Time and Second Chances

Daddy was 80 this week; he and Mother celebrated 58 years together as well. It is my late-50-something time of being his first child on Father's Day. I realize that time is, pardon the pun, fleeting. I hear the chorus from "Rocky Horror" singing, "Time is fleeting.... let's do the time warp again..." There just isn't enough of it.

Time has been plaguing me lately. I want more and have no control over it. It fills itself with things that don't contribute to happiness. It ticks away quite contentedly while I run like a crazy woman trying to smash Every Single Thing into that I can. I won't live forever. No one does. Not on this Earth anyhow...

Years ago I was in a terrible car accident that should have left me dead. I remember skidding down the mountain side, watching the inside of my car turn white and feeling myself lifting away. I called out, "God! Please! Don't let me die tonight! I have so many things I need to finish! So many things I want to accomplish! I want to see my son grown! He can't miss the prom!" (It was prom weekend --- you know how important those things are...) A pair of unseen hands grabbed me by the forearms and shoved me backwards as the window shield exploded from the trees breaking over the car.

When the car stopped, it was possible to tell that it had been a car, but not much more. It hit with such force that it knocked the license plate off the back and the trunk flew open. The front seats were in the back; the back seats were in the trunk. My shoes were never found. Remarkably, the only injuries I had were air bag burns on my left hand where I tried to protect my face from the bag as it exploded (my glasses didn't fair so well), bruises from the knees down where the dash hit me as it pushed in, torn tendons in my right foot, and bruises from unseen hands. (The hospital staff took pictures of them to document the fingerprint bruises....)

The ambulance had removed me before the police arrived, so I didn't talk with the policeman on duty until I was naked on a CAT scan being checked for internal injuries. He blew in the door, wrapped his arms around me and cried like a girl. "I knew I was having to make a death call tonight! I don't know how you survived. It is a miracle!" he wept. I showed him my arms to confirm the miracle part.... and he smiled, apologized for rushing in as he had, and then left to call my son.

That was 15 years ago this past January. Sometimes I wonder why I was given this second chance. What was I supposed to do? It is rather like "It's a Wonderful Life." We don't know what difference we may have made or where, but we hope we have. As I listened to my parents talk this past week, reflecting on their lives together and their goals met or not, I realized that it really isn't about ticking off this or that on a list. It is about making the best use of what gifts one has and not about using time well. Time can't win that one. Ever.

He Made It!

Today my Daddy celebrates another birthday! It is remarkable considering that last year at this time, we weren't sure we would have him another day, much less another year. After his heart stopped twice, once in his surgeon's hands, our fears were well grounded. However, since having his "power tool" installed (defibrilator), he has done quite well.

Today is also Flag Day. It is a day to remember the formal adoption of our Nation's flag in 1777.

When I was a wee Matty, I couldn't understand why the flags were flying on Daddy's birthday. Surely he is special, I thought, if the whole country put out flags on his day! And, of course, Daddy would confirm that repeatedly.

"See? The flags are out for me! " he would declare. And we bought it. After all, he was our Daddy and we knew he was special.

A rather funny thing about my special Daddy, though. He isn't, or wasn't, who he thought he was for a long time. Seems that when he was born at home, my Grandmother Ada, who was a force that would have taken on the entire European theatre and won, declared his name to be one thing. My Grandfather, minister, furniture maker, and very quiet man, declared this son would have the name he chose. Of course, it seemed Grandmother had won and so off went Grandpa to the county seat to record Daddy's birth. No more was said and Daddy went by the name Grandmother gave him.

Leap forward 40 years, 4 children, 1 marriage, 1 tour of duty in Germany. Mother and Daddy were celebrating their 25th anniversary with a trip to the family property in Scotland. Birth certificates were needed to get their passports. The courthouse had burned in their home county, so they had to write for them from the state capital.

Surprise, surprise! Grandpa won! And, he hadn't said a thing about it! He let Daddy and Grandmother use the other name. Suddenly there was quite a bit of drama. First, he wasn't who he thought he was. Second, he wasn't legally married. Third, well, you can guess what his children had to say about that. A flurry of attorney appointments later, Daddy had his name legally changed to what he thought it was all along. And, he went to his knees and asked Mother to remarry him. She wouldn't. Seems that 25 years had filled her in on who he was and she just wasn't going to do it again. However, she would live with him... and has for a grand total of 56 years. At the time, though, it was scandalous.

So here we are; he is finally who he thought he was and has enjoyed, I hoped, this extra year of life. Speaking for myself, I am so glad he has been with us another year. And, surely the flags are truly flying just for my Daddy. Happy Birthday, George!

Rain, rain, go away!

Noah lived with rain for forty days and nights. It feels that way here at Lazy Bee Farm today. We have had so much rain that the does are cross. The chickens, while in their snug coop with a heat light, are fussing. Moose and Annabell are on the porch, leaving to chase the occasional car or truck. Don and I weren't sure we could even get out of the holler to get to the hard top. In short, the ducks are the only folks happy.

Rainy days make me think about when I was a small girl. Mother always worked the 3-11 shift at Baptist Hospital and Daddy worked down on Cherry Street from 8-5. Mrs. Tucker, our next door neighbor, always kept us between school and Daddy coming home because Mother had to leave to walk to work at 2:00. Rainy days were so much fun at Mrs. Tucker's because, well, it wasn't home!

Mrs. Tucker was a round little lady, just about my height when I was seven years old. She always wore an apron and seemed to be in perpetual motion either cooking, making those wonderful trapunto pictures of deer or some other outdoor scene, or smocking. Mr. Tucker was a police officer, but he was usually home by the time we came from school. He'd be in the basement either doing some kind of woodwork or playing, er, working on his train set.

The train set was wonderful! It filled the entire front half of the basement. Villages, trees, tunnels, roads, and even a postman filled the scene where the train would fly past on its way around the huge train board. Mr. Tucker was always doing something on the scene -- adding a tree or rearranging a town or painting something a newer, brighter colour. I could stand and watch him for hours!

But is one particular rainy day that really sticks out to me.

Mrs. Tucker had taken in sewing and worked to save enough money to get her entire living room recarpeted. The day finally came when she had the new carpet laid. Oh my goodness, it was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. The creme background accented the lovely roses that were strewn about the carpet. Ranging from a pastel pink to a deep blush, the roses were in full or partial bloom. Some were fully coloured, but others were only outlined. In my mind, it was a shame that all the roses were not fully coloured.

Poor Mrs. Tucker; she couldn't afford to have the full colour, I decided. As I sat with my marker set colouring, I kept pondering those roses. They just didn't look right. I studied the colours in my set and figured out that if I were to mix the red with the white, I could come close to the same rose on the carpet. I even tried a sample on a piece of paper to be sure that it would work. It did.

I slipped between the sofa and the coffee table and selected the first rose to be finished. I was thrilled to think that I could surprise Mrs. Tucker with such a perfect gift. I loved her so and wanted to make her carpet complete. I settled on my rose and begain to colour. It was just right! I moved on to the next one. Another perfect rose! By the time I was on my fifth rose, Mrs. Tucker came to see what I was doing.

Expecting her to be pleased, I jumped up and shouted, "Surprise!"

She was.

She didn't yell. She didn't cry. She stood there, looking at the floor, the marker and me. Finally, she took a very deep breath and whispered, "Sit in the chair by the door and wait on your Daddy." Then she turned around and went to the kitchen to get a rag and something to scrub the floor. Nothing would take the full marker out. I guess it was there until she died or replaced the rug.

But, I do remember this. When Daddy got there, it was raining. Mrs. Tucker took him on the porch, told him what happened, and then came back in the house. You have had to have experienced the fear that comes from facing a 6-foot 4-inch man who has worked all day and is tired and hungry to understand how I felt. Total fear. He lifted me up, Mrs. Tucker patted my back, and Daddy carried me home. I was certain I was going to die. But, all he did was tell me, "Never use markers on anything but paper again." No yelling, no spanking. Just a simple warning.

That's my Daddy. A huge man with a huge heart and a huge temper when provoked. Veteran. Gentleman. Loving. Understanding. Could anyone hope for more?