Day: March 25, 2018

I found out not long ago that “they” (the experts) estimate that as many as 107 Billion people may have lived and died on this earth. It immediately made me think back several years…maybe 10 years or so ago, when there was a night in which the astronomers predicted there would be a huge number of falling stars visible. I wondered, in this little old town where there are so many lights from houses, from street lights, where…where could I go that it would be dark enough to have a great view of the meteor shower.

I decided to go to the grave yard. In the middle of the night…at 2 a.m. It was dark enough there, and slightly eerie.

I suppose most people would think I was crazy. I’ve always considered that the people who are in that place are not the ones you have to worry about though…so it didn’t bother me. It was better than I could have imagined….a storm, a huge storm of meteors practically filled the sky. They started out slowly…and I started counted them…but then when they came so fast…so rapidly..I had no hope of keeping pace, of keeping count. I wondered, how many are there? How many were there?

Now, I have to say that I’ve been dreaming a lot lately. I dream of people who I have lost in my life, people who have been dear to me who are now far away…people who I grew up with. I have dreamed of the end of time, and I have dreamed of the world the way it will be in a thousand years. I have dreamed of the Resurrection. I guess “old men will dream dreams” but finally now, today I know for sure how many falling stars there were on that night ten years ago. 107 Billion shootin’ stars baby!! All coming back down to say “hello….once upon a time we stood where you are…”

When you look in the mirror, who do you see looking back at you? Of course, I see “myself” the person who is an amalgamate of my Parents, my Grandparents and all of my other ancestors who have come before me. Sometimes I see a glimpse of my Grandfather Stewart, sometimes a glimmer of my Dad. As I get older, this happens a little more frequently. I know that genetics has certainly played a part in what I see physically looking back at me. I also know genetics has also played a part in some of the personality traits which I have, some of the ways I act. I know that environment and external influences have also combined with these other factors in making me what I see. We are limited by our genetics to some extent, but able to overcome much through learning and the environment we put ourselves into. That being said, then only our souls are individually ours, aren’t they? Until we are able to love that creature we see in the mirror and embrace what he or she is, we will not fully be able to love others to any extent. If we are not satisfied with what we see, then only WE are able to affect a change for the better. It is no bad thing to love one’s self…warts and all, faults and all, sins and all. As a matter of fact, it is a good thing. Only by learning to love ourselves can we learn to love ALL others, and only by doing that can we prove that we are individuals worthy of the title “human”

There’s a few things I can still remember:

I remember catching my first fish. it was at Lake Wanda Reita.

I remember my first day in school. They had to tear Sandy Hammond away from her Mom, but she was ok from then on.

I remember every person who lived in every house in my neighborhood in 1958. Jake Woods family lived next door, then the Ardens, and across from them lived Van Buren Rice. Across the street was Frank Watts and family. Up on West Pine was Paul Rosser, Flossie Mae, Dale, Annette, and their older sister…Paulette? was it…?

And on the next street was my Uncle Curly, The Floyd family…Sloppy and Doris, Nancy Jim, Susan and Jimmy. The Barfield family, Jan and her sisters. Across from them, the Haygoods, with their boys…Mark was my age, then Randy, I think. Mrs. Rush and Marilyn. The Collettes, Joe and Ruth, Johnny and Jimmy and Marsha. Up on the hill to the North, The Caheelys, The Sprayberries, The Hawkins…with John and Jim. Just around the corner was Dennis and Don Durham and their folks…then the Langston family. I could go on and on. I know I left some out too. The Styles a little further down, and the Webb twins.

I reminisce as I walk that area. Then I walk West Hill, and a lot of those people are now there. Not more than a block from where they lived. Time goes by quickly.

Anybody who grew up in a little bittie town knows how I feel about walking these streets. It’s past and present all rolled up in a ball, and for people like me nostalgia just sometimes overcomes me, and stops me in my tracks. I’m 65, but I’m 6 sometimes too. But there is also still a future to live.

By the time I get back home, I’ve gotten it all pretty much out of my system. I’m back in the present and ready to press on. And I know why I stayed here. For the memories. To give my kids a chance at the same, not too bad small town raising. Its getting a lot different now, but I can’t complain too much. (although Paula might tell you different) Its still home, and that’s where the heart lies.

It is the ordinary things, the mundane moves…which make life…life. Day to day to day, what you have done is, in reality, the terrific.

I find an out of place blue pacifier on the shelf, and I think of all the pacifiers I have handled, stuck in baby mouths, wiped off and sterilized over the years. I still have the very first one I ever saw from 44 years or so ago…it was a baby bottle lid with tape across the bottom. They have definitely improved over the years.

The grass was cut yesterday and the smell of it, freshly slain and lying defeated in the yard was intoxicating and primal. It always takes me back to a time before I have memories, a time of just happy, smelly bliss.

I find I love a song by a group called “Casper Baby Pants”. Google them. They’re real. It’s a lullaby, kind of…and it makes me smile. It picks my soul up and transports it up, and up…into the sky above skies. I have always loved music, almost any kind of music. Music is my constant companion and soother of last resort. It doesn’t matter to me how silly the name of the group.

I work every day. Hard enough to make my heart beat hard and fast. Not because I love work that much, but because I want to know if it’s going to last another day. I raked brush and leaves today like a Tasmanian devil of yard nullification. Huge piles were left in my wake, and then I leaned on the rake and felt the thump…thump..thump…hard and fast. No pain. Good. Another day then.

I love being a human. I love doing the simple things that humans do. Every day doesn’t have to be a trip to Disney World or the beach….although that would nice. But, just to open a book and lose myself in another person’s wonderful imagination, to see a beautiful photograph, to watch the birds and squirrels in the yard, feeding. Just to see the stars at night, or even the lightning and hail of a few days past!

How spectacular is existence! How glorious is sensing all of this wonder surrounding us.

I waste way too many thoughts on things which are far beyond my ability to control, and I’m angered by actions which others take, which I have little ability to affect.

My appeal to you, my friends is to not let yourself fall into the traps and conditions which cause you to miss the beauty of life which is unfolding before you each and every day.

Witness the ordinary and think on the mundane, and be content.