Colonel's Words

It was all quiet down the long hall of the dormitory as a figure clad in black slowly, carefully eased the window screen away from the wall and climbed out the open window and dropped to the ground below. Reaching up, he made sure the screen was pushed back into place and crept away towards the fence overlooking the street a few yards away. Looking left and right, a quick hop was all that was needed to clear the fence and start down the steep embankment to the sidewalk below. A tall, skinny boy, his strides were full of length and purpose as he began his new night time adventure.

Earlier in the day while on his way home from school, he had passed a wood and curious, he diverted his steps to explore and enjoy going where he had not been before. There was no trail, but being an experienced hiker and not unaccustomed to seeing a path where none existed, he once again found the joy of being in the woods and walking among the trees. Spring had graced the area with fresh new leaves and blooming flowers scattered among the tall, uncut grasses and weeds. It smelled as fresh and wonderful as only an earlier brief shower could bring to the still slightly wet growth. Distance was measured by time and it wasn’t long before he was rewarded with a small stream, a creek curving through the lush green of the woods in a clearing. Here, beside the creek, he stopped and looked around. Above the clearing, overlooking the creek, a patch of blue sky seemed painted between the opening of the trees.

A small rock he found at waters edge made a good resting place. He wasn’t tired, but sitting on that rock next to the creek gave him a closer look at the creatures inhabiting the water. Tadpoles wiggled their way to and fro while a crayfish kept a wary eye on him from under another rock a few feet away. It was an oasis of peace in what was a hectic day at school and the undying noise of the children’s home he was enroute to before his impromptu detour. For this, he thought, it was worth missing the bus and having to walk the four miles or so home. Pausing only a few minutes, he wondered if he could find his way back here in the dark. There was an adventure if ever there was one. A break in the monotony of school, homework, sleep and the cycle repeated. Making his way back to the road he took note of the landmarks that would lead him here again as there was not path to follow.

Now, in the dark of night, he walked quickly lest he be seen. Trouble he didn’t need and being out after curfew was an open invitation to trouble if he was caught. There wasn’t much chance of getting caught, but it didn’t make sense not to be careful and watch for those cars carrying those who would stop and ask questions he didn’t want to answer. The distance of a mile or so was covered quickly and once again he entered the woods. He allowed a smile to broaden into a grin as an unbridled feeling of happiness once again gave his heart a sense of satisfaction. He was in his element now. Alone in the dark woods he recalled the trees he mentally had marked as landmarks and made his way to the clearing and the creek. Sitting once again on the cold rock where he had sat earlier in the day, he gazed skyward and found the moon justifying his night trek into the woods. Centered in the clearing above the trees, the moon was in full smile. A smile that gave the small clearing an eerie but beautiful light which danced on the small ripples of the water flowing through the miniature rapids in the creek at his feet. Except for the gurgling water, all was still in the cool night. A stillness only possible deep in a wood on a quiet dark night.

Reluctantly, he arose from his mental slumber and decided it was time to go back.  With as much care and caution as he had used in coming to his midnight tryst with the woods, he returned to the hill with the fence. Climbing the embankment to the top, he paused to look for lights and anyone who might see him. It was all clear as he once again hopped the fence and quickly made his way to the screened window which was home. Softly, he opened the screen and climbed into his room. Listening, he heard nothing but the sound of his clock ticking. Only a few hours remained before the day must start again. Time now to reflect on his journey into the darkness and appreciate again what he had felt sitting on that rock by the creek.  Peace.

I had settled in to my chair at the dining room table with my second cup of coffee. I brew it dark, and strong and with only a splash of milk that I can never taste over the richness of the coffee. If I did taste it , I had used too much. But habits are habits. While sitting there sipping the hot liquid in tiny sips, I discovered I was absent mindedly tracing the pattern of the wood grain in the table with my free hand. As newly weds, we had bought this table nearly 30 years ago, unfinished and some assembly required. It was solid oak and I had carefully sanded it smooth, stained it, until it developed the rich dark color which could only highlight the beauty of the grains running through the wood. I said dark, but it was much lighter than the hot liquid in my cup. A few coats of Tung oil were rubbed in as I never cared much for varnish; Tung oil protects the wood better and gives a sheen that to date still satisfies the eyes and touch.

Getting back to the story, as I was tracing the grain, I slowly came to realize that even though this was my second cup, I had yet to feel as though I was awake. I had things I needed to remember and plans to make. Yet here I was sipping coffee and playing with the wood grain on the table. And very content to be doing so. Experience has taught me that, for me, waking up is not a relatively quick occurrence. Oh, I can go through the motions quite well and fool most people, automatically preforming actions that simulate awareness and intelligence, but I cannot fool myself. I know it takes the better part of a morning and more that a cup of coffee or two to fully achieve the mental state necessary to establish a coherent thinking equilibrium. But sitting there at the table, idling away the minutes while my coffee cooled enough for me to enjoy bigger sips, I merely enjoyed the moment for what it was; a quiet reflection on the beauty of the wood grain in the table. A chance to slow the world down before it became a hectic day and the peacefulness of the morning lost to a waking mind.

While tidying up my desk, or at least the part I wanted to use, I chanced upon book I had read long ago. Was it that long since I cleared my desk? As I looked at it and remembered what it was about, and begin musing how long since I had finished the book, I opened it to no particular page and begin reading it again. It all came back to me, those familiar words of the writers skillful coloring of events and times. It was then I sensed I was drifting away from the book and thinking how much in common the experience had with an old friend. A friend I had known and known well, but had gotten lost in the shuffle of time and events that had occurred since we had last talked. But like the old book, once my friend and I had established that we were once again on the same page, so to speak, all the memories began to come back into  focus as though there was never a lapse in our friendship. But unlike the book, whose words I had read to the last, my friend and I still have many pages of memories to read and write. We still have  days left to make more memories, days I pray where those memories are so fresh, we dare not call them memories.

The bench in that park was still damp from the recent afternoon rain. I didn’t mind as I sat on it anyway, slouching back it the comfortable embrace it offered. Sitting there, I looked at the tree a few yards away that was providing the shade for the bench I now relaxed upon. Looking at it like so many visits before to that bench, it suddenly caught my attention. I had seen it so many times before and realized I had never really seen it. It mottled bark of silver and grey still glistened with the dampness of the recent rain. The huge tree, for it was not a young tree, stretched it massive limbs, uplifting them to the sky as though giving thanks for the life giving rain. Rain, whose deposited drops gathered themselves to slowly seek the edge of a leaf and drop yet again to another leaf below until it vanished into the bright green grass laying at the foot of the old tree. A carpet of grass hugging the trunk as if it were a blanket to keep the trees roots warm. The age of the tree I could not determine, but I knew it had seen more sunrises and full moons than had I. As I sat mesmerized by the tree, the leaves slowly shed the weight of the rain and allowed themselves to flutter in the soft breeze which caressed them, teased them into a light dance. Suddenly, I became just how aware I had become of the moment. Awed, humbled, I left the bench, knowing that the next time I visited, I would appreciate it even more.

I am most certain we have all heard the phrase “a penny for your thoughts”. We have all been told all our lives to think. But recently I discovered how difficult it is not to have any thoughts. Let me explain how I came to this conclusion. A few nights ago, while trying to go from awake to asleep, I tried to shut down all thinking as I was sure that my active mind was the factor keeping me awake. I tried not to think of anything. I then realized that by thinking that, I was still thinking. So I resolved not to let that thought or any other enter my conscious awareness. I took a deep breath and concentrated on exhaling it slowly, carefully resisting all thought. Briefly, fleetingly, I succeeded in having a ‘clear’ mind until I realized that upon acknowledging that fact, I was still thinking as that in itself was a thought. (please allow me a big sigh!)

I have been practicing since with only limited results, coming to the conclusion that the human brain (mine, at least) does not take kindly to not thinking. I am only supposing that those who meditate have some success, but I really have to wonder if they actually attain an ‘empty’ mind. That said, what’s on your mind?

Here of late, I have been busy constructing a shed in the back yard so that one day, perhaps, a car just might be able to park in the garage. It’s a three car garage that has never felt the weight of a car on it’s concrete floor. So much stuff, so little space.  But the theme of this writing isn’t about the car or the garage or the shed. It’s about doing something I haven’t done in a while. A long while. I needed a break from the work, so I sat down on the back door of the shed and just took a deep breath, and just lost myself in the back yard. It’s that time of year when the sky and trees are full of birds. And the mid day sunshine seemed to sparkle on it’s way to earth. I watched the hawks as they squawked and screamed at the intruding crows. Unless you watched them all, you might never notice how territorial birds can be over their favorite perch. Or just how many birds frequent and live in the neighborhood. Not to mention the armadillos that like to tear up the yard with their incessant digging. Or rooting I think it must be called. And they don’t mind you watching as the turn turf into a pocketed landscape. I consider myself one lucky man. We are the last house on the street with un-platted land to the south and west which must be preserved for nature and it’s inhabitants. Thus, there is a bit more wildlife to touch my day. And root through the compost pile.

Over the years we have been visited by creatures we really didn’t expect to see in our back yard. I’ll never forget one of the first nights spent in this neighborhood. I was home alone, just out of the shower in a bathrobe when I saw a house cat sitting in the back yard just as the sun was setting. Now, just to bring you up to speed, at that time, there were only 4 other houses on the street, mostly at the other end. My street is only about 4/10’s of a mile long with a cul-de-sac at the other end and a dead end at my end. The closest house was then about 100 yards away or so. And the nearest neighbor on my side of the street was several hundred yards at the other end. Between them and me were 10 or 15 lots (an acre apiece plus or minus a bit) and all overgrown. I could only see the other houses by standing in the street. Behind me was 2500 acres of pasture and cypress woods , wetlands, and palmetto scrub land. So getting back to the story, I went outside to get a closer look at this little cat sitting 50 feet or so from the house. I had only gotten about ten feet, when this little cat suddenly arched his back, and then sank down as low as it could to the ground. I remember thinking I wasn’t that close nor was I doing anything to scare the little creature. Just then, I realized the cat wasn’t looking at me. I turned to look so as to see what the cat was looking at when this panther, a real Florida Panther just comes ambling by no farther than 35-40 feet from me. I was in awe. And frozen. Fortunately he or she just ignored me or didn’t see me and just kept his slow walk across the yard into the next lot and disappeared into the darkness. I didn’t go outside after dark any more until I had installed flood lights. We have only seen a panther once since then and I have that on a VHS tape somewhere in a box of recordings buried deep within the storage jungle we call the garage. So, we have not only seen panthers, but bobcats, otters, armadillos, deer, and turtles the size of boot boxes. Those turtles, I might add, can really dig some big holes fast and they can move amazingly quick as well. All our rabbits disappeared last summer and I suspect that goes along with the timing of seeing the bobcats take up residence in our little nature preserve. They were fun to watch playing tag. With more species of birds than I can list and the parade of wild animals, the back yard is a good place to just sit and enjoy the sunshine of a winter day in Florida. And once again, I took time out to do just that. Time well used.

Of late, I have noticed a trend which isn’t really new to me. And I am supposing that I can take some small comfort that it is not a singular circumstance bearing only my name, in that others may suffer this horrendous plague. It’s similar to writers block, only worse I truly believe. As in it seems the best ideas I have to put on paper or, in reality, this blog, manifest themselves when my head hits the pillow after kissing my wife goodnight. Ideas of which I really have a strong desire to turn into written words and post here for all the world to read, and to know a bit more about the workings of my mind.  Not to mention enjoying those same ideas put into words. Unfortunately, I have yet to discover a way to type by mental telepathy. Worse still, I usually fail to remember what those thoughts were by the time I get to my keyboard. How sad that is as I have written the best novels, poems and stories which you may never have the pleasure of reading. It’s what I do instead of counting sheep and most nights, I really don’t seem to have a choice in the matter as that insistent, obsessive little voice in my head simply refuses to be quieted. Ah, but I have so much to write. If I could only remember those imaginative words of magical proportion from one night to the next day I know in my heart I would be happy. I would know I had accomplished a most worthy goal. Oh, I have tried to leave the bed and push the keys on my keyboard, but the journey from bed to keyboard is, alas, long enough to disconnect the stream of brilliant thought. But I shall keep trying though, for a lack of effort is a more depressing occurrence and the most sorry excuse of which I will not allow.

生活を送る

Today is the goal of yesterday.

It’s difficult sometimes to stop and really look at what our goals in life are all about. I, for one, set many goals for myself. Most are not life changing or require deep thought. Many are merely things I must remember to do because they didn’t get done the last time I placed them on the “to do” list. Others become personal challenges that I surmise through deep thought may increase my self-worth. I believe that is also called self-esteem.

The point I seem to struggle with daily is which one of these goals should I really hold close to my heart and abandon all fear and take the “damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead attitude”? If a goal is a goal should not all of them qualify for that reckless, single-minded attitude? Surely they can’t all be placed at the top of the list. There has to be one and only one that quests for the Holy Grail. Yet each was important enough to be a part of the list. Now, this means that one of the most important goals to be set is the prioritizing of goals. It’s so simple a thought that one might question why all the fuss over such a simple idea. The answer is plain and truly obvious: thinking has to be organized before doing. Otherwise, any goal is doomed to failure.

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Today is some day.

Some days are better than others I have long heard and that is the key way to looking at life. And they are all good I happen to think. For it’s how we think of them; we either enjoy the days events and happenings versus whether or not we look back and desire that those things happened differently or didn’t happen at all. There are no bad days. I ask you, really now, does over cooked toast and under cooked grits constitute a bad day? Does your or my team losing a game or match constitute a bad day? OK, those never help put a smile on our faces, I will concede. But it doesn’t define the day as bad. Less than desirable, perhaps, but bad?

As I see them, days are pretty much how we think of them. I think a bad day is one we will never see. Failing to wake up one day, then that is a bad day. Well, it is for those who don’t wake up, anyway. There are those arguments about terrible events such as having a heart attack, or having the wrong view of a gun barrel as being a bad day. Or a tire blowing out in the middle of 5 lanes of traffic. There are countless nasty things that happen to people everyday through no fault or desire of their own. And some that do. But, my outlook on life insist that life is what we wish to think of it. And I have had some days where nothing happened as I had planned or would have wanted things to happen. I’ve had some days whose memories I cherish and some days I’d rather just forget; those days where the nasty events took place on my behalf. But most days are those that just get another mark on the calendar with a wistful anticipation of good things yet to happen. I’ll take those kind any day. And I’ll make the most of them. And if evil, nasty things happen and the day doesn’t turn out as planned, I’ll just proudly put another mark on the calendar, happy that I survived the day and know that I get another day tomorrow. Life is for living; not complaining. Enjoy the day. You will never have enough of them to waste any complaining. 

I feel fortunate today that I have yet another day to live. So far, so good. As I sat at the breakfast table eating my bowl of frosted shredded wheat bites, I was as usual watching the events taking place in the back yard. It rained hard and heavy last night with accompanying thunder and lightning. What once was dry, solid ground is now soggy with numerous puddles of standing water. My attention was focused on the rare squirrel hopping about the concrete blocks stacked on the side of the yard. Rare because we seldom see a squirrel in the yard. The blocks were leftovers from our house construction 6 years ago. The squirrel was trying to get to the pine tree a few feet away without using the ground. Whether he didn’t want wet feet or there was something in the palmetto bushes he was trying to avoid was uncertain.

After darting around a few minutes and checking out all possible avenues of potential use, he finally hopped onto the white 4×4 post marking the boundary line and made a leap towards the lowest branch on the pine tree. He didn’t make the jump successfully. He landed instead on the branches of a bush/tree below and after a few frantic moments of scrambling and another jump, he made it to the pine tree from there. I can only assume he will be after the pine cones so abundantly present in that tree.

I couldn’t help but think that like that squirrel, we are faced with challenges every day we live. Our goals may be different, but like the squirrel we tend to scramble and find the best route to our goal only to discover that there often is no good route and we have to take a chance and a leap of faith. And then make the best of it until we succeed.

Well, for as long as I can remember, the most difficult part of writing has always been for me the first sentence. Once past that the words seem to flow easier. Not always easy, but easier. I personally don’t care for the taste of vodka. Straight or mixed it will never be a requested beverage. But the refill is always easier on my taste buds than the first drink if I occasion to try one. Or two. Writing is similiar. It differs in that writing is an interest I choose to persue, while drinking vodka is one of those choices when there are no other choices.  They are alike in that the second draft is easier to accomodate than the first. 

 So why choose vodka as an example? A bit of my personal history should explain my chosen distaste. Way, way, way back when I was young, I tried it. I was old enough to legally drink, but still very young.  Vodka. Straight, I thought it tasted awful. Mixed with orange juice, it was palatable. Mixed with ginger ale, it was ok. I don’t know whether it was OK because it was the third shot, or if it was really Ok. I haven’t visited that turf again since then. All I remember is getting sick, (I’ll spare you the details) and vowing never to drink that stuff again. Even to this day, I can smell vodka and it’s enough to make me wince.  Ditto with rum. 

Which brings up the question: I’ve experience the same  stupidity with beer, whiskey, and wine, yet I’d probably never turn my glass away from them. Why? And why spend this time revealing one of my dumber moments in life, when I could be writing about anything else?

No, I haven’t been drinking. I gave up smoking. (all types) And I don’t do drugs that don’t come with my doctors advice and for which my insurance won’t pay. I just felt like writing and my fingers led the way.

Until next time….