Trimming The Tree
　
This was a year that seemed to just not have enough time for everything. A lesson in planning, to do more things than I actually have time to accomplish. I had put off putting up the tree because it is such a daunting project for this house. For many years I have been a pain about each item being placed on the tree just so, and never duplicate too many of the same type of ornament too close together, resulting in everyone just dying to help decorate the tree, hmmm...yea. All of my family runs to the other side of the farm on that day hoping to avoid the dreaded "not there, here!", as I instruct each balls placement, and probably change it anyway, no matter how many times I have told them the placement is fine. It is a challenge to be around me on those days, and I am fully aware of it in my good mind, it's my out of touch with reality brain that goes wild, when it comes to seeing that massive green tree in place finally. I seem to become someone else altogether, and even I, couldn't recognize the snarling animal within. Yes, not a warm family time around here, when decorating the tree. Seems to be...not fun!


Well this time, this year with all my good intentions I became busier than usual. Never a good sign for my family. They know.....what will come....sooner or later. I was running behind with the schedule of putting up the tree, because I was working on a special project as a Christmas present. Having the idea back in the summer, I told myself I had plenty of time, and I proceeded to dawdle along at it.
I was painting Christmas scenes on oyster shells. Now, this should not have been a long drawn out project, if I had gotten the shells in a more timely manner. However, the "free" shells didn't come my way in time. Finally, one night when it was about 40 degrees, I got the oysters. My son and I sat on his deck and shucked one whole bushel of oysters. Padding and frying a whole bushel of oysters for Thanksgiving is a whole other story. (but I will tell you, I blue the fuse doing them!) 


By the time we were only half the way through, my sleeves were dripping with that wonderful slimy oyster "juice", you know the stuff that so many covet to use in their oyster stew. Not me, nooo.. I will never make oyster stew again! My hands were frozen and little pieces of shell, covered my entire body, head to toe, pricking my hands for a second time. As my leg begins to go numb, I realize I have been sitting on it and can't move, it too, is dripping with the wonderful juice of the oyster, prized shellfish of the sea. Yes, I am totally miserable, but this was my big idea, so I couldn't quit. When we finally finished the last miserable, tight, hard shell, and went in to the warmth of the house, the heat hit us in the face like we had stepped straight into a furnace. Not even minding or taking off the earmuffs, hat or coat, I step to the sink and begin to run hot water over my hands. My smile soon comes back as the warm water revives the blood flow again.


I take my buckets of oysters and proudly go home with them, satisfied that I finally have all the shells I need to continue my project. Of course now, I have a false sense of accomplishment, because I still had to clean all the shells and paint them. But tonight, I am content. I continue to be content and clean and paint a few shells at a time, until again, my time is getting shorter, as the day is getting closer, and I have decided to paint shells for all my friends and family. Oh how they will enjoy them, I haven't painted in such a long time, and since people kept asking me to, I am going to have a wonderful present for them. Ok.


I am insane. I have chosen a perfectly insane project to do so close to the holidays. Oh yes, I don't have all the paints I need either, the shells were free, but the rest of it was quite pricey to accomplish. Oh well, I am having a great time again with my shells and my paints, and will have a loving gift to give at the end. I still had a long way to go though, and all the decorating to do.
I wondered....could this be the year I cut back on decorating the house for Christmas....who would miss it, but me? I have a small tree that would work, and I can get it up in no time, and get right back to the beloved oyster shells. By the way, for some reason I thought those shells were bigger! They are truly tiny when you are trying to put a pond and skaters around it with a tree and a dog. Anyway, my great idea didn't work at all, my family informed me it just wouldn't be Christmas without my tree. Fine! I'll put up that great monstrosity of fir and frills and be done with it. But I'll tell you one thing, they won't be getting cookies and cakes this year, just the tree!


Now, not to sound too whiny, but..I have to keep the tree in the storage building outside. It's quite a process to bring in all the boxes and containers and the tree. It actually stands ten feet tall, so we never take the stand apart, it remains intact all year long. We finally have all the parts laid out and begin to place the branches in the holes that surround the pole. Something of a nightmare nature begins to crawl around us and the tree pole stands naked, time passing by like lightening striking. None of the branches would fit in the holes. My husband is helping me with this part, you know, because he is a man. Men can do more strenuous work better than women. Well bless his heart, he gave it all he had, but the pole stood tall and bare, with not one branch attached.


Frustrated that he couldn't figure out how to put the branch in the hole, he said a little word, hehe, he almost blubbered in his frustration.
In the interest of time, I had proceeded to place my oyster shells in the nice bucket that my loving husband had brought me, to soak in bleach while we put the tree up. I filled the bucket and poured in a half gallon of bleach, you know, it would work quicker that way. I place a piece of foil over the top to keep the fumes inside. Smart thinking, huh?


Quite satisfied with my plan I prance down the steps to help my husband, who at this point was bent over on his knees trying to force the branch into the hole, with no success. Have I told you I am a bit younger than him? Yes, so I have the better pair of eyes in this union of aged old folks, the better to see the hole with, said she. I peer into the hole and what do I find? Dirt Daubers!! Yes, those friendly little buzzy black bees that don't sting, but make a total mess of any kind of crevice they can find to fill with their own distinctive house. Yes, they had filled every hole on the pole with a house! It becomes a bit like cement, and I guess they plan it this way, to have a sturdy home for years to come.


Well, my husband says to me, "Now what are you going to do?" as though I am the only one to have an answer to this problem. Actually he's right, so I think quickly and go get my drill, put in a bit and start to drill. It works, sort of, I do have to get a bigger bit however. But as soon as I find the correct bit size, we make progress, drilling out every hole on that pole! With two drills going to town opening every hole, we feel that progress will soon be ours. Never mind the time this is taking, oh but it will be beautiful....


After some time, I begin to feel dizzy and sick, so I stop drilling and sit down. My husband looks at me as though I have quit the job, and he won't be drilling those tiny holes all by himself, oh no, this is my tree, not his! As the smoke and fog from the drilling of the mud dies down, I realize that I can smell bleach, strong bleach. Still thinking that it shouldn't have such a strong odor, because I covered it up, I close my eyes and try to clear my head. I go to the door and step outside, drinking in the fresh air. The air seemed to awake my husband, and he tells me he can smell something. Duh! Good for you honey, why do you think I am standing on the porch barefooted in December? Come join me honey, you'll love it. As he steps out, I glance up to the kitchen, where the oyster shells were soaking in their bucket, but the only thing I see is the shiny.. wet... floor. The whole floor was glistening with water flooding closer and closer to the dining room!


"Where did you get that bucket?" I scream. He stutters and rubs his face and tells me it is the one by the tree! @#$% I say loudly. He had lovingly brought me the bucket that we watered the trees with during the long, hot, dry summer. I had drilled holes in the bottom so the water would trickle out all night long. Now, never having been under the bucket, to see how long it took to "trickle", I had no idea. The bleach water had covered the entire kitchen and the fumes were overtaking us. It must have been the fumes that drove my husband insane, to pick such a.....stupid bucket! OH, no! The fumes came after he chose the bucket, so he must have been insane before the bleach went all over, and encompassed the kitchen. The floor was clean, though, I have to say in his defense.


We all know what a six pack is right? A six pack of Bounty! That's what it took to clean up the mess, with the doors wide open to suck out the "cleansing" odor. Needless to say the tree did not get put up that day. The pole stood alone, for two more days, until we had the whole bleach odor debacle out of our mouths, systems, I mean. I must say, I truly have no inclination to put this stupid tree up now.But, we fired up our drills, we each have our own as you may have guessed by now, and continued with the tiresome chore of drilling out the holes. One by one.


We do get that gorgeous tree up and decorated, one more year. The shells had gotten all the time they were going to in bleach, however I still had to scrub each one with a toothbrush, before again attempting to paint a lovely scene on their tiny faces.
The gift of the shells was received with joy and appreciation, and gave me the sense of well being again.
I write this story today because I am reminded of it by the fact, that I am going out in the river today to collect shells. It's February, and the water is too cold for fish, but I am going, at low tide today, to try once again to find the elusive shells to paint. These shells are not oyster shells, and should offer me a different and larger surface for my painting, and hopefully my bucket and boots won't leak!
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

Now I See

 　
Watching the young mother talking to her friend sitting on the bleachers at the game...seems like just yesterday that was me. She is brushing her children away as they try to get her attention, go play, oh if she only knew...if I could only tell her what lies in store, and how fast the time will go.


I seem to have advice, really good advice in great quantities these days. Meaning that I have lived the most I am going to, the rest is so much shorter than before, so I should have learned a few things, and I have. If I could only tell them what they are missing, whether they know it or not!! Could they listen and hear....maybe not.
The young mother in the store that has to keep shushing her kids, and saying in a much too loud voice..NO!  How much easier would it be to let the child understand in a quiet voice, before they go in, what they will be allowed and nothing more. Well....easy for me...I get to look at it from a whole new window...been there done that, before.

I have worked with kids, my own and others, for many years in different aspects. Coaching, teaching and parenting. Notice how I listed "parenting" last. Well, there is good reason for that. I have reached the age in life that I now list things in their proper order. I didn't always parent when it was needed, or correctly...but I can only see that now, now that I am in the last chunk of life. I think we live life in chunks, child....young adult....older than young adult...age of remembrance....

Not at all to say I wasn't a good parent, but I am sorry that I lost some of the moments that could have saved my children some wear and tear, and given to me a much loved memory. Children give us so much more than we could ever give to them. Such is the journey for parents, win some lose some. If we can learn to be patient, we win so much more, but as young parents we seem to need to run full blast all the time. Where are we going so fast we burn up the energy we could have saved for our little ones. How do we know.....when do we see...ahh, a little later for me.

If we could remember to look back at ourselves on a regular basis..say..every 3 years, what would we see? Certainly not the same person. My goodness! If in 3 years we didn't grow at least a little more than before, we would become wooden walking dummies. ( I feel like a dummy on a regular basis, and that has become ok with age, I don't mind because it only matters to me) But if we could see, really see how important the moments are, we would take them and hold onto to them for dear life, making them last until we must let go.


How I would love to have some of those moments back again, and read one more story, or play one more game. What was so important that I couldn't take a few more minutes with my sons, to read a little longer and hold them close, I can't remember. I think I told myself that I had so much to do, I could only stay a little while, snuggled up next to them, their sweet smiles next to my cheek. Their precious little hands quiet and still, laying next to me with their hair reaching my nose and smelling of honeysuckle and childhood.
So many things to interfere, important things? Probably not, I think now. I could have stayed a little while longer, and captured more of the moments that would slip by me so fast, pressed into my heart as if they were flowers in a book. I wish I had....I wish I could.


Now my grandson snuggles next to me, waiting for the story or the book, with sweet anticipation. When he brings me the book with hope in his eyes, I see it, and I have the time. Not because I am older, but because I am wiser. I know now, that he will grow before my eyes and no longer need me to read to him, or tell him a story that he plays the main character in. How easy it is to give a child a feeling of importance, by placing them into a story to make them feel special. Hearing their name, their little eyes shine with the feelings you give to them, and they snuggle a little closer, loving you more. I savor these moments now, and try to hold onto them, just a little longer. This is truly why grandparents allow the children to stay up later, to hold them a little longer and remember when it was their parent you held, just a little while ago.

This only proves to me how valuable a journal would have been. I actually started one once. I didn't have the time, make the time...what was it actually? I think now, I might not have liked the moment I was in, so I didn't want to see it again. What I saw, I chose not to see, because it was in such a learning stage of life for me, and not having the good sense to allow it to teach me in time, I let it go. Was I stubborn or busy, or did I not have a clue, not willing to admit that I knew, time would fly like the wind....tomorrow... I would do better and make more time tomorrow....and the years went by.

Maybe my job isn't done yet, and I still have time, to give some advice... for the moments. Take a longer look, and be very still, as if trying to catch a butterfly...look in their eyes and hold on tight, you only get the borrowed moments...for a little while.
Did I make enough time, for the moments to count, or did I let them melt into the years? I have many moments I hold dear, I still want them all...just a little longer, next to my cheek...
Those precious hands so soft and sweet, right after a bath..they have grown much larger now and belong to a man. As they reach for their own child...and I watch and see, a father's love, much like me.
　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Just Another Day On The Farm

Having never reached an age of wisdom and peace about my age, I find that the memories have more impact on my soul,when written in story form. Sometimes reaching way back in my memory sack, I have to stretch and squeeze it, so it comes back in the same manor that it occurred.


Now, stretching is good for the story too, it makes it go a little further, like milk added to coffee, simply making sure the essence stays the same. However, some stories are too good to add anything at all.


Gazing from my window today, since the temperature is too low for me to browse among the tuffs of ice along the walk, I see the sun shining on the windshield of the truck, and it reminds me of the day....


My husband was working on a stretch of fence, mending the places that had come loose. I was driving the truck along with all the supplies, always the good helper, and listening to music on the radio. All I had to do was inch forward every few minutes and he could reach in the back and get what he needed. It worked quite well..until I turned the volume up on the radio. As I inched forward in my own little world, not really paying attention, I had hooked him on the hitch!
Somehow, when he bent over to pick up something he had dropped, his sweatshirt had hooked itself over the hitch.


Of course I pulled forward just as this happened and pulled it tight, so tight he couldn't get it loose. He was butt down on the driveway, riding along with me listening to a really loud song, and I'm sure a good song too. This was my only recourse to avoid boredom, listening to the music, so I truly should be forgiven. Now, as I slowed down he tried to get his feet under him again, so he could get himself aloose. But no, I pulled off again paying no attention to the fact that he was no where in sight, and dragged him behind me again. Now, not to sound too stupid, I was only going about a mile an hour. Just fast enough that this old man couldn't get his feet under him, his knees are shot and they wouldn't give him the push he needed to get to his feet so I could see him. Not that I was looking, there in my own little world. 


Finally I realized I couldn't find him in any of the mirrors, so I changed the position of the mirror on the drivers side and then the other, still going along. When I found that he was nowhere in sight, I actually stopped the truck and got out. I heard a noise and then a loud cussing sound. Suddenly he stood up behind the truck, covered in dust, from head to toe. Now, happy little person that I am, I started laughing, he looked like he had been swimming on the driveway. He stood still with his hands on his hips and looked at me, eyes glaring. Then he began to shout something at me, I have no idea what the actual words were, because he was so upset they just garbled up in his mouth with the dust. I of course, still don't know what happened, and can't ask, because I am laughing so hard tears are running down my face and I am bent over, unable to talk.
He finally motions for me to come closer, uh..not so sure about that, I inch close enough to see what he was pointing at. Hanging on the hitch was a piece of his sweatshirt that he had finally been able to tear away from the gluelike piece of equipment, to get away. He explained in the loudest tones I have ever heard, what happened, and wanted to know why I didn't stop. Why??!!!


I looked at him in all innocence and replied, "I didn't know you were hooked."
He looked at me as though peering through the giant hole in my head, and asked, where did you think I had gone? Still in my innocence, I could do nothing but say, I told you start keeping your shoulders straight and stand up tall so I could see you!
Getting back to the house he sheds every piece of clothing on the sidewalk outside and throws them at me, covering me in the dust, he beings to laugh and says, how do you like me now?!


Yes, once again we have joked ourselves into laughing at the situation, and so, such is a day on the farm with Carole and Benton.
　
　
　


　
　
　
　
　

A Good Tennis Lesson

　
 　
Going to work each morning can become the bane of existence, and then there are the jobs that get you going earlier each day, with renewed energy. I think every job can have mundane and boring aspects to it, just finding the parts of it to enjoy, if you choose to look, can be excruciating too.
And then, there are the lucky ones, the job that brings joy and a paycheck all in the same week. I hope there are more of these out there than I know about, I wish for everyone to find joy in the work place, at least somewhere in the day, even if it's only lunch with a friend that brings a little joy, even if you still have to go back to the chore of getting through the hours left until it's time to put it away.


During my years of teaching tennis, I had the best of both worlds. I loved my job and found joy every day. I had a great boss and we were " like thinkers". Each day that we walked on court we got back so much more than we gave, and we gave a lot. When you've been at work all day and the temperature has reached 99, your energy levels are about at the bottom, and it would feel so good to become a couch potato, a child grabs you by the hand and hauls you back out on the court, just for fun. The lesson is over and you could go home, without looking behind you to see who's still there, you don't have to walk back on that court.
But those pleading eyes and smile...pulling you along, you give in and go play. Just play, no teaching involved. But now, you get to see the freedom in their play, no longer working at the exercises you had given them earlier, just freedom! Smiles, laughter and the never ending spirit of a child, running with joy. You stand back and watch them, using the skills you have tried so hard to instill in them. They have learned their lessons well and can't get enough, they are hooked on tennis. A child that has learned the lesson of laughing at themselves is a wonderful thing to see too.


Many times, this was the child that had been the "bench sitter" for the Little League coach, that was the coach that taught them they weren't good enough.
Too many kids have gotten left behind on the bench, by a coach that was simply win oriented, without regard or thought to what they were leaving that little kid with.
A sense of never being good enough to try, these were the kids that we loved to get our hands on. The ones that had only had bad experiences with sports, and their parents, bless their hearts, thought they could at least take tennis lessons. Somehow, the parents that didn't believe their child could excel, at least tried to put them in a lesson that would keep them active, not realizing that their child had the ability to win, all by themselves, one on one. With every lesson, their child began to get better, and that was a win for them. Leaving the court with a smile, knowing they had succeeded that day, was worth every penny spent, for those parents. Those are the kids that learned about themselves all on their own, they could be as good as those other guys, or better, if given the chance.


I happened to have the opportunity of teaching tennis to a deaf child. I was quite apprehensive about it, once the boss told me about the family. They were a military family, here in Virginia for awhile, but not for long. The mother was fierce about her child, and she knew every single mandate that her child qualified for, with his disability. Actually, this was the only thing that worried me anyway. Along with the child, would come a "Lip Sinker". I never knew there was such a thing, therefore I couldn't quite get my thinking around what they would do, or how. It didn't dawn on me that she would be talking to me, and the child.
The morning of the first class arrived, and I was on court getting all the equipment ready. I like to get there early and make sure everything is safe. Apparently, Matt's mom liked to be early too. They got out of the van and ventured onto the court. I of course go over to greet them and get all the paperwork taken care of. Along comes another woman soon, and comes hurrying onto the court. The mother introduces me to her and she proceeds to set herself up on the court, with a blanket. Well, I don't like anyone not in the class to be on the court, for safety sake, so I politely ask her to sit outside. She rudely informed me that she would be staying close by, in other words, almost on top of me. OK, now I'm starting to get nervous, and the other kids had shown up. By the time I have them all signed up and ready to start, I had forgotten my nerves and my usual self once on court, came through to support me.


I point to Matt as I tell the other kids to follow me. Matt comes along, rather nervous himself, and not happy. I now know, that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to keep up with the other's, and his mother was too close. The first hour however, I thought he was a little rude. Now, the lip sinker stood beside me and mouthed everything I said to Matt. Her lips smacked together like a child chewing with his mouth full and it irritated me to no end. Did she have to stand so close to me? Now, not making fun, but she wasn't as agile as she needed to be, so I took advantage of this. She was in my way, and I couldn't teach in my normal manner, because her girth was always slowing me down, so I stepped it up until she was out of breath and dragging to keep up. Oh well, I had a job to do too!



The other kids were a happy and understanding group. They didn't look at Matt as having a disability, he was just like them, except he couldn't hear. Finally, I got Matt to enjoy himself, and he began to act exactly like the other kids, as they included him and always made sure he understood. He had a good time and so did the other kids. I pride myself on knowing which kid to look to for help, and I had one in this class, right up front. He took Matt under his wing, and made sure he had understood everything he needed to, without being told to keep an eye on him.
What no one realized was, Matt could read lips too. Of course it depended on how the words were spoken, so when I realized that Matt was already doing the instructions, before the lip sinker could speak, I was relieved. The "lip sinker" got very frustrated because we were working her all over the court. It's funny now to me, how I made her sweat, and she did not come dressed to sweat! Oh that was bad!


Well, when the second day of class arrived, Matt told his mother he didn't need the lip sinker at all, he could understand everything I said. Now, I have to admit, I talk with my hands a lot too, and I am a hands on teacher. Matt truly didn't need the woman distracting him, and he realized that it was slowing down the rest of the class. The mother finally agreed to let her go home, and we continued with a much better pace. At the first water break of the day, she handed him his water bottle and picked up her blanket and spread it outside of the court, letting me and Matt that she approved.


Matt was like a bird out of a cage. If he missed something I said, he only had to look at me for a repeat, and we didn't miss a beat. He would cock his head a little to let me know he needed me to repeat it for him. We clicked, with unsaid words, and he learned how to play tennis, and how to have fun with hearing kids. He didn't want special treatment at all after that day. By the end of the session, you would never know, looking from the sidelines, that he was deaf, he was as much a part of the class as any kid there, and that's all he wanted, to be included as an equal. Actually, once he forgot he was different, he was class clown, free spirited and fun.
The astonishing thing was, they signed up for another session. My boss couldn't believe that I had won over the mom, although he knew I could win over the kid. I told my boss that the mom was right to hold him close and be ready to intervene if needed, and that she had probably run into people that didn't get it. The boss had been told by the mom, that it was the best class her child had ever taken, and he couldn't wait to come back for more. I was pleased, and my ego was quite shiny.


I was sad when they told me they were being shipped elsewhere, and he would no longer be able to take the lesson's, because he taught me something too. I didn't need to be uneasy about teaching him, I just had to give him the same attitude I gave to all the kids. Respect receives respect.
I hope that all the kids in that class remember, they can be in a situation with a handicapped person, and help them to learn and have fun all at the same time. My prayer is that they have taken that class with them through their life. I hope they never forget Matt, I know I won't.