Vickie (Grandma) and I were invited to go on the Trek with the youth in our LDS stake early this summer. "Trek" is where a bunch of youth, and their leaders, go on a multi-day walk, pulling handcarts, in the wilderness. We do this for a number of reasons. We want to have the youth experience, to a degree, what our pioneer fore-bearers did in pulling all of their possessions across the country in small handcarts. It gives them time and experience with each other in random "families", so they have to learn to get to know and work with those outside their normal groups. And other stuff.
Well, enough background about Treks. I'd just like to say that I am glad that Grandma went on the Trek, since that made it so I was not the oldest trekker...
The theme for this trek was to "Look In, Look Out, Look Up". Each day emphasized one of these. "Look In" was for introspection and to help figure out who you are. "Look Out" was to help us remember to look at opportunities to serve those around us. And "Look Up" was a reminder to look to the Savior for help, strength, guidance and peace as we go through life.
Each of these merits much thought and discussion. But I will leave that for others or another time. I want to share a few thoughts about one "Look" that was not officially part of the Trek Theme, but was a practical and necessary "Look" for this trek.
Which brings me to the topic of badgers. Prior to this trek, I had only seen 1 badger in the wild in my many years of looking for badgers. I am getting old enough, and said badger sighting was long enough ago that it might have been just some random neurons firing in my brain, making me think I had actually seen one of these mythical creatures in their natural habitat. Think about it--Have YOU ever actually seen a real-life badger? I mean other than in the zoo, as we all know most of the animals in zoos would never make it in the wild. That is why they are living the cushy life in the zoo. The "badgers" in the zoo are not Real Badgers. No-Real Badgers live outside of those places. In other places. Where Real Badgers live.
Well, on the trek, there were badgers. Real Badgers. How did I know this? Did I actually see any Real Badgers? I'll answer that later. Meaning, no, I did not see any badgers, real or zoo-type, for the first 3 days of this trek. However, I was sure that there were Badgers right from the first hour of the trek. You may ask "How did you know there were Badgers-Real Badgers-if you didn't see them?
Well, I'll tell you how. One of the smaller trekkers, pushing her family handcart from behind (now, that is a bit redundant, don't you think? If she had been pushing from the front, she would have been trying to get said handcart to go backwards. I guess she could have been pushing from the side... If the angle had been right...) Where were we? Oh yes, on Trek, with the Badgers (the Badgers were not officially Trekking). That we hadn't seen--Oh, right, the small sister was pushing the handcart (you can figure out where she was in relation to the handcart, right?), Sister Edge and I were walking along the side, slightly behind, and this little Sister disappeared! It was like she had been swallowed by the Earth! And she sort of had!
Badgers, you see, make holes. Big holes. And the larger the badger, the larger the hole. They seemed to have a penchant for digging these holes right along the route the Trekkers were Trekking. Those pulling the handcart (I'm sure you have already figured out that these Trekkers would be in front of the handcart-in order to "pull"-right?) had a clear view of the hazards of the holes and would nimbly step over or around them, being, for the most part, young and clever trekkers. Those pushing (remember-they would be behind the cart... oh, I'm sure you have all this straight in your mind by now. At least I hope you do) did not have such vision. their gaze was fixed on the back of the cart, the contents of the cart, or the back of the cute young man/young woman in front of them pulling the cart. As a result, they were prone to step into the Badger holes. Some of which were made by exceptionally large Badgers! Real Badgers!
And this small sister found an exceptionally large Badger hole. She wasn't even looking for it. It just appeared all of a sudden from under the moving handcart, and her first inkling of its (note the proper un-use of an apostrophe in the preceding word-ask your parents if you need to learn when to use "its" and when to use "it's"--if they don't know, then ask Grandpa-he'll make something up that sounds good) existence was when she disappeared into it's black interior.
We thought we had lost our first Trekker! Grandma and I were a bit worried because our job was to tend to the health and first aid needs of these young people. We were prepared for cuts, scrapes, allergies, sprained ankles, headaches, stinky feet and silly ears, but we had no first aid for Acute Badger Hole Disappearance Syndrome! We started to get a bit worried until someone shone her flashlight down the Badger hole and we saw the reflection off this small trekker's glasses. Whew! What relief we felt. After we fished her out (have you ever been fishing in a Badger hole? We have. For Trekkers-not Trout) with a length of strong rope, made sure that she hadn't been attacked by the exceptionally large Badger, and that she had no other injuries that needed attention, we put her in front of the handcart (where she would pull, correct?) and where she had a great view of the badger holes before she stepped into them.
Clever little trekker that she was, she immediately starting warning those behind the cart (the pushers) of upcoming badger holes. She would sing out "Hole Right!" or "Hole Left!" or "Hole Middle!" and those pushing (behind the cart--I'm sure you have this "pushing" and "pulling" and the relative positions firmly in mind by now, don't you?) would then pay attention and not step into the Badger holes. One difficulty was with Grandma. Next time you see her ask her to quickly raise her left hand (or her right) sometime. Not a pretty sight seeing a 60-something professionally educated, very intelligent, well-married and attractive woman struggle to remember which is left and which is right. She was better off pulling than pushing. But most everyone else, when they were paying attention (don't we end up paying more when we don't pay attention?...), were able to alert, or be alerted, to the existence of the terrors of the Badger holes. Made by Real Badgers.
OK-the lesson here? Yes, Look In, Look Out and always Look Up, but also Look Down, or wherever there may be trouble coming-sometimes in the form of badger holes, sometimes in other forms that aren't so obvious, and warn your friends, siblings and those around you of the dangers you might recognize. Don't be surprised if you have some friends that seem to want to find the Badger holes to step in, just to see how it feels. Or if they don't pay attention to your warnings. This happens sometimes-especially with adolescents. We did treat a good number of sprained ankles on this trek. Those trekkers did not do so well.
As for You-You pay attention (so you don't have to pay even more when you don't) to those trying to warn you of holes and dangers they may see that you can't, since you are being so diligent with your pushing of the cart. Your parents, grandparents, some of your teachers and your friends who are True Friends (I may tell you about some of my True Friends sometime) are good warners. Listen and respond like the un-knuckle heads you are. Life goes better, and we are able to do more and find more joy when we aren't always stepping into stinkin' Badger holes, made by Real Badgers. And before you ask, yes, Badger holes do stink. I mean, just imagine what one would find in a Badger hole-ends of worms, remnants of Badger meals, rotting badger fur, Badger, uh, "leavings"-what becomes of the Badger meals in the end. Or from the end. Well, you get the idea. You should have caught a whiff of our small Trekker after her dive into the Badger hole!
And, yes, on the last day of Trek, we saw a Real Badger. He-or it may well have been She-I don't pretend to have expertise in distinguishing Badger gender from 50 yards-was poking its badger head up out of its Badger Hole to watch us go by. White stripes on its cheeks. Looked kind of cute. But I understand you wouldn't want one for a pet. So, yes, Real Badgers do exist. They are not mythical. Neither are their holes.
It's been fun talking Badgers with you. Now go kiss you Mom and Dad, tell them you love them and go to bed! Oh yes, remember that Ratty is distantly related to Real Badgers....
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Sunday, September 6, 2015
End of summer...again!
September already! Can you believe it? Where did it go? Summer, I mean.
Summer brings back memories of riding my blue Schwinn tank-of-a-bike, feeling the freedom that all kids on bikes experience, trips in the station wagon (precursor to your stinkin' mini van. Ask your parents) from here (Utah) to visit Grandma in Florida (why do kids always go to "Grandma's", never to "Grandpa's"?), digging forts in the vacant lot-holes and tunnels in the ground covered by plywood and dirt, playing "kick the can" until it got too dark to see, getting up way early to go fishing-and hunting night crawlers the night before, visiting our cousins in Roosevelt, which also involved swimming in the canal, jumping off the haystack into the canal, chasing cows, eating fresh garden stuff-tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, going to town to watch 3 movies at the theater for a quarter, getting "wild indians" at the Rexall drugstore, and, best of all, my older brother ending up in an uncovered septic hole. I also remember long summer days of not enough to do (don't tell your parents, or they will find you something to do!), then going to bed while it was still light-and very hot-wishing I was still outside. I think my parents put us to bed just to get us out of their hair for an hour or so before their bedtime. Imagine that. Kind of like sending your kids out to get in the car, then not going out yourself for a few minutes-just to enjoy a quiet house for a bit.
So, what to share on my little story place? I thought about writing about school, but I don't want to miss summer again! Writing about school is tempting because-
-I was good at it, even though I didn't know this at the beginning.
-I had several teachers who made me feel like I was pretty bright and could do things.
-I got better grades than my siblings, so report card day was kind of nice for me. You ask what are "grades" and " report cards"? Well, grades were how the teacher let your parents (and you) know how you were doing in school, and if you should plan on a life of crime or being a hobo, or if there was a chance for you to do something more. And "report cards"? We'll visit that again another time.
OK! Enough about school. More later.
So, for today, how about a short story or two?
Roosevelt, Utah is in the Uintah basin, or just "the basin" for those of us who have people there. Our mother's younger sister, Aunt Jennis, had married one of the Yack brothers of the infamous Yack Brothers Honey, and they lived in Roosevelt. They had some acreage on the edge of town, a little house with small, cool rooms, a huge garden, a haystack, some cows (sometimes), a chicken coop and a whole different world from the one I was familiar with in South Salt Lake.
We would take the three hour trip out there several times a year-mostly always in the summer, as highway 40 was an icy death trap in the winter. And our cars were not as reliable as what we all travel in now. And there were no cell phones. Kind of like living like cavemen, right?
One time, my two brothers and I, along with our cousin Jerry, were out playing army in the pasture by our aunt's home. Did I mention that, when I was quite young, there was an outhouse (ask your parents, or look at the calendar Aunt Lindsey gave us all for Christmas) behind their home? Well, there was, and you need to keep that fact in mind.
My older brother was always trying to be the boss when we played, and was doing so on the day in question. He was leading us on marches. Now, you need to realize that our generation came along shortly after World War II, and the war, along with the military was a big influence in our lives. I still resent that my mom wouldn't let us watch "Combat" on TV...
OK-back to the story-we were in waist high alfalfa, marching here and there. I think most of us (meaning everyone but Randy) were getting a bit tired of the marching-sounds like the real thing, don't you think?-and were hoping for a quick end. I think I remember Randy encouraging us to step it up and get in line. He had turned to face us to let us know our marching was not quite up to his lofty expectations. As he turned and shouted "Forward harch" (yes, we did think that was how real soldiers said "march"), he took a step, maybe two, and disappeared! With a splash-well, not a "splash". More like a "splut". Followed by weeping and wailing.
Do you remember my telling you that there was an outhouse involved? Well, I guess that an outhouse had occupied (in the kind of recent past) that very spot where my brother had so gallantly marched.
What a stinkin' situation! Well, I don't recall what happened next. I assume that I, being the "good" kid of the bunch, ran back to the house to fetch a grown up or two. I also assume that they successfully got him out of the Pit of Despair (the original one). I do remember that my Aunt Jennis would not let him in her house until he had hosed off and left his clothes outside.
I also remember a couple of other things-at least I think I do. I think I thought it was kind of amusing. I am sure that I had a few chuckles over my dear brother's poopy dilemma. I also kind of think that, somehow, our cousin had set my brother up to take that final step. I remember some encouragement from him to have us march in a certain direction. Our cousin did play some interesting pranks on us when we stayed out in Roosevelt. Ask me about the glowing wolf's head sometime.
What lessons did I learn from my brother's unfortunate step into the pit? Well, "look before you leap" or before you "forward harch". And-be kind to those following you so they may not lead you astray from behind. And mostly-that I'm glad that there were not lasting injuries involved for my brother. That way we can still chuckle at this little episode. If he had been seriously injured, then it would be difficult to find it amusing.
But he does still smell a bit ripe at times...
Good night.
Maybe we need to talk about Florida adventures next time. And I'm not talking Disney World. More like using the little Yankee boys as gator bait. We'll see.
Summer brings back memories of riding my blue Schwinn tank-of-a-bike, feeling the freedom that all kids on bikes experience, trips in the station wagon (precursor to your stinkin' mini van. Ask your parents) from here (Utah) to visit Grandma in Florida (why do kids always go to "Grandma's", never to "Grandpa's"?), digging forts in the vacant lot-holes and tunnels in the ground covered by plywood and dirt, playing "kick the can" until it got too dark to see, getting up way early to go fishing-and hunting night crawlers the night before, visiting our cousins in Roosevelt, which also involved swimming in the canal, jumping off the haystack into the canal, chasing cows, eating fresh garden stuff-tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, going to town to watch 3 movies at the theater for a quarter, getting "wild indians" at the Rexall drugstore, and, best of all, my older brother ending up in an uncovered septic hole. I also remember long summer days of not enough to do (don't tell your parents, or they will find you something to do!), then going to bed while it was still light-and very hot-wishing I was still outside. I think my parents put us to bed just to get us out of their hair for an hour or so before their bedtime. Imagine that. Kind of like sending your kids out to get in the car, then not going out yourself for a few minutes-just to enjoy a quiet house for a bit.
So, what to share on my little story place? I thought about writing about school, but I don't want to miss summer again! Writing about school is tempting because-
-I was good at it, even though I didn't know this at the beginning.
-I had several teachers who made me feel like I was pretty bright and could do things.
-I got better grades than my siblings, so report card day was kind of nice for me. You ask what are "grades" and " report cards"? Well, grades were how the teacher let your parents (and you) know how you were doing in school, and if you should plan on a life of crime or being a hobo, or if there was a chance for you to do something more. And "report cards"? We'll visit that again another time.
OK! Enough about school. More later.
So, for today, how about a short story or two?
Roosevelt, Utah is in the Uintah basin, or just "the basin" for those of us who have people there. Our mother's younger sister, Aunt Jennis, had married one of the Yack brothers of the infamous Yack Brothers Honey, and they lived in Roosevelt. They had some acreage on the edge of town, a little house with small, cool rooms, a huge garden, a haystack, some cows (sometimes), a chicken coop and a whole different world from the one I was familiar with in South Salt Lake.
We would take the three hour trip out there several times a year-mostly always in the summer, as highway 40 was an icy death trap in the winter. And our cars were not as reliable as what we all travel in now. And there were no cell phones. Kind of like living like cavemen, right?
One time, my two brothers and I, along with our cousin Jerry, were out playing army in the pasture by our aunt's home. Did I mention that, when I was quite young, there was an outhouse (ask your parents, or look at the calendar Aunt Lindsey gave us all for Christmas) behind their home? Well, there was, and you need to keep that fact in mind.
My older brother was always trying to be the boss when we played, and was doing so on the day in question. He was leading us on marches. Now, you need to realize that our generation came along shortly after World War II, and the war, along with the military was a big influence in our lives. I still resent that my mom wouldn't let us watch "Combat" on TV...
OK-back to the story-we were in waist high alfalfa, marching here and there. I think most of us (meaning everyone but Randy) were getting a bit tired of the marching-sounds like the real thing, don't you think?-and were hoping for a quick end. I think I remember Randy encouraging us to step it up and get in line. He had turned to face us to let us know our marching was not quite up to his lofty expectations. As he turned and shouted "Forward harch" (yes, we did think that was how real soldiers said "march"), he took a step, maybe two, and disappeared! With a splash-well, not a "splash". More like a "splut". Followed by weeping and wailing.
Do you remember my telling you that there was an outhouse involved? Well, I guess that an outhouse had occupied (in the kind of recent past) that very spot where my brother had so gallantly marched.
What a stinkin' situation! Well, I don't recall what happened next. I assume that I, being the "good" kid of the bunch, ran back to the house to fetch a grown up or two. I also assume that they successfully got him out of the Pit of Despair (the original one). I do remember that my Aunt Jennis would not let him in her house until he had hosed off and left his clothes outside.
I also remember a couple of other things-at least I think I do. I think I thought it was kind of amusing. I am sure that I had a few chuckles over my dear brother's poopy dilemma. I also kind of think that, somehow, our cousin had set my brother up to take that final step. I remember some encouragement from him to have us march in a certain direction. Our cousin did play some interesting pranks on us when we stayed out in Roosevelt. Ask me about the glowing wolf's head sometime.
What lessons did I learn from my brother's unfortunate step into the pit? Well, "look before you leap" or before you "forward harch". And-be kind to those following you so they may not lead you astray from behind. And mostly-that I'm glad that there were not lasting injuries involved for my brother. That way we can still chuckle at this little episode. If he had been seriously injured, then it would be difficult to find it amusing.
But he does still smell a bit ripe at times...
Good night.
Maybe we need to talk about Florida adventures next time. And I'm not talking Disney World. More like using the little Yankee boys as gator bait. We'll see.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Milestones
Summer is sliding by quickly. I have been pondering on topics worthy of posting, have had some partial thoughts, but, as is evident, have had nothing that I actually put on this spot. So, with that in mind, I will share a few of these partial thoughts. Is that what comes from being a half-wit?
A long, long time ago, in a temple not too far away, my Vickie and I were married. Forty years ago. Now, that may seem like a long time to you youngsters (and to Vickie as well, I am sure), but it is not so long in the eternal perspective of things. In fact, we are looking forward to an eternity together. So forty years is nothing. But it sure has seemed like something!
My older brother, Randy turned 65 this week. It is hard for me to think that I have a sibling old enough for Medicare! I went up to his birthday celebration and spent a good deal of it visiting with my cousin and her husband. Her mother, my aunt Mary, will turn 101 next month.
Vickie, earlier this year, got a notice and catalog in the mail from her work. She has now worked for the same health care company for 40 years! And she hasn't been fired even once! I think she needs to retire. Her pension now would pay her most of what she is making. She would not have to work on a crazy labor and delivery floor several midnight shifts each week. But, she says she needs to work for a couple more years. I can't talk sense into her. You give it a try. A selfish note-she has been working 3 years longer than I have, so I have to work 3 years beyond her retirement. And I am getting older and more tired some days. Encourage her to give me a break by stopping soon.
One more-earlier this year-I think it was in early spring-I was out for my morning bike ride and noticed that my bike computer was going berserk. I watched as it cycled through several screens, including one that looked like a birthday cake (it was not my birthday), screaming to get my attention. My first thought was that it was time to get a new cycle computer, as this one was obviously dying a silly death. Then I looked closer at the small screen. It was celebrating the fact that I had logged 25000 miles on the computer.
OK-something that may not seem to be related at all (imagine that on this site...)
I was working on trimming and chipping dead wood out of the locust tree by the driveway a couple of weeks ago. The little girl next door was out visiting as I was working, as is her habit. She had a little shovel and decided she was going to work also. So she started digging a hole in her flower bed. I'm not sure if she intended to plant anything or was just digging for the fun of it. As I turned off the (very loud) chipper, she asked "neighbor, how long have I been working?". She always calls me neighbor. I'm not sure if I should tell her to call me "Rick" or "Mr. Edge" (nope on that one) or ... I think "neighbor" is just fine. Kind of neighborly actually. Anyway, I told her that she had been working for about a minute and a half. She stopped, wiped the sweat from her brow and thought for a moment. Then she said "that must be a very long time, because I am really tired!"
As I look at some of these "milestones"-40 years of marriage, living to be old enough for Medicare, or living to be 101, pedaling a bike for a few miles, working at the same place for 40 years-I start to think about enduring. More than that, I think about enduring well. I know I have had times in life when I felt like I had been working for "a very long time, because I am really tired!". From an eternal perspective, we haven't-any of us-been toiling beyond our ability to endure. The minute-and-half tasks may well seem like a "very long time", but we can get through them. And we can learn, grow, and find joy in the enduring. And that is a topic for another day. Maybe I can remember a story to tell with it.
Final thought-I was not able to come up with the right token gift for my sweetie for our 40th. But, I am still working on it. I figure if I find just the right thing by her birthday in late November, it will work for both. Wish me success. I know she already has everything she wants (mainly me) and she is not into material things. Maybe the perfect dog-a "Scooter" with less prey drive. We'll see. Let me know if any of you have wonderful ideas.
A long, long time ago, in a temple not too far away, my Vickie and I were married. Forty years ago. Now, that may seem like a long time to you youngsters (and to Vickie as well, I am sure), but it is not so long in the eternal perspective of things. In fact, we are looking forward to an eternity together. So forty years is nothing. But it sure has seemed like something!
My older brother, Randy turned 65 this week. It is hard for me to think that I have a sibling old enough for Medicare! I went up to his birthday celebration and spent a good deal of it visiting with my cousin and her husband. Her mother, my aunt Mary, will turn 101 next month.
Vickie, earlier this year, got a notice and catalog in the mail from her work. She has now worked for the same health care company for 40 years! And she hasn't been fired even once! I think she needs to retire. Her pension now would pay her most of what she is making. She would not have to work on a crazy labor and delivery floor several midnight shifts each week. But, she says she needs to work for a couple more years. I can't talk sense into her. You give it a try. A selfish note-she has been working 3 years longer than I have, so I have to work 3 years beyond her retirement. And I am getting older and more tired some days. Encourage her to give me a break by stopping soon.
One more-earlier this year-I think it was in early spring-I was out for my morning bike ride and noticed that my bike computer was going berserk. I watched as it cycled through several screens, including one that looked like a birthday cake (it was not my birthday), screaming to get my attention. My first thought was that it was time to get a new cycle computer, as this one was obviously dying a silly death. Then I looked closer at the small screen. It was celebrating the fact that I had logged 25000 miles on the computer.
OK-something that may not seem to be related at all (imagine that on this site...)
I was working on trimming and chipping dead wood out of the locust tree by the driveway a couple of weeks ago. The little girl next door was out visiting as I was working, as is her habit. She had a little shovel and decided she was going to work also. So she started digging a hole in her flower bed. I'm not sure if she intended to plant anything or was just digging for the fun of it. As I turned off the (very loud) chipper, she asked "neighbor, how long have I been working?". She always calls me neighbor. I'm not sure if I should tell her to call me "Rick" or "Mr. Edge" (nope on that one) or ... I think "neighbor" is just fine. Kind of neighborly actually. Anyway, I told her that she had been working for about a minute and a half. She stopped, wiped the sweat from her brow and thought for a moment. Then she said "that must be a very long time, because I am really tired!"
As I look at some of these "milestones"-40 years of marriage, living to be old enough for Medicare, or living to be 101, pedaling a bike for a few miles, working at the same place for 40 years-I start to think about enduring. More than that, I think about enduring well. I know I have had times in life when I felt like I had been working for "a very long time, because I am really tired!". From an eternal perspective, we haven't-any of us-been toiling beyond our ability to endure. The minute-and-half tasks may well seem like a "very long time", but we can get through them. And we can learn, grow, and find joy in the enduring. And that is a topic for another day. Maybe I can remember a story to tell with it.
Final thought-I was not able to come up with the right token gift for my sweetie for our 40th. But, I am still working on it. I figure if I find just the right thing by her birthday in late November, it will work for both. Wish me success. I know she already has everything she wants (mainly me) and she is not into material things. Maybe the perfect dog-a "Scooter" with less prey drive. We'll see. Let me know if any of you have wonderful ideas.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Rescued!
The LBB
I am what is often called a "little brown bird". I think I heard myself referred to as a "wren" one time. But I don't really remember. My brain is just a little bird brain, after all.
Speaking of small brains, mine does just fine for what I am to do. I fly wonderfully, move with my friends a long way, it seems to me, when it becomes too hot or too cold.
I can also catch bugs. Spiders, flies, moths, generic bugs-I pick them up off the ground, off the branches of trees and shrubs and even in mid-air-did I tell you that I'm a great flier?
I protect my nest from all intruders, pecking with my sharp beak and flapping my mighty (if quite small) wings to drive off even larger birds.
And I can Sing! I think you can find recordings of my wonderful singing-or of some of my cousins'-if you try to find them. Or you can listen for me in the mountain forest areas or even your backyard!
Back to my smallish-but perfectly capable and serviceable-brain. You see, I am what they call "hard wired" for certain things. Did I mention that I am a fabulous hunter of bugs? Well, I am. And when I am on course to pick a juicy moth out of the air, nothing can deter me! Within a few flaps of my wonderful wings and a quick flick of my tail to zig and zag to follow a moth, my marvelous pointy beak will snap shut on the tasty morsel and-- Gulp! Snack time! Or, if there are little ones in the nest, I may take it back to feed them. You should see me in action. Quite impressive, if I do say so. Not to bad-mouth moths (actually, they are not bad in the mouth at all...), but they really haven't figured out the flying thing very well. They fly kind of jerky, up and down, side to side-and the slightest little breeze blows them off course. Sometimes this makes it so they aren't as easily snapped up as at other times.
Which brings me back to the small (but quite serviceable-most of the time-) brain of mine.
When it was light before the dark we last had (would you call that "yesterday"? I don't quite understand this concept of "days". But I can fly and catch bugs). It was a warm day with a brilliantly blue sky with some puffy clouds, but no rain clouds. A wonderful day for flying!
Where was I?.. Oh yes, I was chasing this very promising fat moth. I had flicked and flittered several times (these are technical LBB -"Little Brown Bird"-flying terms. No time to go into detailed explanation for you non-flyers), and I could smell and taste the fear coming off this fluttering (did I mention that moths don't really "fly"-flutter is the best they can do) snack. No babies in the nest to take it back to. They had already flown off on their own. So this tasty treat was all for me!
Then, as my beak was closing around this fluttering food, there was the slightest shift in the breeze. No problem for me. I am, after all, quite a flyer. The moth shifted down and over-I'm sure it didn't intend to, but, hey-no problem for me. Even though we were quite close to the top of one of the cabins in my yard, my skillful flying allowed me to grab the moth in mid-shift in the air! Another bug beginning to fuel me!
And then--Bang! And all went dark.
The Grandpa
It had been a busy morning. It was the first day in a long time that we didn't have rain. Grandma and I had come up to the cabin the day before. We had slept well (important when you are a kid and when you get older) and had gotten up early to take the tandem (ask your parents, but you really should already know words like this one) kayak down to the lake. Our purpose was to see if we could get the Scooter Dog into the kayak with us without him jumping out, slipping his collar or biting an innocent passerby (he has talent for all of these things-what a dog!). Since this is not a story about Scooter, all I will say is that we paddled every arm of every arm of the reservoir, and took Scooter for a little walk in the middle of the paddle.
So, having worked hard to keep the kayak going straight (Grandma was in the back for a while...), and being an old man, I was tired when we got back to the cabin. And what do tired old men do? Correct! They take naps. So I stretched out in my favorite posture on the couch to catch a much-anticipated snooze. I pretended to read for a few minutes-just to impress Grandma-but was soon in the arms of Morpheus.
I was peacefully catching z's when--Bang!, rattle rattle. I jumped up from the couch (yes, you may laugh at the idea of Granpa "jumping" in any manner) and looked first for Scooter. Scooter has been know to chew things. Mainly shoes. My shoes. My work shoes... So I thought maybe he had started chewing other things-like the bumper on the car, or the chain on the porch swing. Something metal.
But, Scooter was dog-napping (not to be confused with "dognapping". I don't even think a dog could snatch up another dog and hold them for ransom. Good luck with that if you snatch up the Scoots...), and he had not made the noise I heard. Or thought I heard.
Since I could find nothing wrong, I went about some chores for awhile. I was outside working on something-Grandpas are good at not remembering sometimes-and then came back in the cabin. When I came in, I heard a faint "peck-peck-peck" on what sounded like glass. I looked around at all the windows in the room, but could find no source of the pecking.
The LLB
Yikes! (Did you know that the word "yikes" originated within the Bird Kingdom? I will try to remember to tell you about this another time.) Where was I? Oh, yes-
Yikes! "Bang!" I was just shutting my beak around a tasty critter, then it was dark. And I flew into something solid. And I started to fall, so I tried to fly away. But I could not see where "away" was. I could not see anything! It was dark! And my head, and its perfectly serviceable, if small, brain hurt. So I kind of flew where I could. My wings hit solid black in every direction, and I could not flap them quickly or strongly enough to go Up. Up is almost always safe (unless there is a hawk above you-another story for another time. Suffice it to say that I am still here. But so is the hawk). But I could not go Up. So I ended up fluttering-almost as clumsily as a stupid moth-Down.
I was sure I was doomed. I landed in a heap in a soft bed of-----I don't know what. It smelled like the smoke that came from the tubes on tops of the cabins in my yard, but it wasn't warm. It did make me want to sneeze. I make the cutest LBB sneeze sound. I was in---something. And I couldn't find my way Up. I couldn't breath as deeply as I needed, and it got worse when I flapped and flittered about. So I tried not to. I really did. But it was so hard to not try to get Out! But-I couldn't get out. I was trapped and did not know what to do. Being the brave LBB that I am, but also being very focused, I decided that I would not panic, but I would also not stop trying to get out or fly Up.
There was one side of the box I was in that I could see through. But it did not go Up or Out-not out into the fresh air and blue sky. But I could see out of the box. So I started pecking with my wonderful, sharp, strong, pointy beak. If I could pull bugs out of trees, surely my beak could get me Out!
But it couldn't. No chips came off whatever I was pecking, no holes appeared. But I Did Not Stop Trying. So, I kept pecking. "Rat a tat tat", rest. "Rat a tat tat", rest. I would keep that up until, well, until I couldn't! Simple as that. I Would Get Out.
The Grandpa (with a cameo by The Grandma)
After I looked at all the windows, my large (but not always as serviceable as I would like) brain told me that there was another pane of glass in the room. I looked at our wood burning stove. Our cold wood burning stove. Remember-it was a warm day, so no fire in the stove.
I saw a LBB flitting about in the stove. He would peck "rat-a-tat-tat", rest (sneeze-what a cute little bird sneeze), "rat-a-tat-tat", rest, sneeze, repeat. He was relentless. And cute.
Grandma was sitting outside in the sunshine, so I called her to come in. I told her there was something in the stove. She stopped when I said this, one foot in the doorway, and would not come in, thinking a rat or mouse had gotten in the stove. I assured her it was the cutest LBB, so she came and took a look. We quickly opened the front door wide, then opened the front of the stove, hoping the little fellow would safely fly out.
The LBB
As I was pecking out of the box in which I was trapped, I saw through the glass two giants come toward the box I was in. I am familiar with Humans, as I see them often around the cabins in my yard, but I had never been trapped in a box with them in the same area. They were so ginormous up close like this! I could have been scared, but I determined to be brave. So I kept pecking. Until the front of the box opened! I was free! I flew as swiftly as I could toward the Out! "Bang!" Something was keeping me from going Out! I was again dazed and found myself on the floor. I jumped up and flew toward Out in the other direction. "Bang!!"
The Grandpa
So, I guess my large brain was not quite large enough! I should have opened the windows and pulled the screens off. That tough LBB had flow-quite rapidly-into windows on either side of the room and was now standing (sitting) on the floor. I don't know how he managed to stay upright. He was closest to the double doors out the side of the cabin. We opened them both and I slowly approached the LBB, very slowly reached down toward him and...
The LBB
Things were spinning, my little brain hurt. I was standing-but just barely. I couldn't quite remember what, where, who. But I did see the larger human sneaking up on me-reaching toward me. Was he going to crush me and swallow me like a bug? I let his hand get withing two feather widths, then took off in a powerful launch! Except it wasn't. So powerful, that is. I managed to jump (but wasn't able to fly) and hop to the other side of what looked like a thick tree branch. I knew I wasn't Out or Up, but had no more ability to move.
The Grandpa
What a tough little character! But he did not move far. A couple of feet. I took several small, stealthy steps (yes, I can move stealthily when called for), slowly reached down and closed my hand around the little bundle of feathers.
The LBB
Yikes! I tried, but my smallish brain and my amazing little flying body wouldn't communicate. I told it to fly, launch, or at least hop-or even peck! But it wouldn't. I could see the huge hand reaching to me to crush me. I could, at least, look the terrible giant in the eye as he squeezed the air out of me, crunching my tiny bones before popping me into his monstrous mouth.
The Granpa
Poor little guy! He couldn't seem to move, and, as I closed my hand around his feathered little body, I could feel his stout little heart beating a very rapid staccato. I very gently picked him up, expecting the sharp pointed beak to jab my hand. I mentally prepared to not squeeze the little guy when he pecked me. But he didn't. He did look me in the eye, however, as if to say "See how brave I am!"
The LBB
Well-as you can probably guess-the Grandpa (that's what the other human called this one. Do you think humans will ever learn to properly sing?) picked me up. It took all I could do to not drive my sharp, pointy beak into his hand, but it did not seem like he was trying to crush me!
He picked me up and gently put me on a wooden post that was Out! And I could see Up! How wonderful!
But-I did not have the energy to even think about flying. I was still in reach of these humans. Would they come back to me when they needed a small snack? The smaller one ("Vick", I think) went by me several times, but did not try to harm me. I don't know how long I sat there, but, after the sun had moved across the sky just a little way, I had energy enough to launch and fly! And a sweeter flight there has never been! I was much too tired to do anything spectacular, but I could feel the wind in my feathers and I could see the Sun and Up! And I was Out!
I will try to remember (smallish brain, right?) to sing outside these human's cabin more often-my sweetest songs.
The Grandpa
The LBB sat for thirty or forty minutes, according toe Grandma, before he was able to take off. I do hope he has eaten a few bugs and is feeling better. He has had a much-too-exciting day. Talk about an adventure!. Flying into the small opening at the top of our chimney, ending up in our wood stove for an hour or so, banging into the windows and being carried by a giant! What a tale he'll have! If his smallish brain remembers.
The birdsong seemed to be sweeter that afternoon.
The LBB
I did sing that evening of my adventure and the courage I found. I sang more loudly of the kindness of the humans kindness to release me from my doom and to no make a snack out of me. And I sang of the wonderfulness of being Out and being able to fly Up.
I am what is often called a "little brown bird". I think I heard myself referred to as a "wren" one time. But I don't really remember. My brain is just a little bird brain, after all.
Speaking of small brains, mine does just fine for what I am to do. I fly wonderfully, move with my friends a long way, it seems to me, when it becomes too hot or too cold.
I can also catch bugs. Spiders, flies, moths, generic bugs-I pick them up off the ground, off the branches of trees and shrubs and even in mid-air-did I tell you that I'm a great flier?
I protect my nest from all intruders, pecking with my sharp beak and flapping my mighty (if quite small) wings to drive off even larger birds.
And I can Sing! I think you can find recordings of my wonderful singing-or of some of my cousins'-if you try to find them. Or you can listen for me in the mountain forest areas or even your backyard!
Back to my smallish-but perfectly capable and serviceable-brain. You see, I am what they call "hard wired" for certain things. Did I mention that I am a fabulous hunter of bugs? Well, I am. And when I am on course to pick a juicy moth out of the air, nothing can deter me! Within a few flaps of my wonderful wings and a quick flick of my tail to zig and zag to follow a moth, my marvelous pointy beak will snap shut on the tasty morsel and-- Gulp! Snack time! Or, if there are little ones in the nest, I may take it back to feed them. You should see me in action. Quite impressive, if I do say so. Not to bad-mouth moths (actually, they are not bad in the mouth at all...), but they really haven't figured out the flying thing very well. They fly kind of jerky, up and down, side to side-and the slightest little breeze blows them off course. Sometimes this makes it so they aren't as easily snapped up as at other times.
Which brings me back to the small (but quite serviceable-most of the time-) brain of mine.
When it was light before the dark we last had (would you call that "yesterday"? I don't quite understand this concept of "days". But I can fly and catch bugs). It was a warm day with a brilliantly blue sky with some puffy clouds, but no rain clouds. A wonderful day for flying!
Where was I?.. Oh yes, I was chasing this very promising fat moth. I had flicked and flittered several times (these are technical LBB -"Little Brown Bird"-flying terms. No time to go into detailed explanation for you non-flyers), and I could smell and taste the fear coming off this fluttering (did I mention that moths don't really "fly"-flutter is the best they can do) snack. No babies in the nest to take it back to. They had already flown off on their own. So this tasty treat was all for me!
Then, as my beak was closing around this fluttering food, there was the slightest shift in the breeze. No problem for me. I am, after all, quite a flyer. The moth shifted down and over-I'm sure it didn't intend to, but, hey-no problem for me. Even though we were quite close to the top of one of the cabins in my yard, my skillful flying allowed me to grab the moth in mid-shift in the air! Another bug beginning to fuel me!
And then--Bang! And all went dark.
The Grandpa
It had been a busy morning. It was the first day in a long time that we didn't have rain. Grandma and I had come up to the cabin the day before. We had slept well (important when you are a kid and when you get older) and had gotten up early to take the tandem (ask your parents, but you really should already know words like this one) kayak down to the lake. Our purpose was to see if we could get the Scooter Dog into the kayak with us without him jumping out, slipping his collar or biting an innocent passerby (he has talent for all of these things-what a dog!). Since this is not a story about Scooter, all I will say is that we paddled every arm of every arm of the reservoir, and took Scooter for a little walk in the middle of the paddle.
So, having worked hard to keep the kayak going straight (Grandma was in the back for a while...), and being an old man, I was tired when we got back to the cabin. And what do tired old men do? Correct! They take naps. So I stretched out in my favorite posture on the couch to catch a much-anticipated snooze. I pretended to read for a few minutes-just to impress Grandma-but was soon in the arms of Morpheus.
I was peacefully catching z's when--Bang!, rattle rattle. I jumped up from the couch (yes, you may laugh at the idea of Granpa "jumping" in any manner) and looked first for Scooter. Scooter has been know to chew things. Mainly shoes. My shoes. My work shoes... So I thought maybe he had started chewing other things-like the bumper on the car, or the chain on the porch swing. Something metal.
But, Scooter was dog-napping (not to be confused with "dognapping". I don't even think a dog could snatch up another dog and hold them for ransom. Good luck with that if you snatch up the Scoots...), and he had not made the noise I heard. Or thought I heard.
Since I could find nothing wrong, I went about some chores for awhile. I was outside working on something-Grandpas are good at not remembering sometimes-and then came back in the cabin. When I came in, I heard a faint "peck-peck-peck" on what sounded like glass. I looked around at all the windows in the room, but could find no source of the pecking.
The LLB
Yikes! (Did you know that the word "yikes" originated within the Bird Kingdom? I will try to remember to tell you about this another time.) Where was I? Oh, yes-
Yikes! "Bang!" I was just shutting my beak around a tasty critter, then it was dark. And I flew into something solid. And I started to fall, so I tried to fly away. But I could not see where "away" was. I could not see anything! It was dark! And my head, and its perfectly serviceable, if small, brain hurt. So I kind of flew where I could. My wings hit solid black in every direction, and I could not flap them quickly or strongly enough to go Up. Up is almost always safe (unless there is a hawk above you-another story for another time. Suffice it to say that I am still here. But so is the hawk). But I could not go Up. So I ended up fluttering-almost as clumsily as a stupid moth-Down.
I was sure I was doomed. I landed in a heap in a soft bed of-----I don't know what. It smelled like the smoke that came from the tubes on tops of the cabins in my yard, but it wasn't warm. It did make me want to sneeze. I make the cutest LBB sneeze sound. I was in---something. And I couldn't find my way Up. I couldn't breath as deeply as I needed, and it got worse when I flapped and flittered about. So I tried not to. I really did. But it was so hard to not try to get Out! But-I couldn't get out. I was trapped and did not know what to do. Being the brave LBB that I am, but also being very focused, I decided that I would not panic, but I would also not stop trying to get out or fly Up.
There was one side of the box I was in that I could see through. But it did not go Up or Out-not out into the fresh air and blue sky. But I could see out of the box. So I started pecking with my wonderful, sharp, strong, pointy beak. If I could pull bugs out of trees, surely my beak could get me Out!
But it couldn't. No chips came off whatever I was pecking, no holes appeared. But I Did Not Stop Trying. So, I kept pecking. "Rat a tat tat", rest. "Rat a tat tat", rest. I would keep that up until, well, until I couldn't! Simple as that. I Would Get Out.
The Grandpa (with a cameo by The Grandma)
After I looked at all the windows, my large (but not always as serviceable as I would like) brain told me that there was another pane of glass in the room. I looked at our wood burning stove. Our cold wood burning stove. Remember-it was a warm day, so no fire in the stove.
I saw a LBB flitting about in the stove. He would peck "rat-a-tat-tat", rest (sneeze-what a cute little bird sneeze), "rat-a-tat-tat", rest, sneeze, repeat. He was relentless. And cute.
Grandma was sitting outside in the sunshine, so I called her to come in. I told her there was something in the stove. She stopped when I said this, one foot in the doorway, and would not come in, thinking a rat or mouse had gotten in the stove. I assured her it was the cutest LBB, so she came and took a look. We quickly opened the front door wide, then opened the front of the stove, hoping the little fellow would safely fly out.
The LBB
As I was pecking out of the box in which I was trapped, I saw through the glass two giants come toward the box I was in. I am familiar with Humans, as I see them often around the cabins in my yard, but I had never been trapped in a box with them in the same area. They were so ginormous up close like this! I could have been scared, but I determined to be brave. So I kept pecking. Until the front of the box opened! I was free! I flew as swiftly as I could toward the Out! "Bang!" Something was keeping me from going Out! I was again dazed and found myself on the floor. I jumped up and flew toward Out in the other direction. "Bang!!"
The Grandpa
So, I guess my large brain was not quite large enough! I should have opened the windows and pulled the screens off. That tough LBB had flow-quite rapidly-into windows on either side of the room and was now standing (sitting) on the floor. I don't know how he managed to stay upright. He was closest to the double doors out the side of the cabin. We opened them both and I slowly approached the LBB, very slowly reached down toward him and...
The LBB
Things were spinning, my little brain hurt. I was standing-but just barely. I couldn't quite remember what, where, who. But I did see the larger human sneaking up on me-reaching toward me. Was he going to crush me and swallow me like a bug? I let his hand get withing two feather widths, then took off in a powerful launch! Except it wasn't. So powerful, that is. I managed to jump (but wasn't able to fly) and hop to the other side of what looked like a thick tree branch. I knew I wasn't Out or Up, but had no more ability to move.
The Grandpa
What a tough little character! But he did not move far. A couple of feet. I took several small, stealthy steps (yes, I can move stealthily when called for), slowly reached down and closed my hand around the little bundle of feathers.
The LBB
Yikes! I tried, but my smallish brain and my amazing little flying body wouldn't communicate. I told it to fly, launch, or at least hop-or even peck! But it wouldn't. I could see the huge hand reaching to me to crush me. I could, at least, look the terrible giant in the eye as he squeezed the air out of me, crunching my tiny bones before popping me into his monstrous mouth.
The Granpa
Poor little guy! He couldn't seem to move, and, as I closed my hand around his feathered little body, I could feel his stout little heart beating a very rapid staccato. I very gently picked him up, expecting the sharp pointed beak to jab my hand. I mentally prepared to not squeeze the little guy when he pecked me. But he didn't. He did look me in the eye, however, as if to say "See how brave I am!"
The LBB
Well-as you can probably guess-the Grandpa (that's what the other human called this one. Do you think humans will ever learn to properly sing?) picked me up. It took all I could do to not drive my sharp, pointy beak into his hand, but it did not seem like he was trying to crush me!
He picked me up and gently put me on a wooden post that was Out! And I could see Up! How wonderful!
But-I did not have the energy to even think about flying. I was still in reach of these humans. Would they come back to me when they needed a small snack? The smaller one ("Vick", I think) went by me several times, but did not try to harm me. I don't know how long I sat there, but, after the sun had moved across the sky just a little way, I had energy enough to launch and fly! And a sweeter flight there has never been! I was much too tired to do anything spectacular, but I could feel the wind in my feathers and I could see the Sun and Up! And I was Out!
I will try to remember (smallish brain, right?) to sing outside these human's cabin more often-my sweetest songs.
The Grandpa
The LBB sat for thirty or forty minutes, according toe Grandma, before he was able to take off. I do hope he has eaten a few bugs and is feeling better. He has had a much-too-exciting day. Talk about an adventure!. Flying into the small opening at the top of our chimney, ending up in our wood stove for an hour or so, banging into the windows and being carried by a giant! What a tale he'll have! If his smallish brain remembers.
The birdsong seemed to be sweeter that afternoon.
The LBB
I did sing that evening of my adventure and the courage I found. I sang more loudly of the kindness of the humans kindness to release me from my doom and to no make a snack out of me. And I sang of the wonderfulness of being Out and being able to fly Up.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Move along-nothing to see here...
So-it has been awhile since I visited this page with the intent to leave words on the page. I have thought about it much for the past couple of months, but haven't been hit by inspiration, indigestion or sufficient indignation to actually write something. I have been enjoying the bits of all of your lives that we get to see as we talk, visit, interact with kids and grandkids. What a charmed life.
But-no stories have come to mind worth putting on paper-well, not on paper, to be accurate.
The promised tail of Fritz hasn't boiled enough to be palatable--wait--I meant to say "the promised tale for Fritz...". The boiled tail of Fritz, these many years gone to doggy heaven, would not be palatable at all...
Quick-think of a German dog. Got it?
Which dog did you come up with?
Did you think "Dachshund"?
Really?
Not German Shepard or Rottweiler or Doberman Pinscher or Saarloos Wolfdog?
I want to know how the Dachshund made it into the same list as the above fearsome-types of hounds.
From the all-knowing Wiki-
The dachshund (UK /ˈdæksənd/ or US /ˈdɑːkshʊnt/ dahks-huunt or US /ˈdɑːksənt/;[2]) is a short-legged, long-bodied dog breed belonging to the hound family. The standard size dachshund was bred to scent, chase, and flush out badgers and other burrow-dwelling animals, while the miniature dachshund was developed to hunt smaller prey such as rabbits. In the American West they have also been used to hunt prairie dogs. Today, they are bred for conformation shows and as family pets. Some dachshunds participate in earthdog trials. According to the AKC, the dachshund continues to remain one of the top 10 dog breeds in the United States of America.[3]
So there you go. Someone needed to flush out badgers and chase rabbits down their holes and get after those stinkin' prairie dogs. Hence, the noble Dachshund.
Well, as said, I don't have all the source material to adequately tell the tale of the tail tonight (meaning I haven't talked enough with Grandma-or she is getting too old to remember enough-to get all the juicy tail, I mean "tale", bits). So, we won't fritz with Fritz this evening.
Also, as I looked at previous blog entries (blentries?), I sensed there were too many recent ones that had gone to the dogs. So I probably need to get off that scent. Doggone it.
I just wanted to let you know that I haven't abandoned the blogoshphere again-not that that would be earth shaking. ( Don't you just love it when you can use the same word twice in a row and have it be grammatically correct?!)
I do intend to get back to some tales from the past, and I hope they have some meaning, or at least some chuckles or maybe even an "aha". Alas, I don't dare to aspire to a "And Then What Happened?", but you never know. Until next time.
But-no stories have come to mind worth putting on paper-well, not on paper, to be accurate.
The promised tail of Fritz hasn't boiled enough to be palatable--wait--I meant to say "the promised tale for Fritz...". The boiled tail of Fritz, these many years gone to doggy heaven, would not be palatable at all...
Quick-think of a German dog. Got it?
Which dog did you come up with?
Did you think "Dachshund"?
Really?
Not German Shepard or Rottweiler or Doberman Pinscher or Saarloos Wolfdog?
I want to know how the Dachshund made it into the same list as the above fearsome-types of hounds.
From the all-knowing Wiki-
The dachshund (UK /ˈdæksənd/ or US /ˈdɑːkshʊnt/ dahks-huunt or US /ˈdɑːksənt/;[2]) is a short-legged, long-bodied dog breed belonging to the hound family. The standard size dachshund was bred to scent, chase, and flush out badgers and other burrow-dwelling animals, while the miniature dachshund was developed to hunt smaller prey such as rabbits. In the American West they have also been used to hunt prairie dogs. Today, they are bred for conformation shows and as family pets. Some dachshunds participate in earthdog trials. According to the AKC, the dachshund continues to remain one of the top 10 dog breeds in the United States of America.[3]
So there you go. Someone needed to flush out badgers and chase rabbits down their holes and get after those stinkin' prairie dogs. Hence, the noble Dachshund.
Well, as said, I don't have all the source material to adequately tell the tale of the tail tonight (meaning I haven't talked enough with Grandma-or she is getting too old to remember enough-to get all the juicy tail, I mean "tale", bits). So, we won't fritz with Fritz this evening.
Also, as I looked at previous blog entries (blentries?), I sensed there were too many recent ones that had gone to the dogs. So I probably need to get off that scent. Doggone it.
I just wanted to let you know that I haven't abandoned the blogoshphere again-not that that would be earth shaking. ( Don't you just love it when you can use the same word twice in a row and have it be grammatically correct?!)
I do intend to get back to some tales from the past, and I hope they have some meaning, or at least some chuckles or maybe even an "aha". Alas, I don't dare to aspire to a "And Then What Happened?", but you never know. Until next time.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
"And Then What Happened?"
Stories. We all like stories. Stories about people, places, pets, predicaments. Stories told in books, on the radio, at the library or in school. Stories at our bedside, by the campfire, on our sofa. The familiar voices of our parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, teachers and people we don't know, but who's tales touch us.
Stories inspire us, motivate, and encourage us. They can also make us laugh and cry and shake in our boots.
By better understanding the characters in stories-fictional or non-we can better understand ourselves and others-both near to us and those we will never meet in person.
We have been taught by story-telling from the beginning of time. The ancients spent much time passing down stories to preserve their people's history and sense of belonging. Our Savior used stories to inspire, teach and lead us.
We do more than "like" stories-we need them. I think we may well be hard-wired to be nourished by tales.
In this wondrous time we now live in, we have means to stories that I never dreamed of as a child. The science fiction of my childhood has been eclipsed by our technological abilities. Want a story? A few clicks and I download a book from the library. I can either read it on my screen, or have it read to me by a talented performer or a noted authority.
And we seem to have a need for almost continuous story-telling. If not a printed story, then there may well be an audio book being read in our ears or a movie being played in our car.
We-Grandma and I-were listening to a story about story telling some years ago. Yes, in our car. The narrator was talking about the "Four Most Important Words in Story-telling". Can you guess? I thought of "and it came to pass"...but that was more than four. Then I thought of "Once upon a time", as many stories begin with these four words. But that wasn't what this story-teller was meaning either. After some time telling a story, he said that the Four Most Important Words in story-telling are--are you ready to hear this? (no-that is six words-that was a real question...)---"And then what happened?".
As soon as I heard this, I knew the narrator was right! A good story-one that moves us, involves us, may even change us-is a "page turner". We want-no, we need to know what comes next. Sometimes we really, really want to know "and then what happens" after the story ends! Those are some of the best stories.
OK-why all this blah-blah about stories and story telling? Well, last Christmas, Grandma gave you some bits and pieces of Christmas stories from our journals. And she said that the stories need to be continued by you! Your stories are the "and then what happened" in our grand scheme of things!
I hope you are remembering your stories! And recording them somehow. I want to know what happens next!
When I re-started (can something be "re-started"?) writing a bit in this blog, it was at the encouragement of Grandma to share some Christmas-time stories from my young years. I tried to share a couple of tales. My brother, Randy, read them and commented that he couldn't remember the incidents too well. Understandable-he is a whole 2 1/2 years older than I am! The point is that, as we get old-like me-we don't remember things as well, or as clearly, or from the same perspective as when we are living the stories. So, my younger kiddos, think about getting in the habit of writing about your lives every week. Trust me-I'm old and know stuff-your older self will think that is about the best present your younger self could give him/her/it. OK, I am now confused too. But you are all smart enough to know what I mean.
I really wish I had some writing from a young Ricky Edge (not your dad or uncle Ricky Edge-me, Grandpa-Ricky Edge. That was my name from when I was a youngster. Which was a long, long time ago. Don't smile-if you hang around long enough, you'll get old too! And I can still take any of you!) So-don't be like me (except for my good parts-ask me and I'll tell you what they are. If I remember) and neglect to record your "and what happened next".
I was going to leave this blah-blog with the beginning of the tale of "Fritz the Wonder Wiener Dog" (which tale does end with the tail of said wonder wiener dog, by the way), but I have written more than anyone wants to read, so I will end here. But Fritz won't. His end will come next time. But his end does come after his beginning. Hence the tale that may well end with his tail.
Until later, keep smiling.
Stories inspire us, motivate, and encourage us. They can also make us laugh and cry and shake in our boots.
By better understanding the characters in stories-fictional or non-we can better understand ourselves and others-both near to us and those we will never meet in person.
We have been taught by story-telling from the beginning of time. The ancients spent much time passing down stories to preserve their people's history and sense of belonging. Our Savior used stories to inspire, teach and lead us.
We do more than "like" stories-we need them. I think we may well be hard-wired to be nourished by tales.
In this wondrous time we now live in, we have means to stories that I never dreamed of as a child. The science fiction of my childhood has been eclipsed by our technological abilities. Want a story? A few clicks and I download a book from the library. I can either read it on my screen, or have it read to me by a talented performer or a noted authority.
And we seem to have a need for almost continuous story-telling. If not a printed story, then there may well be an audio book being read in our ears or a movie being played in our car.
We-Grandma and I-were listening to a story about story telling some years ago. Yes, in our car. The narrator was talking about the "Four Most Important Words in Story-telling". Can you guess? I thought of "and it came to pass"...but that was more than four. Then I thought of "Once upon a time", as many stories begin with these four words. But that wasn't what this story-teller was meaning either. After some time telling a story, he said that the Four Most Important Words in story-telling are--are you ready to hear this? (no-that is six words-that was a real question...)---"And then what happened?".
As soon as I heard this, I knew the narrator was right! A good story-one that moves us, involves us, may even change us-is a "page turner". We want-no, we need to know what comes next. Sometimes we really, really want to know "and then what happens" after the story ends! Those are some of the best stories.
OK-why all this blah-blah about stories and story telling? Well, last Christmas, Grandma gave you some bits and pieces of Christmas stories from our journals. And she said that the stories need to be continued by you! Your stories are the "and then what happened" in our grand scheme of things!
I hope you are remembering your stories! And recording them somehow. I want to know what happens next!
When I re-started (can something be "re-started"?) writing a bit in this blog, it was at the encouragement of Grandma to share some Christmas-time stories from my young years. I tried to share a couple of tales. My brother, Randy, read them and commented that he couldn't remember the incidents too well. Understandable-he is a whole 2 1/2 years older than I am! The point is that, as we get old-like me-we don't remember things as well, or as clearly, or from the same perspective as when we are living the stories. So, my younger kiddos, think about getting in the habit of writing about your lives every week. Trust me-I'm old and know stuff-your older self will think that is about the best present your younger self could give him/her/it. OK, I am now confused too. But you are all smart enough to know what I mean.
I really wish I had some writing from a young Ricky Edge (not your dad or uncle Ricky Edge-me, Grandpa-Ricky Edge. That was my name from when I was a youngster. Which was a long, long time ago. Don't smile-if you hang around long enough, you'll get old too! And I can still take any of you!) So-don't be like me (except for my good parts-ask me and I'll tell you what they are. If I remember) and neglect to record your "and what happened next".
I was going to leave this blah-blog with the beginning of the tale of "Fritz the Wonder Wiener Dog" (which tale does end with the tail of said wonder wiener dog, by the way), but I have written more than anyone wants to read, so I will end here. But Fritz won't. His end will come next time. But his end does come after his beginning. Hence the tale that may well end with his tail.
Until later, keep smiling.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
"...after all we can do."
"It is by Grace that we are saved, after all we can do."
Music is a powerful influence in our lives. I think that the eternities of heavenly choirs that we heard, and some of us probably sang in, prior to coming to Earth imprinted a love for music in most of our hearts. It is not my intent to talk about music today, I just want to mention one song/hymn that relates to today's topic. "Come Thou Font of Every Blessing".
This hymn talks about the Grace to which we are all indebted for our salvation. It is "by Grace" that we are saved. More thoughts about that another day.
The part of the scripture quoted above that I want to talk about is "...after all we can do".
When I was younger and full of get up and go, I just figured that I need to do things. Accomplish stuff. Get to meetings. Along with-make a celestial marriage, raise the perfect children (take a look at your parents, you grandkids, and let me know how we did). Make a successful career, advance and achieve. Coach the kids' teams. Keep all the commandments. Volunteer for all the projects and service opportunities. And more. Surely I could do more. I even tried to teach this to the young men in my care. "If you can think about anything you can do, you are obligated to do it". After all, it said "...after all we can do".
Then I remembered that we are also counseled to "not run faster than (we) have strength".
Hmm. What was I missing here? I knew that I had times when I would look at my schedule and say "if I can only get through the next week (or 2 weeks, or month), I can then stop and catch my breath".
Well, I think that I was maybe missing the meaning of the "all we can do" part. What if it doesn't mean checking everything off The List?
What is my "all". I read about the anti-Nephi-Lehites (no-these we not people who were against Nephi-ask you parents what their name means). After they had their hearts changed and had repented of their sins, they became aware that their former -ites--the Lamenites who did not repent and have changed hearts-were coming to attack them. As part of their commitment to their new lives, new hearts and new hope in the Savior's Grace, they had buried their weapons deep in the earth (Scooter could have helped them). Some were tempted to get their swords back from the hole in the ground in order to defend themselves. Their leader told them "no". He said "It was all we could do to repent....of our sins" (and have their hearts changed). He told his people that they dare not jeopardize this great change in their lives, even at the risk of death. Their weapons remained where they were-buried-and many were slain, unarmed, by the Lamenites-their former brethren.
Now, there is much more to this story, but I want to focus on a couple of points.
First-it was "all they could do" to repent and change their ways. This allowed them to have the atonement become real and work in their lives. I use the word "work" because it is an active, dynamic process. This great change in their hearts and their actions-they were now striving to do good-was "all they could do". It did not mention lengthy lists and check boxes.
I have heard it said is that all we have to give back to the Savior is our hearts-our will.
Once we do that, then our other actions become "Christian". We then are more able to do His will in our lives.
When this happens, I think it is evidenced in how we treat others. I think that how we treat others reflects the condition of our hearts. We start to remember that everyone we interact with is a spiritual sister or brother-even our family members! We all have inherited spiritual DNA from our Father. When we consider our physical bodies, our DNA is closest to our siblings (now I feel sorry for Randy, Steve and Tammy!). Does that mean our spiritual DNA is closest to our siblings? Does that mean we have the potential to be more Christ-like? Are you tired of my trying to make points by forming them as inquiries? Want me to stop?
Two quick points. As we change our hearts, we will treat others with love, kindness, charity. We will be happy for their successes-even when competing with them. We will want them to be happy and successful. We will seek ways to serve, edify (important word-look it up if you need to), comfort and uplift others. It will feel "wrong" to make others feel small, inferior, powerless, unhappy. No "I'm big, you're small, I'm right, you're wrong..." attitudes. For you kids in school, you may want to find out which kids need friends and befriend them. (I will share stories from my young days about this next time-promise). And (kiddos), you need to remember that being kind to others includes your family-and this means MOM and DAD (hmm-both of those words are palindromes...)-not just your siblings.
OK-much more can be said about that, but I will stop there.
The second brief point has to do with not losing ground. This changing heart business is a life-long pursuit. We keep at it and keep at it. Sometimes it is tempting to not be doing "all we can do" and let our hearts harden a bit. Our stake president, in stake conference today, talked about "not giving up yardage" once we are making progress. This is a football analogy. Or a war analogy. When you work and sweat and bleed and cry and pray and serve and laugh and love and gain ground-hold onto it! Don't let yourself slip backwards, downhill. It is often much more difficult to make up the same yardage-regain the previously hard-won progress-than it was to make the progress initially.
Last thought. More than the two promised, so this is a bonus! Something else I was reminded of today-we all are trying to do our best. And we are all providing eternally-valuable service much more than we sometimes let ourselves realize. Of course, he-who-shall-not-be-named (no, not Voldemort) wants us to feel like we don't make a difference, that we aren't of any value. But we are! Eternally so.
Sorry for the lack of stories. Will write more stories from the olden days next time. Love you all.
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