I'm Biding My Time

It is such a great thing to have made a day of it and to know that all is well with the world. I’ve had some of those down through the years. You know it has been one when at the end of the day you just feel complete, or somewhat at peace with yourself and those around you. It would be great if it happened every day, but we know that life does not afford us those victories all the time. There are lots more that end up with a bit of that feeling that there may have been more, or well something is missing and it can gnaw at our ability to rest satisfactorily.

Down our way there are lots of things to see, but not many of what we call bi-roads. You may call them something else in your location; secondary roads perhaps or country lanes. There are so many that can be traveled in a lifetime and many we love to travel over and over again, because at the end, there is something special to see or experience. I remember back a few years to my youth, taking trips with our parents down many of those country roads. We were explorers, setting out to new adventures and seeking new experiences and each little lane and old dirt road was just another avenue of delight in our eyes. Those weekly trips called for a complete loss of control. Not that Dad let go of the steering wheel, but he let go of the stereotypes of the ordinary and the practiced. There was chance that by the end of the day we would have seen most of the back roads of almost any part of the South Shore of Nova Scotia. That meant loosely targeting an area and then letting the road rise before us and not being afraid of a few signs of hard travel. Yup… My Dad and Mom were adventurers and they feared not as the road narrowed and there tended to be a few more bold representations of waterholes and large rocks to be gotten over or around. It was all part of the quest to find new treasures… memories never forgotten.

I have been thinking of late…. I know, some will say that is dangerous, but I do stop and take stalk of the time and tides as the clock ticks on. It may be an appropriate season of life to go on a few of those adventures again. I think, as much as that is practical, that the old haunts at this point in time may hold for me a few “new” surprises, some new forms of adventure that may have eluded me some 50 years back. I am not so myopic at this point… well… that is my opinion and I am allowed to have one by virtue of my age… right? LOL

But life becomes cluttered. The opportunities do not always align with the right time and the time does not always align properly with the correct mood and the mood does not always match the atmospheric conditions… well you get my point. The “stuffs” of life get in the way. I heard, well more correctly read a thoughtful, yet odd suggestion a while back… it was, needing to watch a TV program on hoarding to feel like we are not such a bad housekeeper. Hmm! At first I chuckled and then I let my imagination run with the idea that we do hoard “stuff” and not only that cumulative pile of junk that could go to the annual yard sale or the local Thrift Shop. I mean the stuff we poke into the memory banks in most inappropriate ways and with little justification, other than the fact that we carry those burdens just as that… Burdens! They may eat away at our sense and our sensibilities and cause the joys of life to elude us, when there are those once more adventurous, more freedom granting and joy filling experiences of the Roads Less Traveled;  as a thought from Frost. Hope I can get away with that, but I do give him credit as that bit of prose (and I do love poetry) as it has been somewhat of a guide in life for me.

But I digress. Where was I… Oh yes, the clutter…  Now that is the bane of our existence. We tend to trip over it on the way to living every day. If I had a broom that could handle that mess of useless, hard to handle, self-limiting and downright baffling mess, I would market it and make a fortune. What am I saying?… more, more, more and what I need is less, less, less! Well, you get the drift here. There is always another definition, another justification and another route that seems quite right at the time, and we all play in that sandbox at some point in life, without fail.

Ha… ya, now there is a word… to fail. My view of failure is another’s view of freedom sometimes… all in a person’s perspective in life. That thinly struck line is a demarcation of the things that can get us down. It’s kind of like a tempest in a teapot; we can get struck by the overwhelming sense that whatever it is, becomes too big to handle; when in fact we just need to breathe. Perspective is an awesome teacher. To some life is a haphazard heap of one hardship after another and for others it is the joy of daily challenges that can create just another adventure. Hmm…. Wonder where I “FIT” in there. Perhaps somewhere between challenged and haphazard. Oh well, I just gotta be me, but the clutter needs to be controlled. Yup… gonna control the clutter!

I sometimes wonder, as I wander along the path, if I am stuck or struck. Have you ever thought about that? We can get stuck in life and we can get struck in life as well. We all know, I would suppose, that the idea of being stuck is somewhat a familiar concept and easy to relate to, for some or perhaps even many. “Been there and done that”, some might even now be rehearsing. But the struck concept… now that is a bit different “kettle of fish”… OK... the use of “geographic centered terms is limited to those of certain backgrounds, but hey… walk nearer the edge and use some creative research. Have you ever taken a hard knock to the head, an unexpected hit to the mid-section? Well, it can take the wind out of you, stun you and even cause damage that can affect you in the future. It can’t always be averted, or they can hit you when you didn't see it coming. Sometimes there are those things which just happen, but they have consequences both short and long-term and the sting can be paralyzing at many different levels.

You see clutter is the backyard pile of non-essentials, it is the closet of hoarded past that no longer fits, but felt good to wear, it is the day to day stacks of papers, magazines, dishes left unwashed, laundry still to be started, but it is also those physical and mental pictures, feelings and fears that hide in the crevices of time and season. I am dependent, not so much anymore, upon other’s grace to get me through. That is hard. I am trying to deal with the clutter, in its various forms in life, and am using the overall mechanics and mechanisms of life to get me through… I am biding my time. The one great tool I have at my disposal is love… and another thus far is memory. The latter can be a curse if you are not careful. The way I see it is this… I am loved more than I can imagine, I have been taken on some pretty great adventures and my God has gotten me both to them and gotten me safely home thus far. Family growing up, family being grown and family being expanded has been a blessing. A set of friends, associates, travel more than some and perhaps more than most and now back home again… But now, I am biding my time. Letting go of the clutter, yet busy building what is both important to my those around me and am preparing for years of more adventures and another trip home when the time comes.

I've got some old country lanes and back roads to revisit too! There are some older faces to look upon once again and find the love that is “at harbour” there, while sharing some moments with some new faces would be great too. We are doing some of that every day, as new experiences turn the pages of time and tide. Why don’t you take a step towards the edge? We are on that journey anyway. Look a little further out… it is new perspective and the view from there may be challenge, but what a great view it is!

Adjusting to the Dampness

It’s Monday, it’s Canada Day and it’s raining! Well, two out of three isn't bad. As far as the rain is concerned, not too many folks are overly excited about the dampness that has invaded our Maritime summer in 2013. I have been watching the tourists come and go by home, on their way to explore the waterfront; some carry umbrellas, while others just stroll along adjusting to the dampness and nothing seems to be amiss.

Maybe that is where my thoughts are going this morning… adjusting to the dampness. As you know I am preparing a site for my new woodworking shop and it continues to rain. Nothing can dampen your spirits like the rain, but there are other factors that climb on board of our psyches and tend to take us for a ride in the wrong direction by times. There have been a few of late for me. Some things I talk about and others, well they are things I try to live through, and endurance is the name of the game in life. I see in others the lines of wear in their facial expressions and listen to the pain of experiential sadness that can envelope the soul for a myriad of reasons in life. We all try to do our best and there are days that our “best” can fall short of the mark we set for ourselves.

Years ago my Mom told me to aim high lest our best fall short of the horizon. Shooting for the stars was a practical bit of advice until it came to living the practical side of rural life with parents whose definition of the stars may not align with Jupiter… LOL. We can spend much time trying to calculate the cause and effect of the practical things we are wishing to undertake and miss the mark of what is the here and now. There is that tree! Such a small insignificant sapling not too many years ago, grew into the giant ash that was pushing over a building and we didn't seem to notice. Now that is dampness!

Others, result from years of seeping leaks in roofs and walls, around doors and windows; unnoticed until one day while cleaning, painting or inspecting… there it is… mould, mildew and rot. That can mean major repairs, refits and sometimes a total rebuild. That is where I am… in the midst of a total rebuild and the soul can take a beating if we let the lack of "Sonshine" diminish our view of what really is life. I can attest that projects, no matter how seemingly insignificant, can have their stress points. “IF” I allow myself to become so steeped in the externals of life, while not caring for the internals, I get lost.

Lost is a big word for some because it can stir up all kinds of memories, feelings and reactions that we may not expect. For others, it will just be a word that has meaning for practical reasons… for those “others” along the trail of life. We don’t want to be one of “them”! How convenient to shift the unsavoury hardships of life to only those who wear their lives on their collars. Having been part of an elite part of society for years… (OK,so it sounds fancy… but it wasn't…) I can tell you that we all have struggles and how we hide the stress, or more to the point, deal with the stresses of life, all fall into the same category of stress, even though dealing with it seems more acceptable than wearing it.

For example; many are those who transfer or offload stress… change the pattern by giving it to someone else… no longer their responsibility. Perhaps we do that in life and don’t realize we are doing it. If we pretend something is not there and it is not our responsibility… it does not exist. I am afraid not; that will not work. Somehow that route taken always comes back to bite us. In life we must take the rain with the sunshine and live through both the elements with a desire to see the challenges before us, as well as the benefits gained by our dealing with those challenges, as we face them daily.

That darn root. So I cut off the offending limb and yet I am confronted by a root system that has pushed the foundation stones out of place. You can see my dilemma. Not only was the limb an offending problem, but now deep roots from that original sapling are causing my blood pressure to take Zamba lessons. Talk about cardiovascular! I have chipped away at the site, uncovered part of the root system, sprayed water around the offending foe and still I feel lost. I don’t want to kill the tree, have it left less secure and open to disaster later on for both me and my neighbour. So I walk away during the heavy rains and research… you know the routine. Take a nap (you can do that when you are old and retired) and maybe when you wake up the answer will be forthcoming! LOL! Nope; nothing yet. Actually, my system has gone askew a bit… something that I have to expect from lingering problems following my illness in India in 2012, and this past week was one where I did little and had to rest a lot! That root system, while annoying, is just another challenge that will take a bit of work to overcome. Overcoming is the challenge. Not overlooking… overcoming. What I cannot do alone, I will do with help and it will get done.

So, dampness can get us down, it can cause our outlooks to be clouded, it can even depress us to the point of despair, if we don’t look beyond the rain and see the "Sonshine." In the group there were 2 adults and what seemed to be 3 teenage children and they walked a bit, danced a bit and stopped a bit to view the architecture and the “curious” nature of the street . We do have rather an eclectic assortment, if I must admit it myself. The drizzle was only of secondary importance it seemed. They were out of the car, van, camper or motorhome and were exploring new territory… they were living. The rain got them wet but the body and clothing would dry…. For now there was something to be experience and liquid sunshine was just another part of the day for them.

Watching them saunter along gave me a new perspective that morning. Even though my week was one with its own set of frustrations, I realized that I need not deflect, transfer or neglect the problems at hand, but just take them as they were. Each has its own challenge for sure, but each has its own solution as well. I guess the reasons behind dampness in areas of life may be as varied as they are many, but rather than be overcome by the effects, I am once again (as I tend to overlook that by times you know) peering through the mist and rain and seeing the sunshine in life. It may come in my own view of an eclectic assortment of challenges, but more often it come from family, friends and community; “that eclectic assortment of people and places I call home.”

Ah there may have been a bit of mildew on the old trunk this past week, but a new week is ahead and I see "Sonshine" through the clouds and that alone can turn things around for me, when I give Him a chance. So, if the rain has dampened your soul, do a little dance if you can, smell the rain freshened air and let the sunshine of the smiles of others help make your day cheerier. Take a walk along the edge today, give life a new spin, shuffle the cards and see what the deck holds for you, throw the dice in a new direction and see if it comes up snake eyes or double sixes! Hey! Walking near the can be a challenge, but it all depends on your perspective of the view from there. Go take a rainy day walk and see for yourself! Blessings!

Of Bits and Pieces

Around the corners of my memory banks are those bits and pieces that are sometimes hard to fit into place. You know how it is when you look at a puzzle and the colour and shape seems like it should fit “right there” and yet on trying you find that it is not the one. I find that while I am sitting early in the mornings now, with coffee in hand, just contemplating the next moves that will make-up the coming day, I will quite often get small trickling’s of memories. Perhaps some name that I have been working on for family history will be a reminder of an event, but I can’t always put my finger on it… the facts elude me and I end up with those lost essentials of complete recollection… I am left with just the bits and pieces.

There was a time when I could just call Mom or Dad and prime the pump, ask about that person, place or event and how something fit into a certain timeline. Not anymore! The sad truth is that now those valuable assets which were once readily available, are lost to time and the cycle of life. But I am not without hope. I still have box upon box of paper notes, booklets, clippings and stories collected through more than 5 decades of marriage, spanning a collective total of more than 175 years. It is hard to believe that two people could want to take note of the little things, things which may seem to some as obscure and trite, but to an amateur family historian and genealogist like me, it is a treasure trove.

Stories were told of early camping trips to Murray’s Field; of how a cow came trotting over to investigate the intruders and even though Mom was born and raised in a rural setting, she did not feel comfortable with a charging bovine, no matter its confused intentions. So, her immediate reflex was to swing her purse at the innocent attacker, only to have it disconnect from its handle and go shooting like a missile at the poor beast. Immediate tears! Hysterical events with Mom were always accompanied by tears, and Dad trying to figure out the full extent of the problem, before he got scolded. But, where was Murray’s field. I know it was in Upper Port LaTour, but there I get stuck. So part of the discovery is the process of patient research amongst those scattered archives in the boxes of paper… threads of the past.

What, where and how are not always the problems either. Dad had a love for an old set of repair tools that his Dad had for years. It included a pocket knife, sheathed in a medium-soft leather case, which accepted special tools in one end that locked into place. There was a variety of accessories and I suppose today the famous Swiss Army Knife would be a close second to the multi-tool which many handy-men carry strapped to their sides or in the glove-compartment of their car for easy access. This tidbit from history has its sad tale to tell. On arriving home from a summer vacation Dad found only the accessories remaining in the case… after searching for years his hope of ever finding the missing knife, the very key to the set, faded for ever. He was left with only bits and pieces.

I have noticed in life that many the time there have been stories told and memories shared over barbecues, at family gatherings and later in life social events, yet most of the time we are able to glean at best , only bits and pieces of the full picture of the essence of the that particular event or capsule of time. I used to think that to graze among the conversations and to make contact with as many folks as I could, would be the best use of the limited time, usually afforded us during those occasions. I am finding out that most of the time there were mere shallow contacts made, that had little lasting effect on how or why our conversations might make a difference in life as family. I long now for deeper meaningful chats about who affected their lives. How relationship made important those moments when we could connect and swap stories of who, what, when, where and why and thrown into that a greater, deeper understanding of how to know and love each other better. Not just the bits and pieces of life. It becomes the flip side of social hobnobbing; the flitting from person to person and paying our dues before getting back to “it”… the real meaning of life; the work, the issues we deal with… the rubber as it hits the road… the context, the context, the context, must always have its right place and find its center in the core of significant time spent, until it too is gone! There is little significance for bits and pieces in life.

An aunt once asked if I had many neckties. Another brought out a box and with the zeal of an archaeologist began hauling out remnants of cloth and explaining where each piece came from. A group of ladies captured my attention one day after a Bible Study and we perused the inventory of bags of ends of various fabrics, soon to be ripped, torn and then reconstituted into something beautiful, something memorable, something valuable and soon to be loved by a special person yet to be decided. All of these ladies were artisans, quilt makers and saw the beauty in the cloth, not as scrap, … just bits and pieces… but what they held as potentials for a greater whole, put together by hours of decision making and fine handiwork. Yes, even the strange shape of a necktie made it to the quilters frame and became a work of art and beauty

.

In my past I have taken time to go through woodpiles; especially hardwood piles. Firewood is generally wood that is gauged to be not quite fit for the other route, of furniture or flooring, where its strength will either be appreciated as a frame for your favorite chair or its beauty as a living room or dining room floor.  Left to mature, its value as a resource for high BTUs in your family room wood stove can endear the hearts of those who love wood heat. But I am more of a picker. Going through the piles I can see pieces that have a special character and have been known, with permission, to snatch a few bits and pieces for use at the lathe at home. Snatched from the fire so to speak, makes the gavels I form more special, as a reminder of how representative creativity can be in life. God snatched me from the fire and gave me a new life of service for Him… I am still working on that premise.

As I try to slow down and take time to see, feel, and share more, I know that I still have a long way to go. We orient ourselves to the fast pace… we have to get it done, we have to meet the deadlines and of course to some extent those are important. But the older I get I can see that there is more to life than just the immediacy of getting it all in. I want to take time once again to visit Murray’s field so to speak. I may not get to the exact location… it is now owned by someone different, but I can go to the village as stroll along the beach, smell the air and be reminded of how the past has both affected and shaped the present and my future.

Bits and pieces of life are sometimes all we have for a while. There may be time to fit many of them together and see the true extent of the beauty of what might otherwise lend an open-ended perspective to our sense of reality. Tying up those loose ends can be fun, or downright agony, but it is all about the perspective from there… while living near the edge.

Shopping For A New Shop

I once heard it said that it is not always wise to tear down to build bigger. Back in my youth my grandmothers Bible stories included the epic of the man who felt he needed bigger barns to store more of his crops, only to be told that his time was up and that he needn't build anything at this point. Hmm! So I have plans to tear down an old shed that served my parents, and who knows how many others, well for many years. The problem is that there is a hill in back of the shed on an adjoining property, from which flows water runoff and to a certain extent mud. That is just normal stuff, but down through the years the back wall facing the neighbours has had to be rebuilt several times and the picture of scabs of new wood now rotted once again haunt my sense of repair or rebuild ambition.

Here is the skinny on that battle of guilt for tearing down vs. good planning and preservation of resources by building new. For years now I have been gathering up both old and new machinery to have a woodworking shop in retirement.  So, I have a few items. There is a great band saw, a scroll saw, a bench-top drill press, my shop table saw, a job site table saw, a 13” planer, dedicated router table… well, you get the picture and I am barely skirting the surface. It has taken a couple of decades, some wonderful people who saw that I could make, carve and build stuff, and a loving wife, all of whom made it possible for me to have the many and varied woodworking tools that I have now. 

Well, when we moved home I stored much of the machinery in our shed, at back of our home. But with its deteriorating condition, the weather, a leaky roof and all started a race to stop the rust on the cast iron tables of my shop saw, and the 6 inch jointer. Then Karen discovered that it was attacking my lathe. She wanted everything saved… well… so did I. So we had a difficult decision to make. Renovate or rebuild. A quick tour and check of existing beams told us that there was rot everywhere. Ouch! Retirement is great but for the unknowns… right? Well, bit by bit decisions were discussed and I then realized that the only way forward was forward! Step by step the process of planning, getting quotes and well, facing the harsh reality of the cost was shocking. But, what does one do? Well, if it were just up to me, I would just go back to bed! LOL But such is not the case here. Karen, my cheerleader and holder of the cattle prod, gently reminds me that if we build it, it will be home to all that “stuff” at some point.

Truth is that Karen is looking forward to having everything in place so that the fun will begin. She is not always so sure of my dreamy projects, but sometimes I do hit on one or two that seem to make sense to her. With 6 grandchildren, and likely at least one more at some point, there will be lots of projects to be undertaken until they are well into their 30’s I figure. Hey, that correlates with my plan to live another 30 years. Some guys I know have worked in their shops until their 90’s! I can do this! Now that is good planning! But, then it will also be construction central for those have to do projects when outside requests for renovations and custom builds enter the picture. I could use my workshop now for a just such a request… that shop table saw would be mighty handy just now. Oh well, that is why I have a job-site saw. Oh my there is a story behind that saw!  I will tell you all about it one day.

Work/funeral hiatus… and now back. I get a lot of calls to conduct funerals for old friends and family. I cannot decline… I am here to help!

Well it has been a couple of busy weeks. But things have progressed here at the demolition site. I started with the roof and have FINALLY made it to the hole in the ground that I need to begin the rebuild, or as I recently told someone; “out of the ashes rises a new woodworking shop!” That may be hard to follow, but for those of you who may follow my photo diary on Facebook, there is a fire component to the tear-down process. Karen, my sidekick and supervisor, loves to burn the small bits and pieces that come with demolition. On the many other projects that we have undertaken down through the years, (and there are many) she has loved to have campfires and burn off the leftovers rather than just find a place for them all to go. In this case there would have not been enough room in the dumpster, which held all the rotten pieces of boards and beams along with roofing and such.

We have been building, rebuilding and renovating, it seems like, constantly for the past 15 years. The question often arises whether I will ever see the end. Nah! I guess not! Anyhow, if you love the work why stop… Right? But life is much like that, it seems. We are never quite satisfied are we? We like to tweak what seems to be OK or sufficient to make do… yet not quite perfect. Or our minds change like the seasons and we just want to try something different. Years back, I was warned by a wise old sage friend of mine to not undertake too much, as there will always be the maintenance of what we have to keep us busy. But who can resist making life better? After all there is that urge to make it all fit in, until one day we realize it is all too big now for us to handle. But on the other hand the needs of the time were met and we did enjoy the product as well as the process.

So what about those barns I mentioned that were too late in the Biblical story? Well, I want to be productive and content, and I think I have been given the resources (machinery and a wee bit of talent) to make good use of this project. So, out of the ashes… a new shop! Curious enough though, I do regret that I couldn't just repair what was there… I am the consummate restoration guy… let’s make it better, not necessarily destroy to rebuild, unless totally necessary. I guess God works that way too. Lots of things about us may show a bit of rot, that sin that can eat away at the roots of our foundations from time to time, but He keeps working on us rather than just starting fresh with a new model.

I’d like to think that most of those who read my ranting would agree with me. If you don’t, that is quite all right. I allow for love to be large enough to embrace the joy of life and then I pray for your peace. I find that as I gaze out to sea I know how much larger life is, than just that which we see around from day to day. I know that the universe is greater than my understanding, and now at this juncture of life, I am building on the knowledge that if God grants me a tomorrow, I want to be of some use whether writing, building or praying… I am going to stand on the edge… and note the view from here for a while yet! 

Looking Back With a View to the Future

Back when (“Back in the day of it”) I was just a puppy, there was so much information to take in. Stuff in the form of names, places and social structure… Ya, I know, back then I didn't even know what social structure was, but you soon learned your place in family and life. Those were different days. The time was mid 1950’s and the 60’s. I likely have shared that family was a fluid sort of structure that seemed to flow with the needs of individuals and community. There seemed to be a lot of coming and going in those days, including within the construct of our direct family. That is just the way it was then, but we all seemed to survive somewhat intact!

The one more stable area for us was the names of places. Sitting around the older men, and later to a certain extent the women of the area, we soon learned all the childhood haunts that became the memories we would cling to. They would float their way to the surface in later years as I happened to drive by them on our way home for a visit. “The Rock” was our first special place. It was nothing more than a boulder the size of 2 car tires piled on top of the other, but to us it was a tower from where we could survey life and wait for Dad to come home from work. It was located just over half way between us and Burns Oickle home on the Ohio Road. That rock shrank as we grew, and it was finally removed when the new road came through in the late 50’s.

Morine’s Brook, named for someone who I can’t remember, was one of the landmarks and a place to catch frogs and polliwogs… never large enough to really fish, but for me it was a whole new world to explore as I made my way west along its stream toward the river. To the east it ran up into the Blueberry Hills. Now that held for me a place of mystery, adventure and a never-ending opportunity for a new quest as the days of summer opened the door to spare time. You see, those so-called Blueberry Hills were filled with paths beat down  over decades of use, by not only the ladies and children who roamed the rolling hills for blueberries, but the deer and before that the moose, who browsed on the young plants and hardwoods that dotted those barrens during that time. All the paths seemed to lead somewhere and the adventure was to find where… usually to a wood road or out to the Ohio Road’s entry point to the hills.

Two massive structures, one man made and the other natural, were out of the zone of activity for a long time, but oh how they called my name. Ipicca Mountain was a huge pile of cut granite which I believe was brought in when mills were being built, so that water could be diverted through granite raceways to power the mills and so on. Remnants of such a mill could be seen near this granite pile and that section of the river became one of my favorite fishing spots. There is now a wonderful set of rental cottages located near there and I know the owners value both the history and the beauty of the area.

The other natural structure was the Rock Mountain. It has a steep incline, but much to our joy it housed an old shed that was for some time perhaps a radio shack for early two-way radio, used by a cousin who lives in the area. Back then it had to be a secret adventure to climb the steep incline to the summit and there pretend that you were at the top of the world. Oh what a feeling … what a rush. Days spent in exploration between chores and time for afternoon and evening swims made summers the most exciting time of the year for us. Life was an adventure and bikes gave us freedom to go further afield and get there faster to afford us a lot more time to see and do it all.

My Dad came to the point where he needed help every day. My brother and I took that task on and gave our time and ourselves to see that he wanted for very little. Putting him to bed at night was for me the hardest part. He wanted to be so independent and put his pyjamas on by himself until near his 96^th year. We would hold him upright so he could stand to finish the job and then get him tucked in, in that particular way he liked, and then with these closing words he would ask, “How long Edwin… how long?” It wasn’t the fact that he feared the end coming, it was the knowledge that it might go on too long and he was tired. He remembered home, he told short stories some nights about special places and he always said, “This is how I started out in life… in a crib with the sides up… I've gone full circle Edwin!” I tried never to cry, but would joke those moments away… that is how I handled Dad… I sometimes challenged his opinions and he never knew what to expect.

One day, as I was asked to give him a bath, I thought that I would come dressed in snorkel gear. At the last minute I decided not to, but told Mom about the thought that had passed through my mind. I found out later, I think after Dad’s death, that she had told him what I had planned and he said that he wished that I had gone through with my plan, so that we could have had another great laugh together. Life becomes an adventure and around the corners on life’s trip, there are so many to be had. Not all of them are comfortable trips, that we look forward to, but some become necessary and lend us both strength and stamina, showing us how strong the binds that ties us together really are.

Dad gave us boys a map to the future, but also a link to his past and that was more than mere paths through the woods. He gave us critical information that would keep us safe and likely never even realized what he was doing. He lived the life, from our perspective anyhow, that made sense; one of a responsible parent, citizen and believer. He wanted to remain true to it all and held it in balance as far as I could see.

I guess I may never be quite so successful, but I want to have been. We can spend so much time trying to make amends for failures, that perhaps we have trouble being part of what is taking place now. I guess my path lead me away, rather than towards stability of place and old haunts. We moved a lot and my call in life took me away when family life was really more important to them perhaps. But today I want to spend time with them and I for a time wondered if it would be more like the popular tune of the 90’s where the son wanted time with the father, but the dad had not time then. Later in life when that dad had more time and he wanted to spend time with his son, then the son’s life was busy and he had no time for his dad. So it is in the circle of life. Here are my Dad’s words to me back in 2000 after I had moved to a community just 30 minutes from home just 3 years before; “When are you going to move again Edwin?” Rather rattled I answered, “Why don’t you like having me around?”… His look was sad and he seemed for a moment longing for an answer, and this is how he finally voiced his thought; “I figured if you moved away, I might see you more!”

I now walk among those hills, along those brooks and climb those piles of granite rubble in my mind and realize that one day in the not so distant future … oh in perhaps 30 years or so, it will be my turn to look back from a different perspective. I too will have come full circle. The joy of the journey at this juncture in life for me, as I choose to take time, is the constant review of the little things that have made the trip thus far worth the taking. I try also to visualize those moments with mistakes, things I might do differently and then formulate what may be better done and given, so that my legacy to them will be as meaningful as that of my Dad to me. God gives us so much to give thanks for and we need to glance at the clock sometimes and see where we are on the timeline. No matter the placement in any one given moment, it holds for us opportunities to make a difference and in so doing we are being true to what "is life near the edge".

Note: Today has been a nostalgic moment for me in more ways than usual, as I celebrate another birthday very soon. A few days later my sweetheart and I will celebrate our 40^th year of marriage. She figures that I owe her for over 40 years of haircuts now, and if I am going to live to be 100, I will never get out of debt, so I have decided to just keep on letting my hair grow and see what happens.

Be blessed! I am!

I've Just Been Thinking!

Well, I’m back on home soil. Sounds a bit cheesy, but for a time I seemed to be spinning hither and yon and though I was being productive, I was not getting far with personal plans and nothing was being accomplished in the construction zone.

It is never a great idea to be too concerned with personal stuff above that of the needs of others though. I try to take life in stride these days but there are those moments when I begin to feel a bit overwhelmed by the “other stuff” that can creep in. I’ve spent a great deal of my life catering to other’s needs and it was generally always on my mind. I remember some years ago my Mom pointing out an item that was written by Billy Graham. The title was, “Learning how to say No!” I thought it rather strange coming from a mother who spent a great deal of time in our childhood trying to show us that that we needed to think of others ahead of ourselves. Even our religious training was impacted by the short chorus, “Jesus, Others and You… What a wonderful way to spell Joy”. This epic taught the principal of priority in life and was that we really needed to put ourselves last.  But life deals us funny circumstances sometimes; though the wording was correct, the philosophy, if followed strictly at all times, can lead us to the greatest downfalls in life. Been there and worn that tee-shirt!

I’ve been going through the cache of thoughts along memory lane over the past months. Ever done that? Just meandering along through life and “POW” you are in another place in time! Events of the past have a way of awakening emotions later on in life and the triggers are as many as they are varied. Well, I guess I am cursed with many varied triggers. Maybe it is due to the fact that I am getting chronologically challenged, (sounds better than getting older doesn’t it!) and time deals me the cards that it feels I need to re-digest before they settle too deep in my sub consciousness. Ah, let’s face it… I am getting old and like so many of my friends, I hash over the old times like it was the real life and it was just the stuff of fairy tales. Nostalgia has a way of clouding the hardships, trials and tribulations that we waded through to get here… the golden years.

So, much of the construct of life has been a trip, a journey which if we were true to ourselves has made us either a total mess or given us inner strength to face the daily grind and still enjoy both the sun and the rain. The analysis which we do later in life adds only the pie-chart syndrome, a picture of what was, versus what might have been. So, where am I today? I guess I am in the mood to move on, to build on and defend what is left of life. I like to think positive some days; because of my gene pool , my calculations show that I may have as much as 30 mostly good years left to love, laugh and play as best that I can, before I reach maturity!

Yes… those estimates may be a bit high, but Mom always said, “Always aim high cause if you don’t you will only fall short of the horizon!” Never quite got my head around that in my youth but it seems to make more sense now that I’ve been there. I have lots to give thanks for, that is certain! Home life taught me a lot, but the living part taught me more.  That is my plan now… to live. How I live is the key.

Some days Jesus had to get away from the crowds, the requests and the expectations. Not everyone understood why and that is the reality of life. Most don’t realize that his journey was fraught with the knowledge that he faced not only the daily expectations of people, but the daily expectations of the work he came to do. While kneeling in the garden that night before he was taken prisoner, Jesus faced the giant and his pain was great. Our picture of life is dulled in that moment. Our battle with time and the elements of struggle are miniaturized to almost nothing compared to what He faced in those hours. Yet, it was not just then… it was throughout his ministry, his life from infancy. Our picture of the “Christ” is so narrow, so myopic… we do not see much between the manger and the cross, unless we walk the path with Him and listen to the conversations, not just read the verses mechanically.

I suppose that is part of where I go from day to day. The knowledge of the expectation of what my life must be and the character of that life in balance, in the midst of those expectations, should be the labour of love which I long to be “my life”. The journey for me now is much simpler, I think.  The expectations from others will be limited to what I feel are helpful and not so great as to undermine the joys I see left in life. I am learning to say “no”, believe it or not, but with balance always in mind. I see the horizon and am seeking the stars.

I leapt down from the rock and stood by the torrent of water, foam swirling at my feet and for the first time felt the fear of being pulled in. Never before had it ever crossed my mind that most of the daring play at river’s edge below the dam was so dangerous. It was after the rains and the river was high… the thunder of tons of water boiling below me had never made such an impression… I was afraid, and I pulled back. Knowing when to fear is healthy, always being afraid is not. That day I opened my eyes and saw how important it was to watch my step, but taking the next steps with confidence, got me safely home. Does that mean that I am always confident? Absolutely not, sometimes I have not always been as aware of my limitations, as I am now.

My biggest struggles these days will be which project to work on in my new workshop; if I can get it built with all the other jobs I have to do. Ha! Priorities right? Well, I guess I am working on that too! I am just going to keep on working, even in retirement until this ol’ physiology gives out. My retirement is my time to play and play I will; that is my work now! I decide what I take on and my sweetheart of 40 plus years steers the train! Oh well, that is living near the edge for now! Gotta love the view from here!

Some Old Flames and First Loves

Try as we might, we never totally forget those first loves, those old flames, that once lit were ever to be part of your memory’s landscape, past and present. They can be any number of people, or even things that just seem to touch life and add something special; a new interest, a lifelong lesson or a new zest for living. I thought today about some of those flames and how they often affect those around me.

It is odd how some of the joys of life can stick like glue in your mind’s eye. I have tucked away some of those moments and experiences that perhaps even changed the course of my life. I am not one to work on the theory of chance, as many of you will know… life places in the greater picture what it is meant to be, with a sprinkle of freedom of choice thrown in to keep us fine-tuned and always aware of the best course to take. It is not always fun to examine ourselves, and I must say that down through the years I have had many the opportunities to do just that… I have gone to the edge and looked into the abyss and though; “This is not a comfortable place to be!”… it sharpens our sense of identity if we let it.

On the lighter side; I remember back some 55 years to my primary grade teacher, Miss Doleman. Life back then should be, you would think, simple. But for many the person who steps out of the comfort of home, to the world of peer pressure and the cruelties of life outside, there needs to be a champion, a mentor; that someone who can make the difference between success and failure in the “stepping out” process. That was Miss Doleman. For a 5 year old turned loose in a new world, she was the perfect guide to make the pathway smoother… she was my first love! Ha! Mom and Dad even took us for drives down toward Lockeport on Sunday afternoons and threatened to take me in to visit her, just because I talked about her all the time! Those first loves are so important!

Now one of those experiences that burned some great pictures into my mind, is the occasion of the spring burning; the raging fires on the Allen homestead. I can remember Dad deciding when was to be just the right evening for the fire. It would be totally frowned upon today in many places, but it had a practical application, in that is kept the fleas and wood ticks back from around the house. We were located in the fringe part of the town and surrounded by woods (forest) and burning in my Mom’s eyes was always tricky. But this was Dad’s domain, a man thing, carried forward from years of historic burns that lit the night sky around the neighbourhoods of his childhood and our little community! Ha! What a rush. Many the night Mom would panic with the words planted on the end of her tongue. “Morton… do we need to call the fire department!... It looks so fierce!” But Dad always assured her that it couldn’t go anywhere and would then sneak off to get some wet brush to beat it down and try to keep it under control.  We never lost the battle once, though it did seem scary to me I will admit these 50 years later.

Not all fires were barn burners! Nope! One afternoon my brother and I, with perhaps a couple of the neighbourhood friends, decided to have a “little” campfire in the old car we played in in the back field. Now this was strictly prohibited! But, we thought we could just have a little fire, be like adults on a camp-out and no one would ever be the wiser. Well, it seems we didn’t quite get the fire out. A spark lodged in the seat of that old car and when we were getting ready for bed that night, we happened to glance out the upstairs window and voila; a finger of smoke emanating from the old car. There was nothing to be done then but to face the consequences. On Dad’s arrival home from work that night he saw the smoke and put out the remains of the fire and lit one on our butts a few minutes later. Now those experiences are real life lessons!

Not all of the first time experiences were negative. Back in about 1958, Mom decided that we needed a facelift on the Ohio Road and hired a couple of carpenters to renovate the homestead. The talented duo were patient, tactful and full of great stories when they took a short “cuppa”, while trying to avoid Mom’s new “thoughts about just minor changes”, which seemed to steer the ship of advancement some days! LOL! One of the guys was Cecil“DeMoliter” and I called him mister “demolisher” and of course he countered with me being named, “Dennis the Mennace”! I became fast friends with Cecil and Claude and just a few years later, when I was more able to swing a hammer and actually hit a nail, they put me to work on little jobs about the community when they worked there. That became the first swing of the hammer, my first taste of another small “L” love that has lasted even to this day… carpentry and woodwork!

But, you know there are other loves in our lives. These true loves should mean so much to us that they change the course of life, and make us into tangible forces of manhood, womanhood and parenthood. I am not implying that we never make mistakes and regret some decisions, but love should be foundational to a solid life of growth and positive interaction with others. A further to that, is our relationship with God. John wrote from his vision on Patmos to the Church at Ephesus (Revelation 2:4), “Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love.” This warning to the Church and its people was real. In life we wax and wane with the times and occasions. There are days when we incline our hearts to our faith, and there are days when life drags us to the hinterlands of isolation and declining interest in all that is Godly! Those are the days when our hearts hear the Spirit’s plea… “Don’t forget your first love!” No, it is not Miss Doleman… it is the God who heard my cries as I sat on the stone gate post on the Ohio Road some 56 or 57 years back, when I was only 3 or 4 years of age… Calling out to Him… “God! God! God!” My mother’s inquiry about this was answered with a short retort, “I just needed to talk to Him!” There are days like that even at this juncture in life. I just need to talk to Him and have Him either light a new fire in my heart or put out some old smoldering coals of something better forgotten.

It’s where we allow our minds and hearts to go each day, that makes all the difference. Years ago I was not one to dwell on the past; I felt it could slow me down and anchor me in a place where I was not happy. Today, I value the past. I can see its significance, rising up toward the future, and I rehearse the important things that have add substance to what has become a rich and varied life that, even though it may have had its moments, will turn into something of value to a loving God if I let Him guide me through what is left of its living. So it is that “living near the edge”, has been both great and frightening, while also being both uplifting and disheartening, but it has always been a learning experience. Stepping out near the edge is what I do, because I need the challenge? No, I am most often taken there by my personality and the path that leads some days where I am not expected to go. It has its challenges, but it all depends how you view the perspective from there! Blessings for your day, and perhaps as you rehearse those old flames and first loves, it may do your heart good to live near the edge for a few minutes!