Author: thegraymaniac

Tick tock goes the clock…..

I have laid my watch down in my driveway several times when I have gone for a walk. It has always been there when I got back. It’s never chased me around the block. All that has ever happened to that watch has been a change in the “hands” on the inside. They move. They measure time. And they always run forward.
For almost four years now Paula and I have been babysitters for Eli and Rue. Any of you who are my friends have seen their pictures. Tiny little tots they were when they first came to us….changing magically into toddlers and budding students.

I looked over at Rue today as she was sitting in Paula’s lap taking her nap. She has always sought solace in Nana’s lap for her naps. She’s being “weaned” off of “sassy” gradually, and she can only have it at nap time. So she’s laying there with her sassy in her mouth sound asleep and I suddenly am struck by the realization that there won’t be many more naps like this one.

Both of them are going to Pre-K next year, so they won’t be here during the day. School is out in May this year, so days of Rue napping in Nana’s lap are dwindling. The days of Eli and me going over to the church parking lot and kicking around his little red rubber ball are dwindling.

Those two have fought like brother and sister, but love each other like brother and sister.

And the hands on my watch are still moving, and won’t stop. And why the heck are there tears in my eyes while I’m writing this? I think I’m getting soft in my old age.

There have been memories with these two that I will never, ever forget. Those days will be one’s it will be hard for them to remember though.

There’s been days I could scalp them, but I miss them as soon as they walk out the door. Go figure.

Ahh well, it’s not as if they are dropping off the planet. They will still be around plenty…and I walk and walk every day to try and lengthen that time, and slow down those hands on my watch. Love will get you to do things you didn’t think you would or could.

Baby Evie will be down next week for a trial run with Nana and Papa. So, a new chapter joyfully begins while one of the previous chapters begins to wind down. And we turn the page, and wait for the hands on the watch to move ahead into the future.

When you become a parent and your children are small, you think: “one day they will be grown and I will not worry so much about them getting hurt, or being sick. I won’t have to worry about the day to day things, or whether they are eating right or taking their Flintstone vitamins.” You find along the way that this philosophy is incorrect. You never quit being a parent. You never quit being a child.
I think I fought my Dad and Mom tooth and nail on this manner of thinking. Yet, up until the week my Dad died, he was still asking me how I was feeling…how was work going? Was I getting enough sleep…was the stress getting to me? “I’m feeling Ok, work is work, I’m sleeping lousy as always, and yes things are stressful” “Well,” he said, “try and take care of yourself” and then the next week, he was gone…..
I guess there is no more unique relationship than that of a parent and a child. It can go good, and it can go bad, and it can be somewhere in between most of the time. It’s like a game of tennis you don’t finish until someone is no longer there to hit the ball back over the net. You find yourself getting so used to that relationship sometimes that you take it for granted. Really, I guess most of the time. That’s something you will probably live to regret…as a child…or as a parent.
I have done fairly well since my folks died back in 2010…I have stayed conscious of the fact they were gone up until one day last week. I was thinking about one of Dad’s cousin’s wife having passed away, and was wanting to go see the cousin. “I’ll have to ask Dad how to get to his house…” I started to think….and then…I found that I had slipped up. “I don’t think he would answer me” I muttered.
But..you never know, as my wife told me. Not with that man. He might answer me still! A lot of times we have things that are moved around out of their “normal” spot, or something is running that we are just SURE we turned off. My wife will say: “Tarpy did it” “Yep,” I say “playing another practical joke” He loved to tease and poke at ya’, and would laugh like mad if he got you.
So…as I child or as a parent, take all the chances you have to talk. Just talk. It doesn’t have to be anything monumental or deep. Just conversation

A Tribute to Life.

Walking into the warm westward blowing wind this afternoon early, with the sun breaking through the thick gray clouds, I have never felt more alive. Yet I thought if I could let my soul slip away, in that one tiny silver of a sublime moment, I might do it.

But I still have much to do, and many to hold. I still can give of myself without regret, so I will wait for that one day in the future when the same wind blows and the sun shines bright and I am truly ready to go.

Creatures

We are of the earth, no matter your philosophy of how we got here.
We are all creatures of this world.
No matter our skin color or the shape of our eyes, we are creatures of this world.
We are so much like other living things, that it is plain to anyone who will look, that our basic blueprint was laid down long ago, in our cells and in our spirit.
We are of this Earth, but our spirit can soar high, if we will only allow it to do so the first time.
High into the pink sunsets we can fly like the eagle or the hawk.
We are every cloud and raindrop which falls and runs to the sea.
We are of the ocean, and every wave which breaks on the sand.
Forever tied to our planet which sustains us, which has sustained us, and which will be here long after us.

Larry Bowers

One of the few things my Daddy told me when I was a kid that were “fighting words” was if somebody called me a son of a bitch. He told me that if anyone ever said that to me and I didn’t fight them, and he found out about it, he would give ME a whupping. I never had anybody use that profanity on me, or it would have been a fight, although I’m sure it’s been said about me behind my back.

I learned a lot of rough words growing up, because I was the son of a “sailor” and the grandson of a man who knew every cuss word in the book, and when he lost his very quick temper, he’d use them all. I’m guilty of using cuss words in everyday conversation, and I admit that. The fact that I did it didn’t make it right. It didn’t make it more palatable for other people to hear. The “shock value” wasn’t worth the usage of those words, and as I have grown older, I have regretted using them, and have just about been able to stop.

Our society and our culture suffers, when we as a people, or any who deigns to lead us, cannot find other ways besides such vulgarity to express their opinions. Others may think it’s ok, but my opinion is that it is not.

One big thing which has gone missing from today’s America is respect.

How many of us remember rocking out to “RESPECT” by Aretha Franklin? Ah. yeah, c’mon now, raise your hand. Yea, I thought so. Almost everybody.

It turns out that respect is one of the most basic things which humanity seems to be lacking. As individuals many of us do great. Some of us not so good. A few people do bad…or worse, they become criminals due to a lack of respect for other people, property, or the law. Unfortunately those that do bad seem to be increasing every day in which the sun rises.

Have you ever cut off any people wanting to get in front of you in a lane you are riding in, when you really and truly had time to let them in? You just mumbled ‘screw you’ and acted like you didn’t see them? How about a little respect? I mean really…did you need to?

Have you trash talked or bad mouthed one of your children using words that would shame a 40-year-old adult Wrestler in the WWA? Have you done that to other people in the presence of your children?

Bad.

How about a little respect? As Daniel Tiger of “Mr. Roger’s neighborhood” fame says, before you do anything…”take a deep breath and count to four.”

Has your kid talked to YOU this way? How about a little discipline for them to teach them some respect?

How about making sure that they respect adults who surround them during their everyday lives. Teachers, restaurant workers, policemen, and just plain old common run of the mill people.

Almost every person alive and out there walking around deserves respect, …until they prove they don’t. If they get to the point of becoming sociopaths, then legal remedies need to be used to remove them from society before they hurt innocent people. Think about this when you discipline your kids. Keep in mind that they are going to have to interact with a whole host of people in their lives who don’t know them and love them like you do, so having a little respect will make things a whole lot easier for them.

Have you passed somebody you knew at Wal-Mart, or any other local shopping conglomeration and just ignored them simply because you didn’t want to take 30 seconds or a minute to have a “howdy how are ya’ conversation? How about a little respect? Would it spoil your whole day to do this?

Have you left the toilet seat down (or up)?

Have you forgotten to say “please” and “thank you” Did you ever KNOW to say them? If you were not taught to say them, can you at least now teach your children or grandchildren to say them?

I could go on…..

I think, even worse still is the lack of respect that some politicians who are wanting to become “leaders” of our country have for people. People who don’t agree with them are belittled, bullied, and treated like they are “stupid”

You have to ask yourselves if that is the example we want our children and grandchildren to follow. I know for sure that I don’t.

All I know is that my Daddy taught me to say “yessir” and “yes ma’am” when I was a kid, and if I didn’t show proper respect to my elders, things definitely didn’t turn out well “in the end”

Respect. Define it. Use it. Live by it.

Yesterday was a day of nostalgic thoughts, and few accomplishments otherwise. As we accumulate more time and more memories, the world itself magically changes around us.

Where once existed a world of newness and adventure without cynicism and sarcasm, now exists a world which is a little fuzzy at the edges. Happiness is a daily pursuit and long term plans become a risk.

Peace is sought and tranquility of body and mind is accepted with great thankfulness, especially at the dusk of day when the sun has crossed the sky one more time and I have seen it, and felt it….and have been it. I am lucky.

I know my Daddy was a hard working man. I remember being very young, back when we lived over on Simmons street and Daddy would come home from the mill. I rushed to meet him, and most of the days he would grab me up and give me a hug. Some days though, when he had been working right up until the last minute before the whistle blew, he would still have the grease and oil from working on looms on his hands and he had to go clean up before I got my hug.

Mom didn’t like all that mess in her bathroom sink, so Daddy had a little container of kerosine and some soap he kept out next to the back steps, along with some rags with which to wipe his hands. He’d get most of it off his hands, then finish up in the bathroom. I know he was tired, especially on the days he worked over. Still, he always had a little time to play, whether it was throwing a ball around or going out to where the beagles were penned up and letting me play with them a little.

Loom fixers were essential back in the cotton mill in the 1950’s. Good loom fixers, like my Dad were sought after. They moved around from “upkeep to upkeep” inside the weave room, getting the better set of looms to look after as they became more proficient. New fixers got the worst running looms and had to ask for help from the older more experienced fixers sometimes.

I never realized how hard working in that cotton mill could be until after I was sixteen years old. That was the age in which a student could get a summer job in the mill and make themselves some “good” money. A lot better money than caddying up at the golf course, or working bagging groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. So, in the summer of 1967 I got myself a summer job in the mill.

By that time, my Dad had worked his way up to being an Overseer in the mill. He was the “boss” over the second/third shifts in the weave room. My Dad didn’t believe in doing family any favors though. I ended up doing a job called “taking up quills” We’d take a little buggy and go around to every loom and fetch the empty wooden quills on which the filling yarn had been wound. We’d dump the container into which they fell, in our big rolling buggy, and when that buggy was full we’d take it to the “quill machine” It was there that the quills were reprocessed to be sent back up to the spinning room. It was the location of one of the strangest sights I can ever remember.

Me and Kelley ( a teacher at our High School who also had a summer job in the mill) had filled our buggies up to almost overflowing and were bringing them to the machine. The dumping station was a circulating belt which eventually fed into a smaller belt which took the quills upstairs. A lot of times there was a little yarn left on them and the quill machine operator was responsible for getting that yarn off before the quills got to the smaller belt. There had been a large influx of quills and the operator was standing in between the large cirulating belt and the smaller belt buried chest deep in slowly moving wooden quills. With his arms outstreched and pulling the remnants of yarn off of the quills he looked like some strange multicolored ghost with stringlets of light hanging in all directions off on him. He was covered in sweat and it dripped from his face and neck onto the remnant yarn. “Damn” Kelly whispered, “I hope he doesn’t get buried” He didn’t.

There was no air conditioning in that mill back in 1967, just humidity. The more the humidity, the better, because the looms ran better when the humidity was high. They even had “humidity heads” built into the ceiling spewing out moisture into the air. It has hot that summer. Over 100 degrees inside that weave room most days and with that humidity, it was brutal.

I came home most days and just went to bed and slept for 10 hours or so. I didn’t feel much like doing anything else.

I developed a very healthy respect for my Dad, and all of the other men from our community who had been working in that place for most of their lives. They were tough men. Most of them were good men. Many of them, they just don’t make ’em like anymore. My Daddy was one of them, as was many of yours my friends. I met and worked with a lot of them that year and in the subsequent years in which I worked in that cotton mill. I will have to admit that the next summer I asked ol’ Henry Rider about a job before I did my Dad, and he put me to repainting the walls. It was a lot better than collecting quills!

I don’t know what it’s like in there today. I haven’t been in a weave room in a score or more of years. I do know how hard of work it used to be though. Hard..hard work.

The spirit rises, and the pragmatist subsides, and I think of all the things I do not know…nor will I ever know.

I cannot see the wind, but I know it is there because it blows my hair in my eyes. If I cannot see the wind, what else can I not see?

I cannot hear the sounds that the wolf hears, and many other animals besides him. What sounds are there that even the most sensitive of animals cannot hear? What does the Universe whisper just beyond our ability to detect, that may hold secrets we do not know.

I know I can only sense certain things within the capabilities of my brain to process, and I wish I had the eyes of an eagle, combined with the eyes of an owl, and the radar of a bat. Even still, there would be things that could not be sensed.

The world we live in is a deep mystery, within a Universe with which we are barely acquainted. We are like a new swimmer paddling along on top of the great oceans, thinking that all existence is what we see and feel at that very moment, when beneath us lying deep and huge, is a vast store of knowledge we are not even seeking out. Just beneath the surface.

I’m excited by people who can look at life as a quest for facts, but who still believe that human understanding can only progress so far without intersecting with the place in space and time which will never be quantifiable by any means, or explainable by any words. I am confident that we will find something on the other side of that last door we go through, and it will be something good. It will not be what any of us expect it to be….not what any human explains it to be. But we will run to it with open arms, because it will be all too familiar once that door is opened.

Count on it. Honestly, I would not say it if I did not fervently believe it.

One of the things I used to enjoy the most when I was eight or nine years old was hitting rocks with a stick. I especially enjoyed this activity when I went to my Grandparent’s house.

Grandpa and Grandma lived on the end of an old dirt road and of course that road was loaded with…rocks! I couldn’t wait to get there on a summer day back in the late 50’s. I’d go down to the road right next to the barn and find me a stick about the length of a baseball bat and make a pile of rocks about the size of a quarter. It didn’t matter that the stick was skinny because I could hit those rocks. I honed my hand/eye coordination with hours of hitting rocks into Uncle Lark’s corn field for hours at a time.

“There goes another Home Run for Mickey Mantle” I would holler out in my head. I could hear ol’ Dizzy and PeeWee Reece calling it out over the center field fence at 410 feet.

Mantle was my earliest baseball idol, and still to this day is my all time favorite. There’s a signed photo of him from his Triple Crown year of 1956 hanging on the wall down the stairwell from where I’m sitting. I wish I had gotten it signed in person, but I never got to meet Mickey.

I’d pick those rocks up and toss them in the air and whack them. I’d whack them and try to knock flying birds out of the air, although I never hit one.

This morning as I was walking down by the river, I picked up a skinny stick and a rock and when I got close to the river I threw it up in the air and swung….I was exhilirated and excited down inside as I heard a loud “crack” and “Mickey Mantle hit another home run” into the depths of the Chattooga river.

I looked around to make sure nobody had seen me, and I walked on….