About Me
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments
Favorite Pasttime
One can't describe the feeling of catching a wild West Virginia Trout with a rod you built and a fly you tied.
My Favorite Blogs
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
What in the world was she thinking?
11:22 PM | Posted by
David |
I was watching an old movie last night with a scene where someone was on their death bed, and the local town's doctor was administering an elixir of some nature. I had to laugh when I saw that...for it reminded me of a a similar thing my mother used to do.
As a child, and even today, I have a problem with sinus. Each summer, just as school was out, it would hit. I didn't know then it was spurred by allergies...I do now. I believed my mother when she told me it was skinny dipping in the Little Hole below the Blue Jay Cemetary. Just couldn't figure out why I was the only one getting sick.
But my mother had a remedy...it didn't work, but it was used all the same. It came in a thin clear bottle that was well hidden on the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet...along with a spoon large enough to dig a grave with. This same spoon was tarnished from years of holding it over the flame of the kitchen stove to warm up this magical elixir. This magic potion was Castor Oil. Made from fish oil and plants and with no real known benefit other than sending you to the bathroom in a very short time. This had to be, without a doubt, the most vile tasting thing I have ever tasted. Often this warm thick nothing was rewarded with the bite from an orange. Trust me, this didn't help one bit. It did, however, help with one thing. I seldom complained I was sick for the fear of then seeing her pull the chair over and climb to that top shelf.
I mentioned this at work one evening and got the comment that child abuse comes in many forms. They were joking, of course, but when you are 10 years old and knew what was ahead, you too thought it was. I'd complain like any child would. I got the same alternative each time. It's either the dose of Castor Oil or a shot in the butt from Ol' Doc Tetter. That was like choosing between a snake bite and poke in the eye. Internet searches show that Castor Oil's only true medical advantage was it worked like a laxative. Never could connect that with sinus and sore throat.
Friday, March 27, 2009
One of the hardest decisions I've ever made
11:10 PM | Posted by
David |
In 1972, after spending four years in the United States Air Force, I went to work for Marbon Chemical Company. The company was built here in the Parkersburg area in the very early 50's.I went to work in the technology area in what was known as the Physical Testing Lab. It was there I learned to test the products for their different qualities such as impact, strength and flammability. A few years later, I was approached on setting up and working the Electron Microscope Lab for the analytical area. In 1991 the company, which had been bought by Borg Warner in the early 70's, was purchased by General Electric. They remained the owners until 2007. It was then purchased by a company from Saudi Arabia known as SABIC. In 1991, I transferred from the technology area to the manufacturing division and the Chemical Operations area.
The recent economical situation has brought a lot of matters no one wants to see. That's shutdowns and layoffs. Men I have worked with for 20 years are out of work and their families without much needed job support and income. I felt in December when the first layoffs came down that it wasn't over with. I was right. The last week of February they announced another reduction in work force and offered a Special Early Retirement. To qualify one had to have a certain amount of years service and be 60 years old by the first of April. The amount of reductions depended on how many retirements took place. I knew I had a decision to make. So many things came into play with making this decision. Things like income, change of life style, my health, and if I was simply ready or not.
This past winter has been rough on me. The 12 hour shift work, working outside in the cold, the change in work hours, and so many other things. I probably changed my mind a dozen times from one day to the next. I was having problems getting information from the new company as to what my actual retirement would consist of money wise. Anger was pulling me to change my mind and not take it and to stick it out and see what happened. Then this past Monday, March the 23, my birthday, the layoffs came. It was much deeper than anyone thought it would be. The two men I have worked with, and spent so much time with, both lost their jobs. The emotions were deep and strong. We could only shake hands and wish each other a silent farewell and well wishes. Our voices were choked up. It was then I made my mind up. I didn't want to be part of what was left behind. It wasn't an easy decision. But it's final and for the first time in 37 years, I'm no longer working.
Tonight was my last night at work. I climbed high on the fluid bed dryer I have spent so much time on over the past 15 years and looked out over the river and the plant. I thought of so many times with the chill factor well below zero and being in this same spot working on a problem. I thought of the papers I have presented. The patents that have my name on them. I thought of countless friends and customers I got to know...their kids and families and lives. It was a bittersweet moment as I climbed down those many steps for the last time. It was over.
There are so many things I can and want to do. There are streams yet to be fished, scenes of this beautiful state yet to photograph and woodworking projects I have put on the back burner for such a long time. I'm sure, in time, my body and mind will adapt to something close to normal for a change. With an anxious approach, I look forward to it. It being the right decision is yet to be known. It will, in fact, be an adventure I'm sure.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Mother Nature is a Pole dancer, or That first batch of Iced Tea for the season
6:50 AM | Posted by
David |
Finally, the weather gave me a few rare moments to sit in the swing and feel that, perhaps, winter has been chased away. It seems like forever since I was able to sit in the swing, watch the river and enjoy a glass of ice cold sweet tea. As I sat there with such a wonderful elixir in my glass, it brought back a memory of one of my less than wise ventures to the low country of South Carolina.I'm not sure of the history of sweet tea. I'm sure, however, there are a lot of claims to it's origin. If you talk to someone from the south, they lay claim to it as strongly as they do to grits and NASCAR.
I was at an old home place that still held all the stereotypes of days gone by in the south, complete with Spanish Moss and tall white pillars across a long, deep front porch. I was taken to the kitchen to be introduced to the gathered family and obviously where only the women folk were allowed. It was almost as if I had walked into the women's restroom by mistake. Sundays after church was a tradition one simply didn't skip unless one wanted to be the blunt of next Sunday's tongue lashing. The same food was served each Sunday, including the old standby of fried chicken and all the trimmings.
First on the list was the introduction to "mama" who was obvious the kitchen pit boss. Still dressed in her Sunday finest with the addition of a well worn apron, she was barking out orders as to what went on what plate and what went into the oven at just the right time. You would have thought it was a NASA launch instead of a Sunday meal.
I couldn't help but pick up an aroma of something that was so strange to me. When I asked what it was, I got the strangest look from all the cook trainees under Mama's tutelage. I was told it was "tsup". Something I had never heard of, but must admit I loved the smell. When I asked what in the world is "tsup", I was looked at like an alien asking for someone to take me to their leader. "It's "tsup", David. How do you make Ice Tea without "tsup". It then dawned on me the inherited nature of not pronouncing their "r's " and "g's". They were telling me "Tea Syrup".
I asked what was in it and a silence came over the room, along with a refusal to answer. I knew if I inquired any further all the family "bubbas" would remove me from the room and possibly the property. All I know, it was dark and thick and the steam from it went right to your nose.
Mama said grace at the table that would rival any benediction to a tent revival. Each said a very impressive amen as if to reward her for her oratory. Biscuits the size of a saucer were passed and you took one even if you didn't want it. These people had the ritual down pat, cause the next thing to be passed was the butter. The fried Chicken would rival anything the Colonel would shove into a box. Then the picture of Iced Tea was passed and it was poured over ice in such a tall thin glass. To me there wasn't much more than a good swallow there, it was what they used.
It was then as if someone counted out to three in a silence code, that a napkin was wrapped around the glass. I haven't yet figured that out and glad the men folk didn't partake of that ritual.
I must say I have never tasted fried Chicken that good before or since. I can still remember the stares when I ate it with fork. I think the women folk ate it by hand just to show off the 200 dollar fingernail jobs. Once the main meal was over a plate was served with a large slice of pecan pie. Now, add that to a sugar high from the Iced Tea and you will walk the floors at night for a week. I have always loved Pecan Pie, but I have yet to taste any that was as good as Momma had made for that Sunday dinner. Everyone retired to the front porch with napkin covered glasses in hand. It was there the most recent gossip gathered at church, rather than the sermon, was discussed. My, oh my, those Southerners really know how to spice up one's life, and fair to keep it a secret. I wonder why all these Jr. ministers tend to falter while doing counseling? Needs research I think.
I tried to follow the conversations, but between the accents, sugar high and whispers, I kept loosing track of who was sleeping with who or who had the latest plastic surgery. I still think my ice tea is much better and sitting in the swing with a glass that has no napkin, I can wonder what secrets the river holds instead of what whisper I missed.
As I sat there in the swing sipping my tea I could see all my Daylilies peaking up out of the ground. The Maples are full of leaf buds along with the Dogwood and Redbud trees. The grass is showing green and my Pachysandra is starting to flower. I'm sure there will be at least one Easter Storm front come through. There always is. Yet, I gaze out the windows with a glass of tea in hand and think of warmer days and trout streams waiting. It's been one of the hardest winters on me I can remember. My bones just don't do the cold like they use to. Stil, l I think I'll search the Internet and see if I can find my own "tsup" recipe.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
He had a vision...
3:23 PM | Posted by
David |
As a young man, I would see my father sit at the dining room table with a large sheet of paper and a strange ruler and draw a set of house plans. I used to see the scrap paper with line after line of numbers and math that I simply couldn't understand. I was always anxious to see the rendering section of these drawings. It so fascinated me that someone could draw something they had never seen before. I often got the job of going out on the porch to an old pencil sharpener that was mounted on the wall and bring his drawing pencils to a fine point.
When I decided to remodel the small cottage I had purchased on the river, others begin to look at me like I was crazy. How are you going to do this? Why are you going to do that? What's that going to look like? In my mind, I knew before I drove the first nail.
Recently, my oldest son made a very difficult decision to go out on his own and open his own Chiropractic clinic. When he came to me on a Sunday afternoon this past October, I could see the look on his face, and in his eyes...it was time. I also know the difficulty of doing so. I promised him I'd support and help in anyway I could. So we set out to find a place to lease for his new office.
For someone starting out on their own, so much has to be considered to prevent built-in failure. Leasing commerical property can be so very expensive and come with a tremendous overhead. You read and hear so much the saying that the three things to business success is "location, location and location". This is so true and became a predominate player in this venture. But he found one. It was a recently closed Domino Pizza Shop. When we met the landlord at the site the first time, I stood in the background and instantly put my mind into a builders mode. I was going through more math and structures than I could sort. I was also very concerned from what I was seeing. The landlord asked him what he was going to put in the space. He then said he didn't think it would work. But my son looked at me...and then to him and said "It will work, I have a vision. "
We measured and discussed, and then measured some more, and finally a contract for this location on Blizzard Drive was signed. I soon found myself on the dinning room table drawing a set of plans for something I could only vision in my mind, based on what my son could share with me. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.
The place was a mess and victim of years of rebuilds and changes that would drive most builders crazy. We then started the headbutting and headache of dealing with the Code Department of commerical construction versus not having a contractors license and building within the city. It seemed forever to get the permit based on my drawings and plans. But it finally came about on the 15th of December 2008. I soon lost count of the number of hours we spent tearing out the old pizza business and simply getting things ready to rebuild.
But...now comes the part I hate...the drywall. To comply with the code we had to dry wall the whole thing in heavy 5/8's inch sheet rock. Each sheet a back breaker. Each sheet reducing the framed walls to a mental image that this is all too small...it's not going to work. When the last sheet was nailed and screwed in place, I found myself standing in the middle of my son's vision. His friends that helped along with his landlord would shake their heads and say, "I would have never thought this would work".
Soon the ceiling grid was rigged and the walls painted and trim in place. But it was far from over. Now came the final inspection by the code and fire department. This had to be done and passed before the ceiling could be installed along with the finished plumbing and electric along with the carpet. I'll never forget the supervisor of the code department telling my son..."you are open for business Doc".
The next few days were busy getting each room just right. Setting his adjustment tables in place and the most important....His sign. I stood back in the parking lot with a lump in my throat as big as my fist as I looked at it. If pride leads to sin, then that warm February afternoon I was a very sinful person for a few moments. I walked through the finished office and, for a few moments, I could see my father doing his final look before he turned a job over to the owners.
Once again, I had seen a circle completed. I doubt if my son realizes the concept that so many years of Akers family heritage were in that building that day. But they were there, smiling and saying..."you did a wonderful job with your vision, Bob". On February the 16Th, The Akers Chiropractic Clinic was seeing patients. I drive by the clinic and see the cars in the parking lot and patients sitting in the waiting room, and think..."well done, son..well done".
Over the years I, too, found myself at times on the dining room table doing the same drawings. I learned the concept of square footage and estimating materials. I read all the books I could on it, and over the years, stuffed my mind full of things my father seemed to use as if it was second nature to him. I, too, could begin to see things in my mind before they were ever built.
When I decided to remodel the small cottage I had purchased on the river, others begin to look at me like I was crazy. How are you going to do this? Why are you going to do that? What's that going to look like? In my mind, I knew before I drove the first nail. Before I ever set out to draw the plans and insure things would work, I could see it all in my mind. I could see sitting in front of the fireplace, and at the same time looking out on the river on a winters day. I could see a combination of a New England and Coastal design sitting on the banks of the Little Kanawha River, complete with a white picket fence. Night after night, I'd laid in bed for months, building each wall and placing each window just right. A circle with my father and grandfather had been completed...who had done this very thing hundreds of times.
Recently, my oldest son made a very difficult decision to go out on his own and open his own Chiropractic clinic. When he came to me on a Sunday afternoon this past October, I could see the look on his face, and in his eyes...it was time. I also know the difficulty of doing so. I promised him I'd support and help in anyway I could. So we set out to find a place to lease for his new office.
For someone starting out on their own, so much has to be considered to prevent built-in failure. Leasing commerical property can be so very expensive and come with a tremendous overhead. You read and hear so much the saying that the three things to business success is "location, location and location". This is so true and became a predominate player in this venture. But he found one. It was a recently closed Domino Pizza Shop. When we met the landlord at the site the first time, I stood in the background and instantly put my mind into a builders mode. I was going through more math and structures than I could sort. I was also very concerned from what I was seeing. The landlord asked him what he was going to put in the space. He then said he didn't think it would work. But my son looked at me...and then to him and said "It will work, I have a vision. "
We measured and discussed, and then measured some more, and finally a contract for this location on Blizzard Drive was signed. I soon found myself on the dinning room table drawing a set of plans for something I could only vision in my mind, based on what my son could share with me. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into. The place was a mess and victim of years of rebuilds and changes that would drive most builders crazy. We then started the headbutting and headache of dealing with the Code Department of commerical construction versus not having a contractors license and building within the city. It seemed forever to get the permit based on my drawings and plans. But it finally came about on the 15th of December 2008. I soon lost count of the number of hours we spent tearing out the old pizza business and simply getting things ready to rebuild.
Add this to an unusual early winter for this area and we both were running strictly on hot coffee and his vision. It took 7 large truck loads of debris being hauled away before we could start to build. He had set a deadline to open of the last of January or the first of February. Time, money, the code inspections and fatigue were standing in our way.
The day we passed the electric and rough plumbing inspections, I put my arm around him and told him how proud I was of him and how much I loved him.
But...now comes the part I hate...the drywall. To comply with the code we had to dry wall the whole thing in heavy 5/8's inch sheet rock. Each sheet a back breaker. Each sheet reducing the framed walls to a mental image that this is all too small...it's not going to work. When the last sheet was nailed and screwed in place, I found myself standing in the middle of my son's vision. His friends that helped along with his landlord would shake their heads and say, "I would have never thought this would work".
Soon the ceiling grid was rigged and the walls painted and trim in place. But it was far from over. Now came the final inspection by the code and fire department. This had to be done and passed before the ceiling could be installed along with the finished plumbing and electric along with the carpet. I'll never forget the supervisor of the code department telling my son..."you are open for business Doc".
The next few days were busy getting each room just right. Setting his adjustment tables in place and the most important....His sign. I stood back in the parking lot with a lump in my throat as big as my fist as I looked at it. If pride leads to sin, then that warm February afternoon I was a very sinful person for a few moments. I walked through the finished office and, for a few moments, I could see my father doing his final look before he turned a job over to the owners.
Once again, I had seen a circle completed. I doubt if my son realizes the concept that so many years of Akers family heritage were in that building that day. But they were there, smiling and saying..."you did a wonderful job with your vision, Bob". On February the 16Th, The Akers Chiropractic Clinic was seeing patients. I drive by the clinic and see the cars in the parking lot and patients sitting in the waiting room, and think..."well done, son..well done".
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
New Years Eve 2008
5:04 PM | Posted by
David |
I have often pondered the words to such a famous song that we all hear this time of the year. Especially tonight. This history of Auld Lang Syne is an old one. It's an old Scottish tune penned in the 1700's . The lyrics to me are very confusing for I hold dearly to acquaintances of old and cherish each one for different reasons. For some I have lost contact with. Others are simply by this electronic marvel we all use. But each one so valuable to me. They span this country from east to west. From a fly fishing guide in Montana, to those that still live in Beckley and have chosen to include me on their list of friends. There are those that began as total strangers I happen to meet on a trout stream somewhere. Some I have worked with and some that have passed on to another life or world. Yet, each I hold dearly and on this night each year I make a point to think of them. I wonder, who will enter my life in the coming year and what all it may hold.
To each who have taken the time to read this blog and leave me a comment, and to all who walk along this pathway of life with me, I sincerely wish each and every one of you a very Happy New Year. May 2009 hold for you good health, wealth and smiles. Let's all share a cup of kindness and cheer. Happy New Year...
To each who have taken the time to read this blog and leave me a comment, and to all who walk along this pathway of life with me, I sincerely wish each and every one of you a very Happy New Year. May 2009 hold for you good health, wealth and smiles. Let's all share a cup of kindness and cheer. Happy New Year...
Saturday, December 20, 2008
A Christmas Memory
6:49 PM | Posted by
David |
Our minds, at times, are very selective in what they choose to readily retain. I have forgotten most of the algebra I knew or faces I have met along life's journey. So when certain things tend to remain strong year after year, I often wonder why. It's at this time of the year one such memory comes to visit. It's triggered often by a snow fall at dusk. Especially if there are street lights around. It was Christmas Eve, and my father was in the VA hospital in Richmond, Virginia. My mother and brother were making their way across the mountain in a terrible snow storm and were late. I thought, at 17, I'd spend Christmas Eve alone. I worked till close at the store that evening. Close to dusk, it started to snow. I can remember Henry coming to me and telling me to make a feed run to Grandview before it got too bad . He said there were snow flakes as big as a silver dollar. I went down stairs and loaded the feed on the truck, only for Henry to send down word that it was already too bad.
That night as I walked home from work, I made the only tracks down the highway. The tire tracks of the car that just drove by had already filled in. I stopped for a moment in the middle of the road, thinking how warm it was and watching the snow in the light of the street lamp. There have been 59 Christmases...each special in its own way, but this memory is always here this time of the year. I was asked just recently where I'd like to spend Christmas if I could spend it anywhere I wished. Oh, how I'd love to have one more Beaver Christmas to build memories on.
That night as I walked home from work, I made the only tracks down the highway. The tire tracks of the car that just drove by had already filled in. I stopped for a moment in the middle of the road, thinking how warm it was and watching the snow in the light of the street lamp. There have been 59 Christmases...each special in its own way, but this memory is always here this time of the year. I was asked just recently where I'd like to spend Christmas if I could spend it anywhere I wished. Oh, how I'd love to have one more Beaver Christmas to build memories on.
Two Journeys
6:28 PM | Posted by
David |
This is suppose to be the most traveled weekend of the year. People will be traveling to the four corners of the States and other countries, to be with their loved ones this time of the year. I can remember tonight the first Christmas I was back in the states after my tour in South East Asia.
I was stationed in Cheyenne, Wyoming . I had saved up my leave and was going to take the last two weeks of December off and drive across country to be home for Christmas. My wife was looking forward to the trip and was so very excited to see her family again. I had just bought my first new car. It was a 1970 Dodge Challenger. The trip should be easy and enjoyable. I had offered to give a friend of mine from the photo squadron I was in a ride as far as Columbus, Ohio. He was heading to Baltimore. Any little bit helped as far as air fare was concerned. Plus, it would be nice to have the company. We headed out in a snow storm. Not what I had planned. But once I was in Nebraska, the stars were out, the land flat and the speed limit was up to me. You could plot your direction and progress by what radio stations you could pick up clear, or how near empty the thermos was. I think I wore out an Anne Murray Christmas tape on the way home. Before we knew it, the night had passed and we were well into the Midwest and closing fast on Ohio. My friend's flight was at 8 that evening and we'd make it in plenty of time. My wife was in the back and managed to sleep most of the trip.
Soon I could make out the outline of the West Virginia hills across the river and was so close to home. How wonderful that trip was. I had a purpose, I had comfort, I had conversation and friends. I could stop and rest or eat when ever I needed to. I could even close my eyes and nap while my wife drove. I managed to drive clear across the country from the Rocky Mountains to the Ohio Valley in just under 24 hours. I had a reason. After all, it was Christmas.
Yet long ago, there was another journey home. One far more important than mine. It's over 90 miles from Galilee to Bethlehem. It's a rough, difficult journey on any given day. Add to that, the lay of the land, the hardships along the way and the fact a young woman is about to give birth to her first child. Others traveled as well for the census and taxation. There was no room for rest or sleep. Much less to give birth. There was no way to sleep while someone else guided the donkey. There was little to no way to find comfort in her condition, and the worry and concern had to be so much a part of her journey. Yet she too had a reason. It was about to be the first Christmas. Those to come this special night were never forgotten. Especially the birth of our Savior. We complain about sitting in traffic and waiting in line at a crowed store. We travel, and we get antsy and irritable. How soon we forget the beginning of Christmas.
It's not that times have changed. It's that reasons have changed. I, for one, am glad another made that long hard trip to Bethlehem. After all, it was the beginning of such a wonderful celebration. It has always been my favorite I guess. As a youngster, I'd hike to the high ridge behind Raleigh #7 mine where the holly and mistletoe grew wild. I'd cut hemlock pine with it's thick boughs and cones for garland. When I got older, I started a tradition with a friend of mine. We'd drive to the ridge and both take old duffel bags and fill them full of Laurel and holly. We'd find ropes of ground pine and coil it up to bring back. We'd then go to her home and decorate . Year after year, till we both graduated from High School, we'd make our journey to the ridge...walk the old stone fence along the Richmond farm and fill our sacks full. Her home was so beautiful at Christmas. It often looked as though a artist has drawn it all. After almost 40 years of separation, we made contact a few years back. We kept in touch and caught up on news and trips back in time. She passed away shortly after we made contact. Yet as memories of Christmas past hold so strong with me, so do the memories of her.
I was once told I was a dreamer, that I tend to live in a Currier and Ives state of mind...perhaps with a little Norman Rockwell added in for good measure. Perhaps they were right. For I do tend to see Christmas through those lenses. I guess that's why I love Marietta so much this time of the year. The small College town has that air of dreams of the past and desires of the future. I wonder tonight as the fire cracks in my fireplace and I see the snow blow by the French doors, what Mary thought on that journey. What plans perhaps she had or what concerns Joesph had for his wife and son. I watch my grandchildren and their excitement this time of the year. I see others complain and become bitter over the holiday. I then wonder, if with each generation, do they grow one step farther from that Journey long, long ago? I hope not. I can not stop time or generations. Yet, I can remember the snow covered stone fences on the ridge. Our breath as fog and frost preceded us...the red holly berries accented in the snow and the Orange Firethorn. I can still smell the coal fires through out Beaver. I can remember part of my job at Henry's was boxing up treat boxes of oranges and apples and candies of all sorts. He was a kind and generous man. Just before Christmas of each year, I'd make my rounds delivering groceries along with the gift boxes. He knew which families had young ones and their needs. These things, along with a journey long ago, is what I think of at Christmas. I wish I could set this tradition once again with my own. Sad to say that power is not mine. It has to come from the heart, not a suggestion, or a dream set by artists long ago. There is, in fact, a true Christmas spirit, it's in one's heart, not the conception of an artist or a vision in one's mind......Merry Christmas, each and every reader.
For today, in the city of David, there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11
I was stationed in Cheyenne, Wyoming . I had saved up my leave and was going to take the last two weeks of December off and drive across country to be home for Christmas. My wife was looking forward to the trip and was so very excited to see her family again. I had just bought my first new car. It was a 1970 Dodge Challenger. The trip should be easy and enjoyable. I had offered to give a friend of mine from the photo squadron I was in a ride as far as Columbus, Ohio. He was heading to Baltimore. Any little bit helped as far as air fare was concerned. Plus, it would be nice to have the company. We headed out in a snow storm. Not what I had planned. But once I was in Nebraska, the stars were out, the land flat and the speed limit was up to me. You could plot your direction and progress by what radio stations you could pick up clear, or how near empty the thermos was. I think I wore out an Anne Murray Christmas tape on the way home. Before we knew it, the night had passed and we were well into the Midwest and closing fast on Ohio. My friend's flight was at 8 that evening and we'd make it in plenty of time. My wife was in the back and managed to sleep most of the trip.
Soon I could make out the outline of the West Virginia hills across the river and was so close to home. How wonderful that trip was. I had a purpose, I had comfort, I had conversation and friends. I could stop and rest or eat when ever I needed to. I could even close my eyes and nap while my wife drove. I managed to drive clear across the country from the Rocky Mountains to the Ohio Valley in just under 24 hours. I had a reason. After all, it was Christmas.
Yet long ago, there was another journey home. One far more important than mine. It's over 90 miles from Galilee to Bethlehem. It's a rough, difficult journey on any given day. Add to that, the lay of the land, the hardships along the way and the fact a young woman is about to give birth to her first child. Others traveled as well for the census and taxation. There was no room for rest or sleep. Much less to give birth. There was no way to sleep while someone else guided the donkey. There was little to no way to find comfort in her condition, and the worry and concern had to be so much a part of her journey. Yet she too had a reason. It was about to be the first Christmas. Those to come this special night were never forgotten. Especially the birth of our Savior. We complain about sitting in traffic and waiting in line at a crowed store. We travel, and we get antsy and irritable. How soon we forget the beginning of Christmas.
It's not that times have changed. It's that reasons have changed. I, for one, am glad another made that long hard trip to Bethlehem. After all, it was the beginning of such a wonderful celebration. It has always been my favorite I guess. As a youngster, I'd hike to the high ridge behind Raleigh #7 mine where the holly and mistletoe grew wild. I'd cut hemlock pine with it's thick boughs and cones for garland. When I got older, I started a tradition with a friend of mine. We'd drive to the ridge and both take old duffel bags and fill them full of Laurel and holly. We'd find ropes of ground pine and coil it up to bring back. We'd then go to her home and decorate . Year after year, till we both graduated from High School, we'd make our journey to the ridge...walk the old stone fence along the Richmond farm and fill our sacks full. Her home was so beautiful at Christmas. It often looked as though a artist has drawn it all. After almost 40 years of separation, we made contact a few years back. We kept in touch and caught up on news and trips back in time. She passed away shortly after we made contact. Yet as memories of Christmas past hold so strong with me, so do the memories of her.
I was once told I was a dreamer, that I tend to live in a Currier and Ives state of mind...perhaps with a little Norman Rockwell added in for good measure. Perhaps they were right. For I do tend to see Christmas through those lenses. I guess that's why I love Marietta so much this time of the year. The small College town has that air of dreams of the past and desires of the future. I wonder tonight as the fire cracks in my fireplace and I see the snow blow by the French doors, what Mary thought on that journey. What plans perhaps she had or what concerns Joesph had for his wife and son. I watch my grandchildren and their excitement this time of the year. I see others complain and become bitter over the holiday. I then wonder, if with each generation, do they grow one step farther from that Journey long, long ago? I hope not. I can not stop time or generations. Yet, I can remember the snow covered stone fences on the ridge. Our breath as fog and frost preceded us...the red holly berries accented in the snow and the Orange Firethorn. I can still smell the coal fires through out Beaver. I can remember part of my job at Henry's was boxing up treat boxes of oranges and apples and candies of all sorts. He was a kind and generous man. Just before Christmas of each year, I'd make my rounds delivering groceries along with the gift boxes. He knew which families had young ones and their needs. These things, along with a journey long ago, is what I think of at Christmas. I wish I could set this tradition once again with my own. Sad to say that power is not mine. It has to come from the heart, not a suggestion, or a dream set by artists long ago. There is, in fact, a true Christmas spirit, it's in one's heart, not the conception of an artist or a vision in one's mind......Merry Christmas, each and every reader.
For today, in the city of David, there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
