leaving most people with a monthly bill while he is cruising the world in his yacht.

So, Aunt Rosie, being the trusting soul she is.  Trusts her 12 year old nephew, Braden.  He's such a nice boy.  All clean cut, no piercings, no tattoos.  Hair all property groomed.  Hard to believe that he would "hack" her facebook.  Wow.  But he didn't stop there.  Michelle was had as well.  Foolery, tom foolery.  Most people in the room were shaking their heads.  Who would do such a thing?

Labor Day was a bit of everything.  A bit of coffee with our creamer in the morning.  Sourdough pancakes with blackberry syrup.  An exhiliarating bike ride from the top of a steep, long hill for the energetic men of the family.  The petting of the doe-doe (Emma's name for dog).  The opening and closing of the door because most two year olds love things that could be harmful if not done properly.  Green bean picking.  Milling around.  Fend for yourself lunch.  Hugs and send off for Tanner, Michelle and Rueger.  A late afternoon drive to the Shakleford Trailhead without getting run over by a pickup and horse trailer (We decided to give him the benefit of a doubt.  Pretty sure he had lost his brakes).  Another late dinner because we could.  Keaton's commercial break.  Whew.  Bedtime. 

It appeared that everything went really well this weekend considering the number of family members in a small area.  When my "fine figure of a man" and I left for work this morning, there were sugarplums dancing in the heads of my sister and her family.  Slumbering they were.  The rooster wasn't quite as vocal as the night before so I trust they slept well.  I would imagine they had some creamer with their coffee, packed the vehicles, picked up my house and headed to Bob's for a yummy breakfast.  Again, it all seemed to go well.....until.....I looked at my camera when I got home from work to download the weekend pictures.  Yep....

I'VE BEEN HACKED.