Call of the Wild Goose

        The so pleasant and nostalgic sound of the wild goose's calls this January morning made me look out the kitchen window then quickly go out the back door. I followed the sound and looked up.

     The sun not long risen was casting long shadows of bare limbs of the pecan and walnut trees, up and over the wooden back yard fence. And the geese! Oh, surely many thousands of them: determined, flying south in myriad separate  V-shaped formations, one hearty goose leading, the others, honking, flying in near perfect formation.Stragglers behind the primary group seemed to double their efforts to keep up with or even pass slower, perhaps tiring birds. The words unknowably vast came to mind.

     I shaded my eyes as the sun transformed those fluttering wings into brilliant silver flashes; crisp winter air transformed gentle hoarse honking into nostalgic memories of my sons' hunting days. That sight and that sound also gave to me this early morning a calm knowing that seemed to whisper "It's okay. All is okay."

     Then the thought gift came unbidden to my mind. That seems to be the way with God's gifts: they so often come unbidden. Even when we don't yet recognize our need for a gentle reminder, a reminder comes.  So, yes it is okay. All is okay.  Does not the sun shine through through the bare trees? Do not the geese know their way? Are not the best gifts often  free?

     i must remember that quiet message this day. All is well.

Whose Fault?

1 September 2016

      Leaving soon to make the half-hour drive to an important  group meeting . One of the members and I had a few loud and angry words yesterday. 

      I do not look forward to seeing that person.   She brings out a not-so-nice me.

     Or perhaps  I allow her to do so.

     Damn.

Simple Question, Profound Anwer

      Dede, I'm five today. I know it, she said. Happy Birthday. She held his hand.

   Dede, are you the elderly? Sometimes, she said.

   Dede, let's skip on the sidewalk, he said. Okay, she said. He squeezed her hand in their secret way.  Gentle squeeze, gentle squeeze, gentle squeeze. I love you.

    Dede, are you old? he said.

   Not today, she said.  They skipped away.



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   They say that traits we dislike in others are the very ones we have but don't recognize in ourselves.

   Man, that's a  bummer.

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  Those people who say miracles don't happen anymore are wrong, she said.

    Now, I never saw a burning bush or a dead person walk,  but I saw my grandson when he was  five minutes old.
    There was a miracle.

What a Night It Was

Last weekend I slept with a wild man. He slept so close to me he almost pushed me out of the bed, and today I am worn to a frazzle. Every time I moved, he sat up and asked where I was going.

I'm so crazy for him I'm taking a day off without pay just to be with him this weekend, too, even driving 200 miles to pick him up. He doesn't drive, primarily because another woman in his life won't let him, making him sit in the back, buckled up for safety. My daughter, who is my wild man's mother, has said that when he has his third birthday in July we'll have a big party!

I call him Angel Man or Monkey Doodle. He calls me Dede. Sometimes I call him Little Frog. He doesn't like the latter, and reminds me indignantly, "Me Brooks Thomas Baston; me not frog." (Sometimes he says "Baston" when he really means "Batson.")

Not at all bothered by humidity and the occasional rain drop, my wild man gardens with me. He especially likes me to turn a spade of dirt to disclose worms, the bigger and more wriggley the better. Unaware that worms are considered lowly, disgusting creatures, my Little Frog tries to soothe their wriggling by gently stroking them. Trying to catch one of the abundant red squirrels is another of his favorite back yard games. He's still red shirted in that sport.

Being a grandparent is not something I thought much about until the first grandchild was born. As soon as I met the first one, I fell in love, I fell into unconditional love and that has happened seven times. The two oldest grandchildren live 3,000 miles west; two live in Alpharetta, Georgia, eight hours east. Little Frog and his parents and two older brothers are only two hours north.

As "Dede" I'm far more relaxed, more lenient, more forgiving that I was with my own children.

I learned that I said "No!" or "don't" or Stop!" or "in a minute" or "not now" far too often over incredibly unimportant things when I was a young Mama instead of an older and wiser Dede.

I don't say "No" much these days.

Wow!

We were talking, Scarlett and I, about how quickly the years have flown since we were together: almost twenty-five. Her son had become a man, as had mine; we'd both changed vocations. She'd moved 3,000 miles west and back to the South 20 years later. We had wrinkles and gray hairs. We were no longer young career women.


That night I wondered what I needed to learn from getting old. The answer came to mind spontaneously and in a voice not my own: "That it is a blessing. Not all people get to become old."

Wow!