Duck, duck. goose.

Yesterday was a banner day for me. I got to see my oldest daughter, my son-in-law, and my grandson. How three such wonderful people came together to form a family is a marvel to me. They are each different but share some qualities. They are each quiet, they are each so involved in the joy of living that it shines out from their faces, they are each so polite.
They arrived around noon time. My grandson has a new fishing rod and tackle box. He was anxious to try them out. He sat patiently as we sat at the table making small talk. Then we set off for a picnic.
We headed off for the Blackstone Canal and river. I noticed immediately that he got into his car seat and buckled all of the buckles himself. No whining, no complaining, just doing what had to be done. Just like his Father who endures the ride out to Yawnsville without complaining or whining, just doing what has to be done.
We stopped at the small store on the corner to pick up some things. Nutty-Buddies were in order and I watched my grandson peel the paper himself. He is becoming very self-reliant.
We parked and walked to a nice site that has a barbeque and table right by the river. Rix noticed that the spillway that runs beside the river was coated with a layer of algae. He said it looked like a golf green and tested it with a small rock. As we walked my grandson dropped his ice cream cone and I was not even aware of it. No whining, no crying, no "I want another one.".
We left the pile of things that I had brought with and headed to the river. He watched patiently as his Father tied the lure onto the line and tested the casting of his rod. No whining or begging, just a suggestion as to which lure to use. His Father took off the lure he had chosen and put Rix's choice onto the line. My son-in-law Alan was the only one in the group that has the patience required for fishing.
After a while we lit the fire and grilled some knackwurst. My grandson wanted to cook his on a stick. That soon lost his interest and all were cooked on the grill. I toasted some rolls and put a knackwurst into each one. As each one was done I handed it to my grandson. He took the first and gave it to his Mother. He took the second and gave it to his Father. I was very impressed by this. The boy has made the transition from self-centered child to a member of the family.
Soon my grandson announced that he had to do his business and didn't want to do it in the woods. My son-in-law put down his knackwurst and walked him to the car. No complaining, just doing what has to be done.
While they were gone I had the rare opportunity to talk to my daughter. She inquired about some family matters as did I. She commented on some personal matters that irk her, matters that she could easily avoid by being demanding but goes along with to maintain peace in her family. No whing or complaining, just doing what has to be done. The person that irks her had better beware, he has a reckoning in his future. She is a rare person, a person of gentleness and thought, with a soft exterior and a core of steel that most people are unaware of.
After a while we returned to my place. We sat, we talked. I showed my son-in-law a book that I have on loan from the library. A book on the cooking of Louisiana, something he is evidently very interested in. I watched as he looked over it with the intense concentration that I previously noticed in his son digging out dinosaur bones.
My daughter and her son and I went into the living room and there began the game of "Duck, duck, goose.". My grandson explained the rules, we played a bit, my grandson explained the new rules, we played some more, my grandson explained the new rules. It reminded me of Calvin's explaining to Hobbs the rules for reaching thirty-second base. My son-in-law joined us and my grandson explained the new rules to him.
After a while they had to go as they had another appointment. I loaded them up with the usual pile of things that I am sure that they don't want and they left.
One thing remains as a pleasant glow in my heart. While we were cooking the knackwurst, my grandson and I had a stick fight with small sticks, a battle he was obviously pleased to win. It reminded me of the days of miniature golf and bowling with my own daughters, two things that I am very good at. I always managed to just lose to them. It may be important to compete with other adult males but it never is to compete with your family. It is more important to stand in the background, offer guidance when it is appropriate, and let them learn how it feels to be a winner. Alan and Kristen are winners.
As I sit here typing, I am staring at a picture of my daughter. I sat with her yesterday and, as she was talking. I marveled at her beauty. I stare at the picture and marvel at her beauty. The beauty of her outside and the beauty of her inside. Quiet, polite, and strong as Damascus steel. Beautiful!

Mushrooms

Once more it is cool and damp and all around un-Juneish here. Today was supposed to be nice but doesn't look like it. It was cool and rainy on the porch this morning. It is a good day for mushrooms and mould, not for people. Perhaps it will get warmer and the Sun will shine.
I am having trouble finishing the book that I am reading. The trouble is that the author is dull, dull, dull. I have read one other book of his and it was the same thing. He spends too much time on the arcane knowledge that he has acquired and not enough time on substance. Sounds a bit like a personal biography.

Once more

Once more I made it through a month. I am in my usual state but I made it. I have been up since 1:15 A.M.. I went to bed early as the weather here hasn't been as nice as New England usually is in June. It has been cool and damp, very, very, very, damp! I have been sleeping with a blanket each night which is unusual for this time of year. This won't last. I will have to install the air conditioner soon. It doesn't really get the room cold but at least it will be cool and dry.
If all goes well I will go to the grocery store today. This is the highlight of my month. If I ever get rich, I will go grocery shopping every day and donate the food to the local food pantry. I have always enjoyed grocery shopping. When I was young, my family would go every Friday. We went Friday because Friday was fish day and it is best to eat fish the day that you buy it. It was a happy time for the whole family. Now grocery shopping has gone way beyond enjoyable and is at the apex of my month.
I am wending my way through a book that is very thought provoking. There is a question that I have had for a long time and the book offers many new ways to address this question. I thought that I had found an answer to the question through a melange of Hawking and the Rig Vedas and Jainism. The book takes all of those theories and tosses them on the trash heap and says "The personal quest for knowledge is selfish, only a quest for knowledge that will be used to benefit others is admirable.". An unopened book is the grave of the knowledge it contains. Only by opening it and sharing that knowledge with others do we give the book any value. Letters are simply symbols that convey the thoughts and findings of others.
Perhaps the thoughts that I have been having are the reason for the way I feel this morning. "I can see clearly now the rain has gone,".

Nils 2, Bird 0

Once again I beat the bird. I was up at 3 A.M. and the bird was still asleep. Why was I up so early? Because I went to bed really, really, early. It was still light out when I went to bed but I have a really good book and bed seemed the best place to read it. I went for quite a walk yesterday as the Sun felt so good. It was so warm that I wore shorts. I don't think that I have worn shorts in eight years. I have no plans for today. I may make pizza and transplant some plants. Today is one of those wonderful times when I have absolutely no reason to go out. A day for reading and cooking and cleaning, something that I have been neglectful of recently. Several days ago I cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. It is quite a task as I am a little anal about cleaning the floor. It takes a lot of time and my knees are a mess for several days afterwards. Having a white floor is good. When it needs to be cleaned it stares up at you each day saying "Hey boyo, it's time for you to take care of business!". It has become easier now that I take off my shoes when I come in the door. The thought of all the stuff that gets on your shoes while you are walking is disturbing. People with dogs seem to have an affinity for letting their dogs do their business on the sidewalk. The town that I used to live in had an ordinance that if you were walking a dog and didn't have a baggie with you, you would get a ticket. You were not allowed to walk a dog on the beach under any circumstances as there was shellfishing just off of the beach and shellfish are filter feeders. I am reminded of the words of a very wise woman. "Dogs are like strings, every yo yo needs one.". I like dogs very much but most dog owners think that there is something wonderful and natural about their dog doing its business on the sidewalk or beach or someone else's lawn. Cats at least bury their business, dogs are content to give it a strong kick and spread the wealth. Hey boyo, it's time for you to take care of your dog's business so Nils doesn't have to bleach the floor so much!
There used to be a television show Mayberry and there was a character Ernest. I am becoming more like him each day. I would rather be a bachelor farmer. I need some powdermilk biscuits.

Denoument

It is amazing the difference a day can make. Yesterday my old nemesis the telephone rang and all of the clouds cleared away. Once again I have been forgiven. Once again I thought back to the sage advice my Father gave to me "Nils, the only time you should open your mouth is to change feet!". I went to bed early and read till quite late. I was up early, my friend the bird was up and bursting with song. I had coffee on the porch watching the bats making their final runs over the house. This must mean that there are mosquitos in the air and the bats are welcome to them. I became aware that I was singing. No special song, just an old Billy Joel song that I have always loved, "I'd rather run with the sinners than.......". I have always admired his music and lyrics. He has a pleasing combination of pathos and humor and common sense and a common touch that seems to elude many others.
This morning is overcast and cool and damp but the Sun is shining on me. I am looking forward to June 28th, a day that will burst with joy and laughter and tender thoughts and pride. The pride that a gardener feels when he realizes that he has produced the perfect rose. As far as the weather today goes, what more perfect weather can exist for a Svenska boy? It is a good day to dust off the longboat, swig down the mead, and head off to England for a day of pillaging and plunder. Who else would leave France to take up residence in England?
That brings up a strange thought. Two successful invasions, almost a thousand years apart. Normandy to England and then England to Normandy. Hitler must have never read a history book. William the Conqueror's successful sea voyage and Napoleon's disastrous trip to Moscow, "Those who do not read history are forced to .....".
As I try to peer into the rest of this year, "I see wonderful things.".

Here again

An old acquaintance stopped by this morning and won't leave. He has never been welcome but has often stayed a long time. I awakened when it was already light out. I went to sleep a little after nine last night. I was up so late because I was able to get the television working. This analogue to digital conversion was complicated but not impossible to subvert. 2 1/2 men was a particularly meaningful episode. It may have something to do with my visitor.
As I awoke I realized that the visitor was here. Locking the door has never helped. The day is cool and damp and there is no breeze, just a gray sky. I had coffee on the porch and could feel the crush of the visitor's presence. I have a paper that identifies the visitor, the paper says "Typical Scandinavian Depression.". I found some pictures of happier times but they only reinforced the invitations that were recently sent out to the visitor. So today I will deal with the visitor as I have always done. I will wander from meaningless task to mindless drivel. I will ask myself the questions that I have always asked myself and ponder my meaningless conclusions. The latest is the question "How would the world be different now if Grouchy had ridden to the sound of the guns?". I will clean and I will cook and I will walk. Sitting and reading is not an option, there is too much time for the old questions to barge in. Those questions that assault any feeling of well-being and lead to the cross examination and destruction of any feeling of self worth. I used to think of myself as a resident of an island, protected from the turmoil of the world by a moat I dug myself. I feel like a man I once read about. In 1939 he realized that the world was going to fall apart. He decided to get away from all of the ensuing craziness by moving to a South Seas island. He moved to Guadalcanal. I don't need to move. My visitor has brought the jungle and swamps and strife to me to help me decorate. Perhaps Wordsworth can help or Keillor. The arrival of their beauty and humor in my mind may help to drown out the clamor of the residents.

Wake up bird!

This morning I beat the bird. I woke up at 12:06 A.M.. I don't know if this is going to become a habit. I am sure that it is because I was asleep before sundown. I laid down to read and drifted off to sleep. I am not uncomfortable with this routine as for many, many years I worked the midnight shift. I worked 11:00 P.M. to 7:00 A.M. for two years when I was in the Army. People used to stare when my fellow soldiers and I would be having draft beers and pastrami sandwiches at eight o'clock in the morning. I worked midnight to 8:00 A.M. for many years at the telephone company. It was not by choice, I had the least seniority of anyone in the plant and was forced to work those hours because no one else wanted to. It created havoc within my family but not as much as living in a cardboard box and eating weeds would have. I have regrets but I did my best. The regret is that my best was nowhere near as good as someone else's very worst effort would have been.
Memories and dreams are becoming a big deal in my life. There is still a ten minute delay when I try to retrieve a memory but other memories are flooding my mind constantly. Things that I was not even aware that I remembered are constantly cropping up. The span is enormus. I can remember the Christmas when I was three years old. I remember the day that my parents brought my brother home from the hospital. I remember my Grandmother Hulda. That memory is cherished deeply and tainted by the memory of her funeral. It was one of the two times I ever saw my Father cry. I held my Mother's hand as she died, I know how my Father felt and I watched her go through the same tears.
Dreams are much the same as they have always been but they are much more vivid. There is still the nightmare that I am absent from the Army and they are looking for me. There is still the nightmare that I am late for work and have no way to get there. There is still the nightmare that there is no food for my family and no way to get any. The only relief is that I pop awake and realize that those situations no longer exist and I am free to float like a leaf on a stream. No direction and no goal and only the inevitable cascade in the future. I am free to harm only myself by my lethargy. "I'm just sittin here watchin the world go by.". I traveled extensively when I was younger. I never found a joy over the horizon that could match the joy of being home in New England. If you are looking for Paradise, you will find it by sitting at the kitchen table of your own home. There is no greater peace or joy or comfort to be found anywhere. It doesn't matter where home is, home is where your heart finds peace. I have seen people living in the halls of power and wealth that were not at peace and therefore not home. I have seen people living in a tarpaper shack in Texas that were at peace and therefore home. HOME, let the word roll around in your mind and taste the ambrosia of its sound on your lips and tongue. Feel the warmth of it as it travels through your mind.
A denizen of those halls of power and wealth once wrote "You can never go home again.". He was right, you can never go home again because, if you are lucky, you are home.
Perhaps I should find an hospitable island. It would be appropriate because I think that my last name means island home in my Grandparent's native tongue. That might explain the joy I feel when the cold, salty, breeze touches my nostrils and the murmor or crash of waves touch my ears or the plaintive cry of seabirds touch my heart. It would certainly explain the joy of scallops and clams and smelts and haddock. I lived right on the edge of the sea for several years. I still remember the Sun rising from the waves on a weekend morning. That was in New England. I lived on the edge of the sea in Galveston, Texas for six months. By the time that the Sun rose there, it was already to hot to enjoy and I was far from home.
I am enjoying Coolidge's legacy!