Roundabout Friday

Starr visited my blog last night. I don’t mind, I have little to hide from her. She did suggest that next year for Father’s Day, instead of whining, that I should post some of the funny things that Grampa does.

Funny? Maybe it’s a generational thing, but I don’t see him as funny. Maybe it’s easier to step back and look at the big picture and laugh when you aren’t the daughter. I will have to give it some thought.

The first thing that popped into my mind was the bats. When we lived in Reno, one evening we went to watch the thousands of bats leave their resting place under a bridge and go out looking for food at sunset. The sight of this seemingly never ending flow of bats from under the bridge and the cloud of bats that you could see far into the distance was very impressive as were the sounds the bats were making. Starr and I were talking about the noise and my dad looked at us like we were crazy, “there is no noise,” he declared. When we disagreed, he insisted that we were wrong and he was serious. If it was outside his range of hearing, it quite simply didn’t exist. We were wrong. We still giggle at that memory.

My second thought was the cruise and then Starr reminded me of several more. Yeah, maybe by this time next year I will be able to think of several “dad” stories to tell.

Until then, thoughts of the cruise brought back memories of these doodles. During our days at sea, I found that I couldn’t read comfortably without succumbing to motion sickness. So if things were slow and there wasn’t a program or movie that I wanted to see, I would get out my notebook and sketch. Lined paper and a ball point pen. Awesome. I designed numerous stained glass panels. All of which still only exist on paper.  I sketched the statue by the pool. Several times.

And I did a couple quick silly pictures of my traveling companions.

My dad, who was constantly seeing spots and birds that weren’t there. He kept forgetting to clean his glasses:

My mom, who spent all of her free time on board playing bridge:

And Starr, who refused to go the ice cream bar alone:

She looks a little mischievous in my sketch, probably because she knew that if I went with her to the ice cream bar, I wouldn’t be able to resist getting some of my own. And I didn’t. Resist that is.

The honest truth is that while a majority of the staff were wonderful people, not all of them were. Starr was 15 and kind of cute.  I think it was a combination that and the fact that 90% of the cruisers were senior citizens that caused some of the male employees to pay special attention to Starr. Making comments and staring uncomfortably at her. The ice cream guy was one of them. She loved ice cream and wasn’t willing to give it up, she just needed company. Protection. My ass and I were happy to provide it!

It’s All About the Boots

“Here, touch this.” He said grabbing a hold of the electrified fence designed to contain his herd of Black Angus cattle. My brother and I both took a step back shaking our heads, “no thanks” we mumbled.

He had his bare hand wrapped around the wire that I knew was carrying electric current. My brother and I lived on a farm in southern Minnesota, and we had a pony as well as a couple of boarded horses who resided on our pastures. I knew what an electric fence was, and I knew from experience what it felt like to touch one.

“Touch my hand,” he prompted, holding out his free hand towards us. Stepping back another step “nuh-uh, no way” we agreed. Pappaw wasn’t usually one for playing around, at least not in our limited experience. This was unusual. He is standing there, hand offered, seemingly unaffected by the current coursing through the wire.

Suddenly, (and in the moment…brilliantly!) I had this idea to grab my brother and drag/throw him towards Pappaw’s outstretched hand. And impulsively acted on it…

ZAP!

All three of us were suddenly grounded, and the electric current surged through each of us. My intention was to let go of dear brother before he actually touched Pappaw…you know…saving myself…fail! All three of us rolling around in the grass in helpless laughter…it was the freest, the most open, completely unrestrained by shyness, moment that I remember ever sharing with Pappaw.

This is the day that I learned about insulated boots.

Pappaw

When I was in ninth grade, Pappaw passed away. Pappaw was my mom’s dad, a quiet red-headed family man. What I remember most about Pappaw was his quiet presence, and his shirt pockets always full of stuff. He was a farmer who raised Black Angus beef cattle on his property located in western Tennessee. He was very active in his local Methodist church.

We didn’t live near them, and only visited once or twice a year. Unfortunately, because we were both introverts, I never was able to develop a really close relationship with him. I enjoyed walking in the pastures with him looking at the cattle, or doing a little fishing in one of the farm ponds. It seemed like the last couple of visits we were just beginning to move beyond the quiet and get to know each other. But then he was gone, suddenly. Fifty nine years old, and he had a fatal heart attack.

About ten years later, just after Starr was born, I had a dream of Pappaw. He visited me from the other side. We spent a long time talking. We discussed life, God, religion and the afterlife. I have never been comfortable with Christianity, instead following my heart and my head studying and feeling out different avenues of spirituality. In this dream he supported my beliefs and told me that I was just fine. Just as Christianity was fine for him.

I woke up from this dream feeling truly blessed. It felt so real and so true. Was it really him? Was it just a dream? I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is that it felt right.