Byron's posts with tag: my thoughts
One of the things that I like most about this new place is the
unobstructed view of the night sky. Before, the trees crowded over the
lawn, the drive, and the house so that when you stepped outside, hardly
anything was visible.
I can't help but notice how the stars seem to form deliberate patterns
in the sky, almost like a picture book, or hieroglyphics, or a code of
some sort. Many shapes seem to be pointing at something, like
directional signals, but what they are pointing to is just beyond our
view. If you look away, your peripheral vision picks up even fainter
signs and the stars just out of your central vision are brighter than
when looked at directly. It is a beautiful view, best seen around 4
A.M. when the moon is furthest and the sky is dark. If it is possible,
they seem to have drawn closer than when I was a boy.
Some may say that it is just gravitational pull that aligns the stars
in such a unique and precise display, others may look and say it's just
random.Yes, I've seen the movie, "a beautiful mind" and it's not like
that. Astrologers and seamen see them for what use they may serve.
Ancient peoples may have seen them as gods. There seems to be something
mathematical, and logical, about the placement of the stars, but the
scale is so grand, that we cannot comprehend.
Whatever is the answer to this mystery, I can't help but believe that
there is reason in this picturesque scenery, that it has been put
there for a purpose, that it is writing in the sky. Whatever the
motive, it is deliberate and well placed, and can be enjoyed by
skeptics, and scholars, and laymen alike.
For centuries, man has looked to the sky for answers, but has not been
able to come to any significant judgment, only hypotheses, and theory,
all vague, and inconclusive. I believe it is more simple, that is why
it escapes us, it's splendor overwhelms our senses and we try too hard
to unbelieve. When my
grandchild is here, we enjoy pointing out the moon, and the brightest
stars, and they bring wonder to us both, as she seems to accept them
more easily as they are, without prolonged explanation.
some of the memories that i have of visiting my grandpa & grandma's
house were of the childhood spankings that were sometimes unavoidable
by my dad. grandpa was a gentle man, at least toward us as he was well
up in age by the time of my collective memories. grandma was as nice as
any grandma could ever be, and one or the other would always take up
for us and say "Now Charlie, you shouldn't hit those babies". sometimes
he would listen, but sometimes he would just say that we were
his kids, and if we needed a whipping, he would give
us one. and one we got. over, and over, and over again until we were
just too big anymore. many whippings were born of just plain anger, and
the receiving end of one was not a good place to be.
i will not go any further into how this affected us psychologically,
all of us in different ways, but it definitely had an effect on our
personalities. it's perhaps one of the biggest reasons that i chose not
to whip my children. so much for the violence begets violence theory,
which usually does hold true.
i also recall a particular incident in which i probably needed some
sort of behavior adjustment and didn't get it;...i was standing in
front of the television program of something that my uncle, my dad's youngest
brother, really wanted to watch( i wanted to watch something else) and
no matter how much he pleaded, i wouldn't get out of the way, so he
asked grandma to make me move. my dad, being the short tempered sort
that he always was, overheard and chased his own brother out of the
house with a hammer and down the street. it's a good thing he could run
faster. later, after things calmed down, we all had to load up in the
car and go looking for him, i felt so bad for him because of my
mischievousness, that i still haven't forgotten it. i loved my grandpa
and grandma, they were such a positive influence on our lowly lives.
moral of this story? don't hit your babies, it hurts more than you will ever know, and you will learn to regret it in the end.
 It's about me I hurt my child again today, but that's all right you see, she was talking very
loudly, and irritating me. So I whacked her pretty smartly, across the arm or
 face, it doesn't really matter, to me it's no disgrace. I've done this so many
times, it just comes naturally, just like my mother raised me, it's the fool in
me, you see.
I've told her not to spill her milk, about a hundred times, never mind the floor
is filthy, I don't have to make it shine. So I slapped her very smoothly, and
made her cry once more, I'm immune to her whining, she makes it such a bore.
You've gotten ketchup on your shirt again, don't look at me and pout.
I don't know how to get it off, I can always throw it out.
Washing clothes is not important, I have better things to do, if you weren't such a messy eater, if you would only chew.
There'll be no more food for you today, I'm really bothered see?
Can't you understand simple English? I said get away from me!
I care about my child, I do, and I'll prove it in a minute,
why just last week a playmate pushed her, and skinned her little knees,
and boy I was so upset, I put my two cents in it!
I was yelling and screaming, it's the teacher's fault, you see?
She didn't watch the other kids, all much bigger than she is, she can't take care of herself because she's not yet three.
Don't let the children hurt her, that's reserved especially for me.
I hurt my child more than anyone, but it never dawns on me,
I'm hitting my own children, I'm the mother, can't you see?
She cries when she is hungry, or if she's cold or wet, I swear she's getting on my nerves, I'll have to beat her yet.
Sometimes she reaches out her little arms, begging to be held, but since I mustn't spoil her, a slap is what she'll get.
I'll put her in her little crib, she can't get out of there, and I'll just turn out the lights and leave her crying there,
when she's too tired of crying, we won't hear her anymore, if she wakes up again, I'll have to close the door.
Spare not the rod and spoil the child, is what my mother said, I think God made her an expert, I must listen to what she says.
It must be right, just look at me, it doesn't hurt a bit, this is the way that I was raised, and nothings wrong with it.
I am immune to those weak cries, and surely God don't care, I was also beaten as a child, and no one raised a prayer.
One day when social service comes knocking at my door, I'll make up some excuses, it's the neighbors, nothing more.
They spoil my child, they pick her up, they give her what she wants, she laughs too loud and plays too long, she's happy all at once.
They just can't stand my discipline, I can see it in their face, every time that I hit her, while we're over at their place.
Somehow it gives me pleasure, to be in such control, its perversion at it's finest, I'm enjoying this I know,
they better not say anything, we'll just get up and go.
I wont let them visit her, that'll teach them, yes it will, then they'll start to see things my way, it's my way or the hills.
Who are these people anyway, who raise their kids so kind, and do they think that they are perfect, that their children always mind?
They've never spanked their children, or maybe once or twice, all of their kids are well behaved, their son is very nice
He hasn't ever hit me, I wish he would sometimes, then I could get attention, and this would be just fine.
I may have Munchausen by proxy, sometimes my child is ill,
if another child has fallen sick, mine will too as well, but I don't know how to fix it, its a very bitter pill.
I'll have to call my mother, she'll answer right away, doesn't matter if I call her, thirty times a day.
I wouldn't have to call so much, every time I try, if only she had picked me up, and held me when I cried.
My child hit a teacher, and I spanked him very hard, I yelled you can't hit people, this is what I said.
My child then hit a playmate, just like I showed him to, I then had to hit him, and remind him what to do.
I don't know where they're learning this, it's from the other kids, I said you can't hit people, you're not people, don't you know?
You're just my little angel, and now it's time to go.
This poem as I have read it, has made me very mad, they're sick the ones that read it, and are smitten very sad.
There is only one thing more, that's left for me to do, I must stop that incessant whining, they don't have a clue.
Although the sun's still shining, I can see it through the door, I must put my child to bed, because my hands are sore. It's about me.
Its about me, a poem©Copyright Dec 2005, byron c, All rights reserved.
 | Katrina | Sep 3, '05 1:35 AM
for everyone |
Hurricane Katrina
In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, I have spent long
hours at work, working my days off, due to the influx of guests which arrived
ahead of the storm. The hotel’s services have really been taxed. Food, ice,
drinks, the elevators, emergency generator power, and the plumbing have all
been tested, as well as our patience. So far, with only a few glitches, we have
done exceptionally well.
The number of people with pets, mostly dogs, but one snake
that we know of, has caused management to re-think our pet policy, i.e., no
more accepted. This is in large part due to the constant peeing of all the dogs
in close proximity, and the inconsiderate guests who just let them go where
ever they want, the G.M. with a low tolerance for stress and a short fuse, and
one manager who seems hell bent on overdosing him with exaggerated and constant
complaints.
I have seen a good share of good and decent folks in bad
situations, and we are doing our best to accommodate them. The displaced and
homeless, with nowhere to go, the guests who wait in the lobby for a chance of
a room, the lady who hasn’t stopped crying for days, the girl who hasn’t heard
from her father, or a brother who’s conversation ended with his cell phone battery
was running low, the hillbilly lady, who looks like she’s straight from the backwoods, but has
money to burn. Oh, and the rude guests as well.
We locally breathed a sigh of relief as Katrina turned
eastward and narrowly avoided New Orleans, we were anticipating winds of 100
MPH as far as 200 miles inland, that would be us. The refugees are continuing
to trickle in, some from the west side of New Orleans that was not devastated
by floodwaters but are now feeling threatened in their own homes by the lack of
civility and the necessity to arm and barricade themselves in their homes. They’ve
decided it’s not worth it. We have experienced a run on our gasoline, there are
shortages and long lines everywhere, with prices now at an all time high of
$2.99 for regular, and rising. There is no such thing as ice. Eggs, and
beverages of all kinds are spotty with lots of empty shelves.
We are beginning to feel the effects of 1 ½ million
displaced people, the first wave being the people who heeded the call for
evacuating, and those who had the transportation and money to run, our roads
were jammed with travelers. We now are getting some of the less desirables,
those who would take advantage of anyone with a greater venerability than their
own. There are stories of weapons displayed at the gas pumps, peoples shopping
carts snatched from them in the parking lots. The super Walmart closed for
several hours due to one incident. The delivery trucks have armed guards while
they unload their goods and I have seen the local police keeping order at the
BP station and others on the main highway. There are thugs breaking in homes in
Natchez, and police friends say gang members are up looking for new territory.
I have tried unsuccessfully to acquire a diesel tank and
fuel for the hotel’s generator so we would not be caught without emergency power
due to a lack of fuel during outages, we had about a four hour period when all
of south-west Mississippi and east-central Louisiana was without power due to
the loss of the last one of the 5 power grids went down. I suspect we will lose
power again on several occasions as they attempt to bring up the downed power
lines. I have learned from an acquaintance that the government has commandeered
all of the tanks, tankers, and fuel in the area. The Natchez mayor must have
spoke prematurely in the paper when he said no one would be allowed more than
one tank of gas at a fill-up. The following day, he retracted his statement and
said people would be allowed to buy up to $100 worth at a time. I suppose this
is to avoid some of the chaos that people are capable of if we think there is a
shortage of something.
I have had little time to watch more than a few glimpses of
the news from the coast, mostly just catching a little news and commentary on
NPR on my way to & from work; people are dying in the streets, looting/crime
is rampant, the government is too slow too respond, they have rehearsed this
scenario for years, the people who are abandoned in New Orleans are
disproportionately black, and poor, and unemployed, etcetera.
I don’t know the answer to any of this, and I don’t care to
think one-sided, but sometimes I wonder if this seemingly disastrous evacuation
plan couldn’t be the plan, gone awry, of course. New Orleans has been crime
ridden for years and getting worse. What could be better than a natural
disaster flooding the overcrowded east side crammed with poor, uneducated,
non-productive, socially problematic citizens? Damn those survivors hanging out
on those overpasses hollering for food and water!
Only God knows why the storm turned to avoid a complete and
swift flooding of tsunamic proportions. Only God knows why there aren’t just
100,000 bodies floating in the ocean, rest their souls. What more can make the
American people wake up and see that we are unprotected and don’t have enough
foot soldiers? What will it take to bring back the draft?
If
this sounds like sci-fi, I have the script all wrote down in my head, waiting
for the movie. Meantime, my family is taking extra precautions. I can’t let my
wife go to the mall alone anymore, I can’t let her go out at night by herself
to pick up the boys from a church function. The home that we have recently
acquired and has taken us years to get only makes us look affluent (we’re not),
and therefore a target for the unlawful. We hear reports of a policeman shot
for a jug of water, a brother shoots his sister over a bag of ice, and for the
first time the dog is out. We are not alone though, our neighbors are wary as well.
There will be years of consequences.
I ran across an interesting story this evening, and I've included a
link to the article just in case some of you have the time.
I was looking for
a suitable image to borrow to convey the image in my mind of the family
that stayed at the hotel last week, the image I was looking for is not there, so I can only try to convey it
with words. I've debated with
myself whether or not to write such a post as this one, but I can't
seem to let it go. This is the second time I've decided to write this article. ...A father and his son, a little guy of about 10 were
walking ahead of mom and daughter and were easily out distancing them,
they were already ahead on the sidewalk by probably 20 paces or so,
their laughter and chatter was pleasant, and as they approached the
entrance, the father paused to look back and seemingly satisfied, they
went on their way. Behind them was a daughter, who looked to be about
17, and pretty, but modestly so. She looked just like any other teenager
that you might see in the mall, with long blond hair and jeans, and
blossoming into early womanhood, except that on her arm was her
mother, who was
slowing her down, as she was bent nearly 90 degrees forward at the waist, and leaning heavily on this
young girl's arm. She was thin and frail, her skin stretched tightly
over her very visible bones, yet she was easy to look at, and I didn't
feel as though I was staring impolitely. I sensed a pride to this
woman, even in her obviously handicapped body, and there was something
about this whole family that showed character and strength. I knew
instantly what I was looking at, it was love, and there was no shame.
"The story of severely disabled people is as
much about love and understanding as it is about sickness or sorrow." angelashouse
spent all day at the bentley in alexandria today, familiarizing myself
with the equipment, and trying to help the GM get his air condition
going in his vacant bldg. managed to get much of it running but
returned to the boiler room to re-try the equip we skipped over because
there was no power, and we didn't know if power was controlled from
another piece of equip or not.
turns out the breaker that i pointed out when we first started that was
tripped went to one of his motor control centers and everything that had
no power was running from there. it had a short in the buss bars and
I spent a couple of hours educating the electricians that I had him call
in. and no, it is not the $1,200 breaker.
who cares you say? well I took my camera to capture this picture for
you of a
sculpture that i found interesting. if it looks like a bunch of old a/c
ducts of various sizes bolted together thats because...well, I don't
know what the artist was thinking, but he managed to sell this big pile
of scrap to the city for a nice chunk of change i'm sure. goes to show,
Dad was right, people will buy anything.
| Snow? | May 22, '05 1:32 AM
for everyone |
Today is a good day.
Heard from two long lost friends that haven't been much in touch for a
while. First, my boy Darrell, who thinks he's all grown up and doesn't
need to call, write, or stop by anymore, since he's moved so far away (9
whole miles). Then my brother Charles surprised me with a call. He
happened to be eating out at a mexican restaurant and something must
have reminded him, "oh yeah, I do have a brother".
Quotes are mine for emphasis.
In any case, it was kinda nice to hear from both of them, and I have a
tentative agreement for a home visit (aw, shucks), one for tomorrow,
and one for Juneteenth bah, humbug day.
So, I'll hang around here and wait and see, and as always for either of them, "I'll leave the light on for ya".
My baby boy Darrell is moving to Clayton this weekend. I will be at
work so I cannot help him. Eleven years ago, my Dad helped me move in
here and with painting & repairs.
He is thrilled
about a nicer place, but, I will miss him. Personal conversations are rare, his
life partner doesn't trust him talking privately with his dad much.
They (Darrell
& Heather) have lived next door for two years so they
could get a head start, and he has not yet worn out his welcome. This may all seem so
trivial compared to all that many of you have been through, but, I wish my boy the best.
There
are so many different emotions I cannot say. I will be praying for my
boys mental health and happiness, and Son, "I'll leave the light on for
ya".
In Remembrance
My wife's uncle, Edmund Dobson, was laid to rest
today, December 30, 2004, at the age of 76 years old. He succumbed to
cancer, a battle that has been ongoing for at least the past 28 years
that I have known him, as I can remember him applying a prescription
acid, which smarted quite a bit, to the skin melanoma that he had on
his arms and hands.
He was a hard working individual, and quite a
character, also anytime there was a death in the family, close or not,
you could find his face in the crowd, dutifully paying his last respects.
Around 26 years ago, while there was a short lull in the
wildcat drilling in the area, I worked for him on a roust-a-bout crew.
The pay was not good, and the work was hard, and this was when he
seemed to be at his finest. Often as we toiled alongside another crew,
and they would be taking extended card playing lunch breaks, we would
be painting walking beams, spraying diesel, and using sling blades to
clean up around the tank batteries. He said, "We have to earn our paychecks".
Earn it we did, as we waded knee deep in oil slicked
waters, covering the oil with bales of hay so that the wildlife
management personnel would not see it as they flew over in airplanes
and impose hefty fines. We made up pipe lines and tightened them as
quickly as you could walk from one connection to the next, the sun
taking it's toll as your vision clouded over with darkness, seeing
nothing but floating white spots, which cleared as you walked to the
next joint, only to repeat the process. We filled sand bags and
wheellbarrowed them to the edge of a gully 50 yards away then threw
them into a washout when the dump truck delivering the sand could have
easily unloaded within 20 feet from the gorge. "We have to make a day
of it", he says. When I reminded him of this on occasion throughout the
years, he only smiled with pride. I also learned a new meaning for the
term "pipe dope", and in no way was it entertaining.
There were times when job duties required driving from one location to another,
and there was no use removing the work gloves as he sped down dusty
dirt roads or bumpy mud trails. On the drive home, though, there was
plenty of time as he never motored over 45 MPH at the end of the day.
It was frustrating but we grew accustomed to it as there was nothing to
be done to change his style.
I can assure you that I learned some valuable lessons from him
about work ethics and dedication, which has followed me to this day.
I say this as I pen this note while sitting comfortably at my office desk,
which, by the way, I earned.
So as the family is filled with sadness, and wife Maria, my father-in law's
sister, is in poor health herself, I think back and I am grateful to
have known this man, he has not left this world untouched, and I in
turn touch others because of him. Some may come away with bitterness,
others with important values and I am thankful that it is appointed
unto man only once to die, which insinuates that we live forever, and
dying is just a process somewhere in the middle, and that all the lives
you touch here remember you, and become a testament of your life and
how you lived it, for better or for worse.
Thanks Uncle Ed, from an old hand, fare-thee-well.
June 19, 1928 - December 28, 2004
 The Miracle Nickel I got back a nickel today, along with some other change, forty-eight cents to be exact. This is no ordinary nickel though, it's a well-seasoned nickel from 1952. Aside from the obvious wear from many years of use, what sets this nickel apart from the other change that I received, including another nickel, is how it immediately caught my eye, even as it passed from the cashiers hand to mine. Keep in mind that I rarely venture out from my job during the off season for supplies due to a drop in revenue, that I waited two days for the boss to briefly show up to ask for the unexpected expense to rent a jagger pump to pump out the cellar of the hotel owners home because of a burst water pipe, that this hasn't occurred in any winter conditions we've had previously, and I just happened to stop at this convenience store for the gas for the pump, and well, you have quite an unusual set of coincidences. Not convinced? It has been one week since my oldest brother's birthday, and just two days since I posted a belated birthday wish in his memory Adrian. I have contemplated much lately on how blessed I am and how I attribute that to God, who happens to be the same for all of us, as there can only be one, if not, we must change our definition and meaning of the word God (almighty being) and when you change the meaning of the word, the word God ceases to exist as it becomes an antithesis, and therefore there is no God, and I refuse to entertain that folly. There are many misfortunes that befall us, there are tragedies and sorrow, there is also joy, and peace. I remember one of my Dad's many favorite songs, taken from the book of Job. Thou God slay me yet I trust him. He had a beautiful singing voice and you couldn't help but notice when he sang. There was also no way of ignoring when he prayed. When you speak of faith, it is actually a very easy gift to have when you realize that faith is synonymous with trust, and I can trust God completely. I passed by a man on the sidewalk yesterday, I noticed him as he rounded the corner, and as our eyes met, his limp became perceptibly worse. With my window down he had the opportunity to ask for fifty cents, on my reluctance, it became one dollar, one dollar fifty cents, "to catch the trolley, Sir". Boy, is he good, I thought as I observed his attire. He was wearing a fashionable full-length coat and a clean wool scarf around his neck. He was wearing what appeared to be some well fitting alligator ankle boots, pointed and heeled that I wouldn't mind having myself if I weren't so modest. Still, I declined, and as he moved away he said a God bless you, so I received a blessing anyway, in spite of my stinginess. Then, leaving from work, on the bridge in front of me was a car that looked like it was slowing down, or maybe backing up because one of the lights on the driver's side was white, like a backup light. I slowed and changed lanes to avoid being run over by the cars behind me, which were in a mad rush at 5 o'clock in the evening. As I passed by on the left I could plainly see that it was a lady in a disabled vehicle with her emergency flashers on, and she clearly looked distressed. In my rear view mirror I saw the oncoming traffic having a terrible time of it trying to avoid her vehicle and each other and I thought for a moment about going back around and at least trying to slow traffic with my liability insured only truck, then I thought better of it. This morning, on my way back to work, there was a hitchhiker (sigh). He was walking hurriedly with his back facing the traffic, thumb out, and maybe late for work somewhere. I didn't pick him up. There are many opportunities to do good that elude us, but it must be tempered with good judgment. There are too many needs. One can only hope that when we are weighed in the balance, there are enough times we said yes to outweigh all the nos, and we don't come up wanting. Therefore, I give you my miracle nickel. God still smiles at me, and Adrian; God rest your soul. byron 12-29-04
 Spent this weekend pulling & re installing the transmission in my
boys truck. Seems there was an overlooked problem with the replacement
motor as we left an alignment bearing in the end of the crankshaft
intended for a manual transmission and not an automatic. It had to come
out for the torque converter to slide into the end of the crankshaft.
If we did this for a living, we would have known it couldn't stay. I
saw it before installing the motor and wrongly deduced it could stay.
Big mistake as it made for plenty of work once the motor was in the
truck. Had to pull the transmission and chisel the bearing out while
laying on the ground all the while transmission fluid and rain running
everywhere. We are not done hooking everything back up as it gets dark
earlier now, at 5PM instead of the 8PM we can usually depend on in the
summer months, but we are way ahead of where we were.
It
is difficult and frustrating to work in these conditions but as usual,
I managed to inject a little humor to let these young men (Curtis and
Darrell) know that we can do this in spite of these circumstances. I
tell them that I once had to do almost the same thing many years ago,
that is, pull a transmission, change a cracked flywheel, and put it
back, only that time all I had for a side kick was my sister Dolly, and
she managed quite well. She was instrumental in replacing the heavy
Plymouth transmission and bolting it up to the 383 cid engine that was
in Mamma's 1969 Plymouth Fury III that we boys treated like a race
car**. Of course, transmissions seem to gain weight over the span of 29
years and there is a difference between the nimble strength of 19 and
the determined brute force of 47. Of course, I only think we get better
at not banging our knuckles, and difficulty is no longer any excuse
anymore. Some people may call it hard headed, but I call it valor.
**In
1969, Plymouth claimed to have a "completely new Fury." The four door
sedans wheelbase was 120 inches, 1.5 inches longer than in 1968, and
there was more shoulder room in both front and rear. The 383 Commando 2
barrel, or the 383 Super Commando 4 barrel (i don't remember which) and
"special cam", the transmission was a heavy 3 speed A-727 Torqueflite
automatic.
A belated thanks Dolly for your help, you should do
well dealing with your present situations, you've always been a very
present strength in time of trouble.
The one resolution,
which was in my mind long before it took the form of a resolution, is
the key-note of my life. It is this, always to regard as mere
impertinences of fate the handicaps which were placed upon my life
almost at the beginning. I resolved that they should not crush or dwarf
my soul, but rather be made to blossom, like Aaron's rod, with flowers.
- Helen Keller
2004 was a practice run. GOP is getting ready for a change in policy
and has tested the waters. Already they have softened us up with
Kerryism, and hillary's name is in the hat. Guaranteed win for
democrats and a first; Condoleeza Rice for President running against
Hillary Clinton. It is inevitable and also preplanned, by both parties,
and the people that really run things. Democratic and a woman. We
almost never would vote in a woman president unless there is no strong
opposition or someone even more unpleasant. Remember Thatcher &
Golda?
have fun with it ;o)
 I have just passed another milestone, my ninth year anniversary on my
present job. There was no fanfare, no bells, whistles, or confetti, not
even an acknowledgment of a goal seldom reached in the notoriously
revolving door of the hospitality business.
In my young and restless days, I would have strongly considered moving on
after five, so, how did this happen? Maturity, you say? Complacency?
Losing sight of a vision of always moving up and onward? I can tell you
now, those restless feelings are still there, but somehow, somewhere,
they are reshuffled to the back of the deck, to make room for the
different hand that has, more recently, been dealt. Impulse gives way
to reason, and desire yields to necessity.
If there is one bit of advice I have for the new generation, it is to make the most of the
spontaneity and vigor with which you envision life's challenges and
crossroads, for these are the moments that will define you as you
approach that "oh, so far off middle age".
Seldom is life so generous as to give you that second chance, which is in us all, to
start anew, and if by circumstance we do, we are not the same. There is
no fearless desire to run naked through the woods (although I've done
it a time or two at far, far, too old), there is no expediency to being
number one in the crowd. There is no longer "Me" and "Now". There is
however a different kind of boldness. I am not afraid of things that go
bump in the night. No longer do I fear hunger, or illness, or
unemployment, nor despair, because I have been visited by all these
things, and I have endured, and I know there will be tomorrow.
With our increasing age comes our greatest strength, and this is experience,
and the wisdom to pass it along to our children, and to theirs. In this
day and age there are many who may contemplate that there is no God,
or, there must be many Gods, but now, more than ever, I can fervently
say, and without a doubt, God bless my children, and keep them from
harms way, for where I lead them, they will follow.
The
direst foe of courage is the fear itself, not the object of it, and the
man who can overcome his own terror is a hero and more.
- -- George MacDonald
 slowing downYesterday, October 16, 2004 We are spending the day indoors, nothing pressing. Darrell & Heather has gone to the Balloon Festival and flea market in Vidaila, he was in charge of the river barge for the firewiorks show Friday night. My grandbabies are with their other Grandma, i suppose. Anthony has chosen to go to his Grandpa's house early this morning. My baby boy Curtis spent the night with his friend and doesn't come home till late evening. When he returns, I sing him a few phrases of the song "It's Only the Wind" (your children are not at the door) by the Areno Bros., and ask him if he knows the song. He doesn't. We have slowed down enough to watch the DVD 'The Passion' which we have had for a while. Ah, melancoly. A house so empty, where have they gone? Where are my children, so far from home? My heart is longing, for thier voice so near. No need for rushing, don't shed a tear. They will return in a moment or two. Meanwhile thou, I feel so blue. Sigh. bc
It is 3:30 am and I have just returned from being summoned to extract
guests from a stalled elevator, I say stalled because the term stuck,
which everybody uses, just doesn't fit in this case. Its like I learned
quickly when first being introduced to the oil field and La. gumbo
(mud) several years ago. You're not stuck if you're moving, however
slightly, because sometimes you can worm your way out, with a backwards
and forward motion. Anyway, as I was saying, being awakened from a deep
sleep at 12:47 A.M., it is at first difficult to realize who you're
talking to on the other end of the phone, as I was not awakened by the
ring, the telephone was thrust in my hand in the middle of the night.
Then when you understand the nature of the problem, you know the party
on the other end of the phone is clueless as to what to do in
emergencies (used loosely here), and is not understanding your simple
instructions as to how to remedy this situation, and is not going to be
able to follow simple procedures. Sigh.
I
am already dressed, and on my way, I have called in route and know the
guests have already gotten themselves out, via yelling and cursing
loudly, for they are quite drunk, as is nearly everyone else I see this
time of morning, and have managed to damage the doors and make certain
the elevator is inoperable. Of course, this only gives a secondary
reason to continue on my way, I must now survey the damages, and return
my elevator to service if possible, I must also determine the cause of
the previously mentioned "stuck" condition.
There is a single shoe
and an unfortunate coyote in the highway as I persist on my duty call.
I think maybe they are the lucky ones, their job is done.
I arrive
at work, and retrieve my service keys, and find that the outer door has
been kicked out by my inebriated guests in their frustration and
realization that the security (another term used loosely) guard is
unable to help them. These doors have served faithfully for just over
77 years and they have been compromised inside the space of a half
hour. I make sure the guard understands this has happened on his watch.
There is no need for anger, I am satisfied with showing this person how
very simple it is to reach across from the second elevator, and unlatch
an undamaged door, with a broomstick, as were my words while on the
phone.
I discover first the reason for the stopped elevator, by
accessing the top of the car and traveling down the hoist way on
inspection. A misalignment of the roller cam on the inside car door and
the outer hallway door, a couple of washers behind the roller fixes the
problem. As for the outer door, which is wooden, it takes more coaxing
to return it to its proper position inside its frame, and I create even
more damage to affect the repair. Ah, well, I can worry about
aesthetics another day, what's important now is make the elevator car
useful.
I am home, but awake now, and fatigue feels slowly slipping
in. Sometimes I ask myself why I have for so many years always managed
to get these jobs which require a pager, and 24 hour on call duty. Then
I look around my home, and I understand, this is why, duty calls. bc
Today I picked up my check for the completion of the fountian. Somehow,
there is no ecstacy in doing so. This is not fully why I take on
seemingly impossible tasks, things that are in the very least daunting
to the ordinary layperson, and quite challenging to the very talented.
I do not know what drives people on the hunt, only to be let down after
the kill. I suppose I love the thrill of the chase, rather than the
final conquest. It is a curse of the well known and infamous. Howard
Hughes and his Flying Boat, Napolean and Prussia, Hitler and Poland,
they all had something in common, they were not satisfied with triumph,
they wanted more. There was hollow victory in winning.
The most dangerous moment comes with victory. Napoleon Bonaparte
There are inevitable events which cause you to contemplate the very
real purpose in all of the menageries and hodgepodge of life.
I am reminded of these events as I approach my 46th birthday, this year
on Fathers day, and I had the sudden impulse to take the toy dachshund
off the top shelf where it resides in my bedroom, and go and show it to
my Mom, who is visiting for the night. I remind her that I received it
as a gift from her on my 11th birthday and that he will be 35 years old
in a few days. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, for she is
touched by the ravages of time, when years grant you only happier
memories, she recollects and says matter of factly, Yes, I remember that.
I am reminded when she slips as she holds my face in her hands
and says, How is my Daddy?, and when I don't respond, a sadness comes
in her eyes as if she realizes her mistake, and she looks away.
I am thankful that I am here for my children, to watch them grow and mature,
and I know that I will not be here always, as it will be their turn to
teach their children, for this is the circle of life.
I miss my Dad, and wish that he could be here to help me guide my boys as only
Grandpas can do, but it was not his choice to go, so he passed the
mantle to me, and I will do my best to make fine fathers of my young
men, and yet, I regret the loss of some years when I did not fully
understand the responsibility that I was left with.
I have gleaned much from my Dad, taking little pieces of his life, and applying it in
my own, whether consciously or not. The man I first feared, then loved,
then later learned to admire his talents and his wisdom, which even
now, seem beyond his years. If only, as my children take small pieces
of my life, they will be as applicable for them. These pieces I give
freely in hopes that they may live. The strain in my back that keeps
recurring since I climbed a tree to help my oldest earn a few dollars
on a limb removal job which was more challenging than he first
perceived. The concern in my mind when I acknowledge that my middle
child is not as mechanically inclined as his brothers, yet I take
comfort in his passion for the outdoors and landscaping and his love of
animals. The ache in my forearm which sometimes wakes me in the night
comes from throwing fastballs to my youngest, to help him become a more
confident player. These pieces of myself I give freely and will give
many more until I must reluctantly pass the mantle on, for this is my circle.
I can again recall my Dad in his last months as he painted
my 'new' house and as he came to dine with me at my job because I
seemed so proud of my endeavors. I later found out that he was unable
to digest the meal without much pain due to the damages from the
radiation therapy he was receiving. And, as my Mama goes with us to the
ballpark to watch her grandson play, and to share in our enjoyment, her
discomfort with the bleachers and the insects are sometimes visible,
yet she is happy, she is giving.
I can see my brothers and sisters and their children in my minds eye,
as they give out little pieces of themselves, unselfishly, and I smile.
I have been left to assist my Mama and I am standing outside of the unlatched and slightly
ajar door to the ladies room because the lock is tricky and may lock her in.
There are people with stares, there are funny looks, and just as an
official comes back for a second time to look at me, my Mama rescues me
by latching her elbow in mine, she is ready to go.
And now, you see, we have come full circle. byron c
Just took it for granted up untill i was asked what it was about.
"..Labor Day...is devoted to no man, living or dead, to no sect, race, or
nation." said Samuel Gompers, founder and longtime president of the
American Federation of Labor.
I guess i could have never learned that and not missed anything.
Checked on the new outdoor restaurant where i will be installing my newest
fountain thursday and the guy wants me to erect an antique streetlamp
in another area of the courtyard. Needs re-wire, retro-fit light,
paint, and mostly just make it stand up, weighs about 300lbs and top
heavy. Told him i'd think about it. sounds like work.
Why does today seem to be plodding along? must be because i left work early.
Thought I'd give you all one of my cheesier poems, cause i know you guys are starving for the arts:
The Artist
I am an artist, tis plain to see,
everything is a must to me.
I can plunge toilets with both art and style,
I'm most times willing, for that extra mile.
I challenge anyone, to walk in my shoes,
for they would beg God, to take what they choose.
For no one in a right frame of mind,
would choose to walk, in this state of mine.
I walk it alone, and I'm proud to say,
I would do it again, any old day!
The Plumbers Prayer
by byron c.
i penned this one when my bosses fiance asked me if I were an artist
(I was finishing up the touchups to the ceiling mural at the time).
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