Live Oak Madness

Live oaks are beautiful trees, but strange. Evergreen, they pick Spring to drop leaves, and the amount is almost staggering. Raking is futile. An afternoon of raking leads to frustration, since the next day reveals the same amount before the raking on the day before.

This Spring seems a little worse, but then again, it might be current tasks have left my stamina depleted, and my thoughts just as deplenished.

So, the yard is mowed, the leaves are blown into the street, and I don't care if the city has a problem with the amount. They have machines to sweep them away, and it's their job to accomplish this task.

When Words Don't Work

I wrote last week about an impending passing. They were given 48 hours to live, but that was over a week ago. Their time is very near.

Words don't seem to work during these times. No matter how much you know of the experience, you can't quite find the words that fit the sorrow, loss, relief and emptiness that fills your emotions. You witness them one last time before they're taken away, and all you can think of is how alive they look; even as they lay without breathing.

We all pass, and someone may be there for the final moment...or not. It's part of life, but one of the hardest times of the experience.

BRUCE COCKBURN Dust and Diesel

I Took This a Few Weeks Ago

We were helping with a detour, so I had the opportunity to be on top of one of the tallest bridges in Texas.

It was wonderful, so I took some pictures. This one is the best.

One Spring Afternoon (Re-Post) Again

I spent a substantial part of this weekend with people I love dealing with a father that will never wake again. Massive strokes led to hospice, and his strong body is refusing to give in to the call for the next journey. 

So, why am I posting this again? I thought of this story as a beautiful Spring afternoon unfolded. Trees are full of new growth, azaleas are in full bloom, the gentle north breeze is filled with a freshness only known at this time of year, and a homecoming is soon to happen. 

                                                                      ***

It was a glorious spring afternoon. The tug between the seasons was almost over; the passage of late front the day before left cool temperatures, which yielded to the afternoon sun.

The new leaves on the trees signaled the final break from the grasp of winter. Almost impossibly green they were a brilliant contrast against the azure sky.

Shawn sat on his front porch and soaked in the day. His thoughts wandered between different subjects, but the unique weather had led most of his thoughts to years before. It seemed just about everything brought a memory, or a feeling of something so familiar, it tugged at his concentration.

The neighborhood was quiet, like it always was before. Generations were represented by each house. While the houses might not be childhood homes, they weren’t far away for the occupants. They only needed to go a short distance to find a neighborhood that held the memories of their youth.

A few houses down, a neighbor was cutting their lawn for the first time of the season. As the grass, straggly dandelions and clovers succumbed to the whirling blades they released a perfume, with a hint of wild onion. The odors wafted to where Shawn sat and pulled his thoughts to a collage of spring days he lived long ago.

As he thought, a honeybee landed on his leg. Resisting the urge to swat it away, Shawn quietly watched as the bee seemed to rest and regain its strength. It reminded him of a long gone day when he arrogantly interrupted a bee and was rewarded with a sting. His mother carefully removed the stinger and his father made a poultice of cigarette tobacco. Although the pain was soon gone, he spent the remainder of the afternoon showing his playmates, who were fascinated by the angry red swelling with the red dot in the middle.

Sufficiently rested, the bee soon left, made a few quick circles around the porch and left. Shawn watched as it flew across the street; soon too far away to see.

“Good afternoon Mr. McIntyre.”

Looking over, he saw the women that delivered his mail walking across the yard.

“Good afternoon, Gladys. It’s a fine day, isn’t it?”

“It sure is. I’ve been waiting all winter for this.”

Walking onto the porch, she asked: “Do you want me to put it in the box?”

“Please. I’ll get it on the way in.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything but junk. No bills, letters or cards from your sweetheart.”

Shawn laughed and answered: “So, it’s just another day?”

Laughing, Gladys replied: “I guess it is.”

Placing her hand on his shoulder for a moment, Gladys spoke as she hurried on her way: “You have a good day.”

“I will; you too.”

As she walked away, Shawn admired her as he always did. He found her attractive, although he knew he was far too old to ask her out. He longed for the days when such thoughts would never cross his mind. Age had won the battle against his youth long ago.

A car passed slowly and stirred the smell of sun heated asphalt. The scent soon reached Shawn’s nose; returning him to his childhood, when such heat allowed removing his shoes and playing barefooted. He remembered the cool, spring ground was a sharp contrast to the sun heated pavement. If his feet got cold, he only had to stand for a moment on the sidewalk and the feeling would leave.

Looking at his hands, Shawn examined them for a few moments. He had a hard time recognizing the wrinkled, spotted appendages that were his own. Thinking hard, he realized he couldn’t remember his hands when he was young. The thought saddened him; such things should never be forgotten.

The warm air soon conquered Shawn’s unwillingness to not enjoy every moment of the afternoon. Drowsy, he soon fell asleep.

“Shawn!”

Waking abruptly, Shawn looked up to find his neighbor, Caroline, standing next to him on the porch.

“Are you okay?”

Shawn was embarrassed. Caroline was always worried about him, which was understandable, even though it bothered Shawn. Alone, and with his family miles away, she would constantly check; even offering food, which Shawn refused. He was adamant about taking care of himself.

Caroline would “visit”, although Shawn felt it was more of just making sure he hadn’t lost his ability to survive and was a danger to himself. Even though he was suspicious of her reasons, the visits were always pleasant and welcomed.  Shawn appreciated the company, which was a rarity these days. Almost all his friends were gone and only the youngest of family members were left.

“I was just taking a nap.”

“It’s a good afternoon for a nap.”

Shawn smiled and examined Caroline’s face. He could see the worry through her smile. It made him sad; she shouldn’t have to worry about such things

Shaking away his thoughts, Shawn answered with a happy tone: “It’s a wonderful afternoon for a nap.”

“I brought you something.”

Looking at her hands, he found she was holding a pie, covered with clear wrap.

“It’s apple.”

Shawn was pleased. He loved a pie – which he allowed as an offering – and apple was his favorite.

“I’ll put it on the counter.”

As she went into the house, Shawn thought of his mom’s apple pie. He helped her when he could, which always left enough dough for a treat. His mother would cover it with butter, sprinkled it with sugar, add a dash of cinnamon and then bake it until a golden brown. He would enjoy it with a glass of cold milk.

A robin landed in the yard, which diverted Shawn’s attention. It soon started picking at the ground for a meal of the insects that were emerging from the cold ground. Mesmerized, Shawn felt as though he’d lived this exact moment before. Digging in his memories, he couldn’t find any reference, but everything felt so familiar.

“Shawn!”

The voice sounded far away, but familiar

“Shawn!”

Suddenly worried about the time, the sound of a distant train whistle signaled it was 6:00 pm.

“I’m late” Shawn said in a panic.

Jumping from the porch, he ran to the sidewalk and paused. The warm concrete felt good on his cold feet. They were tender, but summer would bring the thick calluses that allowed walking on hot pavement.

Looking back from where he came, he started to examine the old man and young woman on the porch. He knew who they were, or did he? Isn't her name Caroline?

“Shawn Michael!”

Glancing one last time, he saw the woman shaking the shoulder of the old man. Pushing away any thoughts, he started running down the sidewalk toward his mother's voice. She only used his middle name when she was mad or worried.

It was time to go home.