Notice

I drive to and from work on 80 miles of back roads. 40 each way. And by back roads, I mean those roads that don't have any yellow paint. Those roads that hug cow pastures, corn fields, untamed wood & quiet little homes that seek no more attention than the random dandelion that blurs its way by. Those roads that, on occasion, don't mind being anything more than the earth itself.

I find my solace along that asphalt, along that gravel, along that dirt. I find peace in the sleeping hills and snoring mountains. I find a moment of grace and clarity in the cold, quenched breath of the early morning light as it creeps its way across the pine and oak. Stealing its way into the moss & fern.

When the day is done and my work is temporarily put on hold, I lose myself in the fading golden shadows of a setting sun. It always finds a way to melt into, between, beneath, and amidst those knotted knuckles of stout hickory posts. Those quiet, sentimental, regiments whose families are built upon barbed wire & intent.

I am that wandering path. I am those forlorn hills. I am that stoic mountain range. I am that fence. That is who I am.

Find an environment that fits you, melds with you, and defines you.

Then notice the Drive.

Because it has already noticed You.

in dishabille

 
January Snow... instead of a January Tan.

I would love to hold key to the invention of that phrase, but I do not. It was uttered by someone I care very much for, and now used in a manner and means I'd venture to think wasn't quite intended.

We are Humans Being Human. We work in much the same way as a virus does. We assimilate what we can, be it malicious or not, in the hopes of making what or who we encounter... something like Us. Something familiar. Something we understand and feel comfortable around.

It is the grand history of breath and the great conquest of our Kind.

If you're built like me, and I know you are, you will more than likely go out of your way to accommodate others when it comes to their accepting you. You'll likely find a way to weave a little bit of you into a little bit of them in the hopes that the bolt of thread you envision will matter more than it does not. That is the ultimate goal, as it were. That is what most of us strive for. To be accepted, embraced, divided & woven into the fold. Protected in that fabric. Safe.

Your Father has always been terrible at that.

I see the world through twilight eyes. I see division where I should see unity. I see individuals when I should see groups. I see persons when I should see people.

I see when I should not.

Or so I was always told...

January Snow covers a January Tan and leave's it in dishabille.

See that.

Drop

I want to tell you about your Nannie in Virginia.

She is 90 years old and I fear that time has finally found out where she lays her head at night.

Your Nannie in Virginia was born in 1921. She was the oldest daughter of a Man that one of you shares a first name with. Albeit, altered a bit for gender. ;)

She had hair the color of a Raven's wing. Here eyes, well, they were the color of jade. Her family hailed from Ireland, and believe you me, she was the original Galway Girl.

Her life was not easy by any stretch of the imagination but it has been Her life and she's very proud to have lived it. Not that she would ever admit to that. The being proud part, I mean. She's far too shy for that.

Time, circumstance, and toil has bent her to such a degree that she has a hard time standing up. She scoffs at the cane that helps her from her armchair to the couch. She despises the walker that keeps her on the straight and narrow between rooms. That's just who She Is.

She married a good Man who loved her as long as the breath in him held out. What he left her with, though, was more than anyone could ask to afford. Still, she made a means with it. She made it work. I so wish you could have seen the pastures I used to know.

I want you to be proud from whence you came. We had no money to make us who we are. We had nothing but the stubborn resolve passed between white blood cells. Those blood cells may indeed have been born in your Nannie in Virginia's veins.

Whenever you see a single drop of dew in the early morning light, resting on a single blade of grass, fighting valiantly against a multitude of sunlight for its own survival...

Your Nannie probably put it there.

Plastic Spoons & Moons (Oh, and maybe a handful of BBs)

Don't take life too seriously.

I know it comes with all kinds of baggage. Beliefs, Assumptions, Expectations, Etc. But those things aren't birth rites. They aren't the building blocks of karma. They aren't anything you inherited. They're the by-products of humans being human and expecting you to be the same... on their terms, of course.

Well, between you and I... and don't ever tell your Mama I said this... "Fuck That".

The ugly truth is that most of the things you'll end up worrying about will work themselves out regardless of how much you toil over them. The things you lose sleep over will never lose sleep over you.

So do your Old Man a favor... when you find that this silly little carousel ride called life is a bit much to handle... Let It Go.

I mean, all you need is a Plastic Spoon, a Moon, and a handful of BBs.

That's the secret to Life.

Or it's close enough for a good shot.

Only Truth

I want to tell you about the hardest thing there is to accept, learn, believe in, and trust.

I found out that your Mom is getting married. I'm happy for her. She sought out happiness and it looks like she's finding it. I hope that is The Truth. She deserves to be happy just like anyone else. It's the only god-given right we can grasp. Well, if you buy into the whole "god" thing. Regardless, she's doing what makes her happy, and I Hope, what she believes will make You happy.

The Truth is that no one can buy into that. It's a matter of faith. Just like breathing is. Just like sitting down in a chair is. It's all about faith. It's all about hope. It's all about belief, I suppose. Believing in those things that we can't see, trust, accept, or learn beforehand. Like sitting in that chair. Like breathing with those lungs.

The first woman I loved wasn't your Mom. I know... shocking! She wasn't. She was just One. At the time, I thought she was The One. That wasn't the case. The first woman your Daddy ever loved was a redhead from Franklin County, Va. You've never met her. Maybe one day you will.

There were a few others that your Daddy loved between her and your Mom. I know... how can someone love that often? What the hell is love anyway? Well, it's human nature. It's what we think about when we think no one is wondering what we're thinking about and it's what we imagine when we think no one imagines what we day dream. But be certain, we all do it. And no one has a clue what love is. At least no one I've met. But they all know what it feels like and how to do it. That is how & why we can do it so often.

Loving someone is easy. It's the living with it that will kick your ass.

What I want you to understand from all of this is simple. I want you to see that people change, feelings change, hope changes, beliefs change, and ultimately your very own faith will change.

The Truth, though, it will always remain the same.

It's what you feel inside.

That thing that feels more right than wrong.

Babies, that is Truth. That's the only truth.

Second Pianos

The day you were born, Virginia Tech lost to California. I remember it. I was sitting in a hard chair next to your Mother. She was trying to find a way to deliver you but her body was not feeling cooperative.

We found a way, though.

When I first picked you up, you screamed at me. I was so afraid of breaking You. I cradled you in my arms and held you closer than I hold my own soul.

I still do.

The first piano you ever found, found you. It was your third birthday. You ambled into the room one Christmas Morning and sat down on the little pink bench. Plunk Plunk and you made music. It was beautiful.

Seven Years is a Lifetime for some. I hope it's only the beginning of yours.

I so hope you like Second Pianos.

Happy Birthday, Frog.

Daddy Loves You.

Winter's Eve

The earth has tilted. It's colder now. Our little blue dot is leaning timidly away from the sun. We are in the deep breath of winter now, though it only began... today.

The passing week's snowfall is but a fading memory, its patchwork remnants blanket the nooks & bends that the day's sunlight could not find a way to breach. I've always found that after a day's fresh snowfall, when the ground is shivered & still, when the night wraps its scarf around my pale flesh, the world sounds a little more at peace. An unusual quiet washes over every little thing. Rogue leaves that had thus far refused to let go of their slumbered hosts don't seem to rattle when a breeze strays by. Small creatures of the wild burrow down into their place of rest and patiently await the coming of the dawn. Everything seems to find a reason to watch, to listen, daring not contribute even the slightest hint of life, as if only to be still... for a moment. It is a pleasant repose.

The moon is full tonight. It hangs plump & ponderous, ever keeping a watchful eye. As a Mother stealing one last glimpse at her resting brood. Daring not to wake the infants below, she lets linger upon our cheeks and foreheads her cherished adulation. She pours out onto our flesh her handfuls of silver.

It is in times such as these and moments such as this that you realize it is a good thing to be alive. Maybe the best of things.

Be still when the world around you rests. Be quiet when the moment has run out of words to say. Be as content as the moonlight that pools in your hands on a patient winter's eve.

There is wisdom to be found in such things.