I’ve Always Seen Your Wondrous Tree

***

I’ve always seen your wondrous tree,

And know it’s made by your design,

In veins within the leaf I see,

A pattern of the true divine.
*

I’ve walked in garden where you are,

In rose and daffodil you show,

That you are here, and not so far,

From us the ones who love you so.
*

An aged one I am this hour,

I cannot move this strut or arm,

I strive to be the marvelous flower,

My smile; a glance will be my charm.
*

But still I live; this is your will,

E’en now a watch guard in this place,

Oh wondrous tree, in youth my thrill,

I live as you, in solemn grace.
*

To all the ones so dear to me,

Who stay so close while in this state,

I cherish you, because you see,

You cannot choose your end time fate.
*

Yet every life has power to bring,

If century or blink of eye,

An angel’s chorus offering,

A gift to earth as life goes by.
*

Now winter comes my bloom will dim,

And life within me further fades,

I want to know I’ll be with Him,

To flourish fresh in Heaven’s glades.
***

Peter Lowell Paulson

May 22, 2010

This is a poem about my wonderful 'adoptive' Mother, my Mother-in-law, Ethel Van Cleve. One of the most intelligent, vivacious, gracious, and loving persons I will ever hope to know. Although she is in the nursing home, this poem, hopefully, embodies the essence she gave to me, and still gives. One only has to sit by her, and know that she loves you. But, she LOVED nature, too, and God was alive in the nature she loved.

She would not fail to pick up a leaf and show me its veins or a flower and show me the beautiful cascade of the bud or flower and remark something about God.

If You Want to Leave a Comment

Many people have told me it is difficult to leave a comment on this site (my wife, two relatives and two friends). You have to CREATE some kind of account (Google, etc.) to leave a comment here. It IS relatively innocuous, but time consuming.

Comments are VERY welcome, in order to keep a writer producing.

The simplest thing is to leave a comment on my FACEBOOK page, or if you want it to be just viewed by me, please send an email to floss55@aol.com . That is my PERSONAL email address. I WILL send you a confirmation that I received your comment (I check my emails several times daily).

And, THANK YOU!

Pete

An Ounce of Love

I dream a great deal. Many of my dreams are very vivid, and my wife is amazed about the variety of details I will provide when recounting them. Many of my dreams are recurring one’s such as when I am “Superman” or “Flash” (the superfast human, so fast that he must wear a special outfit that won’t “burn” off his body due to the friction of the atmosphere).

But, I woke of thinking about someone trying to hand me an ounce of love. This person (and it was a man) was walking by me on the street and said, “I want to give you an ounce of love”. I was afraid, and as you will sometimes do when a stranger takes a step closer to you on a busy city street and he begins to speak to you, your reaction is to step away, as you are striding, to avoid conflict, and this is what I did.

The man was insistent and reached out and continued, “No here, an ounce of love, take it!” He reached his hand forward to hand me something solid, I couldn’t see what it was, and before he placed it in the palm of my hand, I woke up. We have a clock, in the bedroom, that shines the time on the ceiling, it was 1:53 am; too early to get up so I drifted back to sleep, and tried to get back into the dream.

The best I could do was to think about what the man could have given me that was an ounce of ANYTHING that could be valuable enough to me (or anyone else) as to suggest it to be worthy of the word “LOVE”.

I started to get very analytical in the next hour of my sleep/dream state. I immediately thought about cereal, of all things (I must have been hungry). I knew that on a box of cereal three-quarters of an ounce is a serving, and I always (when I am measuring) pour out an ounce. I thought of a pound of hamburger, which is sixteen ounces, and knowing that an ounce of that stuff is very small. I never resolved the issue of what the man could be trying to give me, and I woke up again at 2:57 am.

I came downstairs to check on my computer the saying, “ounce of love”. There were a couple of quotes. John Wesley was attributed to saying, “An ounce of love is worth a pound of knowledge. “ And, John Ray stated, “In a thousand pounds of law there is not an ounce of love.”

Someone could build a two-day seminar around this discussion. But, I have to leave it now to pour myself a few more ounces of coffee.

The Spitting Contest

The Spitting Contest


There were four boys in our family. Jim was the oldest, and usually the most responsible. John was four years younger, and I followed, the typical middle child (a surprise pregnancy, and only 15 months younger than John), and the “baby” brother Phil who was four years younger than me. Phil was the last because, I believe, my parents gave up trying to have a girl after this.

Dad was a minister. We often would visit another family in the church on Sunday after church for lunch.

We must have pretty well behaved on these excursions, because Mom would almost always remark that, “I am so proud of you boys, everyone said that you were good.” It always made us feel terrific, and it really set us up to continue to be “good” on the next visit to their friends.

After lunch, we would usually be sent outside to play while the parents talked inside the house. This was a time where there were no video games, there was usually one T.V. in the house, and that was the owner’s province so it was off limits for us to operate. We usually had to make up some kind of game to play. Hide and seek was a favorite, but we often would just invent other things to do, and many times we would create contests amongst ourselves.

On one such visit, it was a beautiful summer day we were running around outside and my brother John thought it might be fun to have a spitting contest, between the two of us. The game started off in a fairly predictable manner, where we would both stand behind a predetermined line and spit for distance. John was more athletic, in just about everything, and would usually win these endeavors.

The next game was an accuracy exercise that didn’t involve “hurling” the spit a long way. We would stand equidistant from an object and merely try to be the first one to hit the thing.

Before long we both became the object of this spitting exercise, and we began spitting at each other. Who could throw the best “hocker” and actually land it on the other person. To add to the adventure we included running to this game. It was gross enough to be spit at, but you had a good chance to have this “stuff” miss you if you were a constant, moving target.

At one point I was outdueling my bigger brother. To avoid me he started to climb a tree. I began to follow. I opened my mouth to let one fly, and just about that time John turned to face me and launched a good one right into my open mouth. Without realizing it my brother had just created the equivalent to the "grand slam" in baseball, and the "hole-in-one" in golf rolled into one.  This was, undoubtedly, the "big kahuna" of spitball-dom.

My mind began to swirl. No amount of spitting or coughing this disgusting, proteinaceous material from my mouth seemed to rid me of the thought of what actually happened. The more I thought about it, the sicker I became. I started uttering some guttural thing like, “Oh-h-h-h, oh-h-h-h, oh-h-h-h”, and all the while my brother was howling with laughter.

I disappeared from around the corner of the house, found some bush and threw up. I don't think I ever challenged him again in this venue, because John had established himself as a the spitball ace, and  undisputed victor.

Mother's Passing - I See Her Face

I got a call from my brother John very early in the morning of May 19, 2009. He said, “Mom is leaving us.” After I got off the phone with my brother I was beside myself, and I said to my wife that, “I have to be there.” My wife, Julie, knowing that I have struggled with the fact that my parents lived in Florida, and we lived in Decatur, Illinois, got on the computer to look for flights in order for me to travel down to see her one more time. Within twenty minutes of having received my brother’s call, I was packed and on the road to St. Louis, Missouri to catch the two-hour flight to Ft. Myers, Florida, to see my mother.


I had just been at the hospital days earlier. They had removed a lymphoma on the brain, and while I was there, I had seen her being able to raise both her arms for persons assessing her progress, and during the day not being able to lift her left arm. A humorous note was when a doctor said, “Can you raise your left arm for me?” My mother took her right hand and reached across her body to grab the sleeve of her lifeless left arm and raised it up for the doctor. The doctor said, “Now, you are cheating.”

Mom’s platelet count was dangerously low and she had formed a blood clot in the surgery area of the brain putting pressure so that her left side function was becoming limited. She made the decision to remove the blood clot so that she could begin to start rehabilitation; become strong again, so that doctors could begin to address the lymphoma that had also developed behind her heart.

I called my brother Jim, in California, and my brother Phil, in Illinois, to suggest to them to come and see Mom because of the seriousness of this situation. They came, after I left, so that they could see her, and as it turned out, for the last time. My brothers Jim and Phil were able to see that my mother was in dire straits, but both had to travel back to their respective homes before she passed.

But today, I was in the air, on my way once more to see Mom. I prayed that I could see her one more time, and to be with her at the end. When I landed, and was able to turn on my cell phone, I listened to a message from my brother John that, “Mom is gone.” I cried. I didn’t make it on time.

I had to keep my wits, because I knew I would be with my father who had to deal with this stark reality. Over the next few days we made the funeral arrangements. Dad struggled mightily, and over the next several months we had conversations, and wrote to each other about the significance of Mom’s passing.

Dad wanted to know that Mom was “safe” (in the “afterlife”; in heaven; with God, etc.). He prayed to be given assurance that this was the case. He prayed for sleep. He was granted both of these things. He was much happier to know that Mom was “safe”, but he still struggled at the loss of his dear wife.

Five months later Dad died of a major stroke at the age of eighty-four. Curiously, both my parents died from injuries that originated in the brain.

Mom’s ashes were transported, by my father, and were buried in Stoughton, Wisconsin, where they had lived for several years. They were tickled to have purchased, years ago, a plot that was relatively inexpensive in the new Lutheran South Cemetery. In several days, on June 12, 2010, my brother John will carry Dad’s ashes to be placed by my mother’s remains. It will be an ending to my parent’s story.

A year has gone by since my mother’s death. I feel her presence in my mind and heart. I can hear her talk to me. She says especially, “Don’t worry”, “I’m fine”, “You’re going to be alright”, and “Dad, is here with me.” I sit outside on the porch several times a day and look up at the patch of sky I can see through the trees. I see my mother's image in the clouds, and in the starry sky. It does not make any difference if it is day or night, I see her face. And, she is smiling.

Mother - Vina Violet Paulson

Mother

***

I stop to ponder; words to find,

All my mother means to me,

Her family with love did bind,

Lives now with Christ eternally

When I was infant child so small -
She nurtured, loved and cared for me,

She worried so when I did fall,
Through ills she nursed me carefully.

As I progressed through boyhood years,
She put up with my childhood pranks,

With much laughter and some tears,
She pulled me through, I give her thanks.

She listened well to all my trials,
Never bored, she’d want to know,

She added wisdom; always smiles-
To brush away my fears and woes.

I’m now a man with children too,
And grandchildren, it goes so fast,

She parents on, fresh points of view
She’d share with everyone who’d ask.

And though she’s gone from earthly sight,
I feel her presence everywhere.

She tells us still we’ll be alright,
And she’s still here with loving care.

Mom I love you this you know,
 And some day in a future time

I’ll see your face, Christ says its so,
In God’s pure Love we’ll be sublime.

***

Peter Lowell Paulson

July 5, 2009

Written before Mom’s funeral/committal
Posted on the anniversery of her death May 19, 2009

Confessions of a Candy Loving Dentist

I wrote an article on people judging one another, and it has led to some very serious discussions already. Perhaps I should have let that piece sit for a week or two before beginning my next piece of writing, but I cannot wait. The actual genesis of that writing began when I considered confessing about pranks I played as a child and early adolescent.

I am a “P.K.” or “preachers kid” as they say, and like it or not we have a reputation of being ornery. I am guilty as charged. They (people in society) were probably thinking about me. Ninety point nine percent (99.9 %) of my “sins” or transgressions in my life are very simple things, lest you let your imaginations run away with you.

Well, I am a dentist, but also a closet candy person. There is a little cabinet at home, in the kitchen, that I keep well stocked with various forms of chocolate, licorice, etc. It is almost unconscionable for a dentist to admit this. The ONLY thing I can say to, for example, the cashier at the grocery store who knows my profession when she sees the candy I am purchasing, and then remarks, “And, you’re a dentist?, is either, “I brush and floss, a LOT!” or my favorite, “It’s for my wife”.

My grandson, Gabriel, likes candy, too. Where does he get that from you might ask? I can tell you very honestly, from his Grandma. O.K., he got it from me as well. Gabriel probably received a double dominant gene pairing of “candy lust” which should seriously be a consideration in his ultimate profession choice of either becoming a dentist himself, or as an alternative, considering marrying a young lady who has aspirations of entering that vocation.

Gabriel is a wonderful grandson, and his Grandma and I love keeping him for a day or two. We are VERY careful to make certain he eats the right things. Candy is extremely limited. Gabriel tells his mother, EVERYTHING, which is a GOOD thing, so she (and his Dad, our son) know he eats healthy meals and snacks. But, Gabriel does “needle” us for a piece of candy, from time to time.

Gabriel’s father is a United Methodist minister, so he has grown up in the church. Last summer, when Gabriel was three-years old, his Grandma taught Vacation Bible School at our church so we had an opportunity to keep him for a couple of days and then Grandma could take him to V.B.S.

One evening, while watching Gabriel, I gave him a couple of Tootsie Roll Midgees (which are the small, bite-sized version of the Tootsie roll). The next morning I went to work and Grandma and Gabriel went to Vacation Bible School.

When I returned home, I found Grandma in the bedroom fixing the bed and Gabriel was quietly playing with his miniature cars in the other room. Grandma said to me, “This morning Gabriel came up to me and said, “Grandma, I want some candy.” She said, “You can’t have candy in the morning.” He said, “Why not?” She continued, “Because, candy is not good for your body in the morning.” Julie went on to say to me, “Gabriel toddled off, and I could hear him quietly singing in the hallway, ‘Candy loves me this I know’ (to the tune of “Jesus Loves Me This I Know”). We both laughed, and then Julie finished by saying, “I thought to myself (considering Gabriel’s train of thought, while singing his little “ditty”), ‘It may NOT be good for my body, but I know it (candy) LOVES me’”. We laughed again.

Once again, it is FUN to be a Grandparent!

Being Christian - Not What You Would Expect

One of the hardest things for Christians to learn is not to judge others. It is a common human frailty to judge others, because in society we have laws, or rules which we are supposed to follow. I would hear my father, who was a wonderful father and a United Methodist Minister; say when a speeding motorist would “whoosh” by us on the road, “Boy, I wish I were a cop right now.” The inference was that he would turn on his squad lights, chase the vehicle and give its owner a ticket.

On a real level my father was judging the other motorist. I remember the year my father was driving, having received two speeding tickets himself (this also happened to me) within a calendar year, and being so careful NOT to receive one more moving violation or face suspension of his license.

Being very involved in the organizational aspect of my profession of dentistry there are what we refer to as “hot button items”. That is, issues that will touch an emotional response to forces that affect the profession itself. Some examples are “access to care”, “insurance industry concerns”, and “health care reform”, to name a few.

In society, if you follow the news, there are also “hot button items” such as, “sexual orientation issues”, “gay marriage”, “abortion”, “racial issues”, “immigration laws”, etc. These concerns and aspects of them change over time. Some will be at the forefront while others simmer and come to the surface, and all of them need to be addressed in our free society.

At any given moment we are ALL like my father who wanted to be free and “race” his own vehicle at speeds he wished to travel, or at times, being the “cop” who would stop another person from doing the same thing if he felt that the other person had “gone beyond the limit” of acceptable speeding behavior.

Jesus said, in Luke 6:37 (NIV), 37"Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven." When I hear a Christian judging someone else for “anything” (and, don’t get me wrong I am as guilty as anyone else), I cringe because I know there will be a non-Christian who says that we Christians should “not judge”. The non-Christian is absolutely right!

I always think at that point that it is “pretty nice” to be a non-Christian and not be held by the same standard, because the non-Christian is also judging.

This “judging” and “not judging” thing is a vicious cycle. Jesus talks about it a lot and the end result is always the same – “Don’t judge”. Being human, and therefore being prone to fail at this often, can be very frustrating. But Jesus gives us an “escape clause”. It is the third thing he says, which is often ignored in the passage, and that is to “forgive”. It is a tremendous freeing feeling to forgive someone else (and oneself, for that matter).

We can never be perfect, but we can strive to move toward perfection. We will fail and fall, but it is important to pick ourselves up and begin the walk again. It is so much easier if forgiveness is applied and practiced through this process, because it truly frees us to move forward in a positive, outward reaching and ultimately loving way.

A Chocolate Soufflé in Nashville - Part IV

Just up the street from BB King’s Blues Club we met our unofficial guide to Broadway and Second Avenue in the form of a retail sales lady in a high end western boot store. I don’t know how she knew we were tourists. Perhaps it was the cowboy hat I was wearing. Although you see cowboy hats on one in every three country western album covers, there are surprisingly few on the heads of folks walking on the streets of Nashville.

I would not presume to dictate anyone else’s itinerary while in Nashville, because there is so much to see and hear, however her suggestions were wonderful. She told us that we must go into the Stage, Robert’s Western World, and Tootsie’s, before we left this downtown area. She said that these were some of the places that the performers at the Ryman Auditorium would “wet their whistle” between shows. She told us to find the booth where Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson sat and wrote the song “Crazy”, which Patsy Cline had made famous.

She told us to go into these places through the front door, but be certain to go out at least one of the backdoors, which the owners continue to leave open, into the alley in order to see the Ryman Auditorium where you would see the stage doors that performers would come and go to take their breaks. Very nostalgic!

Nostalgia may entice you to visit, but it is the music that will bring you back. Whether you are on the fringe of belief that Country Western music is your “cup of tea”, if you truly love music you can recognize true musical talent. This is truly a music town, and it attracts tremendous ability from the performers on these little honky tonk stages. You are going to hear a variety of country, blues and rock & rock that will delight and entertain.

Julie and I were in town for three nights. The last evening we attended the Grand Ole Opry, which was an event all to itself. But on our second evening we had to wend our way back to the honky tonks. It was on our stroll that we happened to notice a Morton’s Steak House on a side street near our hotel. Not dressed for the occasion, and not being particularly in the mood for one of their wonderful steaks, we walked on. However, Julie said, “I would love one of their chocolate soufflés”. I said, “Why not!”

As we walked I “Googled” the Morton Steak House in Nashville on my phone, called the establishment and inquired about the possibility of having them prepare just a chocolate soufflé for us. No problem. If you have ever dined at a Morton’s before, you know that they will tell you at the beginning of your order to request a soufflé from the outset, because they take thirty-minutes to prepare. The maitre d’ told us to come back to Morton’s in about thirty minutes – Perfect!

We trekked down to a bar on Broadway, had a hamburger and fries, and then headed back to Morton’s for a piece of heaven in the form of the most delicious, chocolaty fluff, which was dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with even more chocolate. When you have that and a cup of hot coffee, and a beautiful wife to gaze at lovingly, it makes for memories that will live forever in your dreams. I never would have imagined that we would be relishing a chocolate soufflé in Nashville.

A Chocolate Soufflé in Nashville - Part III

Nashville is a music town. Julie and I wanted to “plant” ourselves close to a nostalgic area of Nashville which was near the “honky tonks” and night clubs where some of the original country western musicians stars (Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams, Loretta Lynn, etc.) walked, talked, ate and sang.

We found it to be within walking distance of our hotel, the Hermitage. We were directed to Broadway and Second Avenue and within ten minutes of “hoofing it” from our temporary home we were walking by the old Ryman Auditorium where the Grand Ole Opry had been housed since the 1940’s.

Once passed the Ryman, which is on Fifth Avenue, you make a left onto Broadway and you are there. You feel as if you might catch a glimpse of Dolly Parton, Ernest Tubb, or Porter Wagner amongst the throng sauntering on the boulevard, or emerging from a record store. One senses an image of Johnny Cash leaning his back against a storefront, having a cigarette and holding a worn out guitar case in his hand.

The past is palpable, and you want to be a part of it. You want to hear the conversations, the arguments, and the near misses at record deals, the heartaches and triumphs of the heroes and heroines that put this city on the map.

It was daylight so we first fell into Ernest Tubb Record Shop which displayed life sized posters and memorabilia from the past on its walls and centralized tables filled with country, blue grass and gospel CD’s which had replaced the 45 rpm records and LP albums that had been the staple from years gone by.

We soon found a nice restaurant called Past Perfect and dined on a delightful seafood salad and a chicken wrap, but as nice as this place was, there was no live entertainment. We were told by the waitress that it was prohibitive, financially, to have a group perform because of the music union in town. Our appetite had been sated, but not our “soul”.

That was about to change. Twilight was upon us and with it brought the twinkling white lighted trees on the streets and the neon signs of the honky tonks began beckoning patrons to “come inside”. We still had a little more “window shopping” to finish and then we met our boot store lady. (to be continued)

Poetry - Love it, a Brief, Non-Scholar's Perspective

I have been writing poetry since I was a little boy, and have been reading and listening to it since. I have taken a poetry class in college (yes, I got an A) and loved it too, however, like music theory when you start to “talk too much” about these subjects it can become too analytical and after a while – boring.

My favorites are Tennyson, Browning, and my middle name’s sake Lowell. I could never write like them, nor would I want to. Poetry is feeling. I love Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac, which I hear on the car radio every morning on the way to work. He always ends with a poem or piece of verse. Modern, haunting, exhilarating, and somber are descriptors that come to mind when I hear his familiar voice. Occasionally you will hear a piece that is even cheery. I like those, but then, I am that kind of person.

I write in the only form that makes sense to me, (Iambic tetrameter, some call it “quatrameter”, and occasionally in ballad form) and I have to emphasize the word “me” here. If poetry doesn’t make sense to the author who is writing it, then it is hollow, devoid of feeling and passion. I write about only those things that I feel passionate about. They tend to be about family, mostly, because they are the objects in my life that I love the most.

Dear Grandson
***
A baby boy was born today,
A perfect angel on my arm,
So fragile yet in every way-
Quiet sleeping; full of charm.

*

I'm his Grandpa, and so proud,
To see him here; it was a wait,
His parents say his cry is loud,
While tending needs, they try to sate.

*

And yet, he sleeps this hour in bliss,
I rock him slowly to and fro,
This moment I would never miss,
For soon this little boy will grow.

*
And now to Mom or Dad I give,
This babe so they may take and care,
All he needs to thrive and live,
Is in their loving arms so fair.
*

And now to God I trust to you,
To watch o'er him as on his way,
He knows your love and care so true,
Please keep him safe, this now I pray.

*

For now I must be flying home,
Just know that in a little while,
Dear Grandson, back to you I'll roam,
To see your loving face and smile.
***

Peter Lowell Paulson
February 6, 2010

(This was written at about 5 a.m. the morning after Graham Andrew Fischer was born. Julie and I were blessed to be able to fly to Texas to see Graham within eight hours after he was born. Julie and I stayed in Debbie and Andy's house, while the the young family was still in the hospital. I had to fly home the next day. I woke-up very early and wrote this)

A Chocolate Soufflé in Nashville - Part II

For my 57th birthday in February my wife Julie surprised me with a very unique gift: A weekend in Nashville, Tennessee. Neither of us had ever been to Nashville. They only time the family had been through the State of Tennessee was years ago on our way to Starkville, Mississippi when Julie’s brother John was a professor of German at Mississippi State University. We had to make that trip to visit John, Judy (John’s former wife, and friend of ours to this day), and our kids’ (Michael, Tony and Debbie) cousins Courtney, and fraternal twins Stewart and Betsy. It was a delight to visit them, experience Southern hospitality, eat muffulettas for the first time, and to capture the enchantment of a Cudzu framed landscape.

During that trip we spent an overnight in some hotel in Memphis. In the morning we could all see that we were within walking distance of Graceland, the home of the late Elvis Presley. The five of us all trekked over to the gates of Graceland, but could only peer onto the grounds, because it had not yet opened to the public. The bus, which Elvis had apparently used on tour, was now the home of an Elvis souvenir shop. Even though Julie and I were not Elvis fans, we were too young by a few years to really appreciate “the King”; we took the family into the shop to gawk at the paraphernalia which they were selling.

Our “kids” are all married now and beginning to have babies of their own, so Julie felt we were free to travel the six hours from Decatur, Illinois and enjoy Nashville. Julie had become comfortable enough to allow me to express the “country” side of me.

Julie had made reservations at an historic Hermitage Hotel on Sixth Avenue. The hotel had been gorgeously renovated. The hotel had been perilously close to being razed in the 1970’s having been closed by the city briefly, after falling into such disrepair that the restaurant had been shut down for health concerns such a rat infestation and other city violations.

But today the Hermitage Hotel is exquisite. It has been restored to it original architecture of the École des Beaux-Art which will remind you of a French palace. The doorman all wore formal black suits and top hats and they and the rest of the hotel staff were as splendid in their demeanor as the environment that surrounded them.

If you visit Nashville, regardless of where you stay, plan to have a lunch in the Capitol Grille, which is in the Hermitage Hotel, and is divinely decorated as well. Be certain to imbibe enough of your favorite beverage so that you won’t forget to stop into the Men’s Bathroom, which was recently voted the “Best Bathroom in the U.S.” That is no joke. With its bright lime green-and-black glass tiles, and terrazzo floor, and a two seat shoe polish stand it is clearly a site you cannot afford to miss.

If you have a lady friend with you, she will have to “whiz” in, when the coast is clear, (the lady’s room is not as spectacular, sorry, ladies) so that she can view a bathroom that is clearly a “head” above all the rest.

A Chocolate Soufflé in Nashville - Part I

Part I
I have come to love country western music. I grew up with parents who held a closet disgust for anything “hick-ish”, this included Bible-belt religion, country western music, NASCAR racing, etc. I settled in Decatur, Illinois where this kind of stuff is not only tolerated, but revered. My parents were, as I am, United Methodists. So that makes us the “Open Mind, Open Hearts, Open Door” people. My parents, God love them, COULD change their minds, and taught me that I could too.

In our office, one of the staff would talk about how they loved this or that country western song, and I would listen to it, and found, strangely that it moved me. Little by little, I found myself listening to country western music stations, and finally buying a CD or two.

Julie has been much more reluctant to embrace this genre of music. I would occasionally have a CD in the car and deftly start playing a song, such as Patty Loveless’, To Have You Back Again, Martina McBride’s, I’ll Still be Me, or Vince Gill’s, Pretty Little Adriana, to name a few, but sooner or later she would catch on that the CD was “country” and ask me to switch it. It was working, however, but Julie would be the last to admit that there was a little country in my girl. It just needed careful nurturing, and of course, time.

Being A Grandparent is Fun!

Being a grandparent is fun! You finally get your chance to see your children truly understand what it is like being a parent. EVERY grandparent knows what I am stating is absolutely true. Every incident or life scenario that you describe to other grandparents, that your grandchild or their parent's (i.e. your children and their spouses), is validated with smiles, laughter and more often than not a complimentary story about their own grandchildren.

I just read my daughter's wonderful description about those first exhausting months with her newborn son, our grandson Graham, and how just when you are at your wits end the child begins cooing, smiling, playing in the bath water, and now laughing on his own. He is now making is own fun. It makes it ALL worthwhile to get up in the morning and put forth the effort. It is the inner joy, the giggles in your head, and the outright laughter that far and away supersedes any of the drudgery and frustration that you encounter in the day-to-day raising of a child.

The reason for this writing, however, is that I saw that my daughter's posting that stated, "(that she) guesses 7:00 am is the new 'sleeping in"...:)". How accurately amusing that was to see. Julie and I had a good laugh over this. It brought to my so many aspects of raising a child, but I will leave this posting with only one. Parents have their many "celebrations" of early childhood, and many will mark one or another as the most truly significant. Empirical data might suggest that the majority of parents will agree that a successful culmination to potty training would be the "golden milestone" in child rearing.

I disagree. As truly magnificent as that step is, the one that surpasses it, in my mind, is when a child can get up in the morning, go downstairs, carefully pull a bowl and spoon out of the cabinet, reach for and pour their favorite cereal and milk (and return the carton to the 'fridge') and begin to eat their own breakfast, all without having to wake his parents. THAT is TRUE freedom! AND it buys the parents another 30 minutes of gleeful and sleep filled bliss!