Day of Love

Few enter a loving relationship with eyes wide open; our mind spares us the glaring sun of reality; our heart guides us gently toward feeling of love and commitment.

We dream; shrouded with uncertainty like   darkness before dawn, until, magically, that day star of mutual attraction rises in our hearts, shining light for the possibility of love.

In the dim, dewy, coolness of daybreak we breathe in the glorious promise of what can be.  In the early hours of the sunrising, even as the surroundings become clearer and the dew gives way to the reality of the stubble, our hearts tell us the day will be good; we move ahead with purpose.   In our marriages we do the same.

As it moves overhead, the sun changes things.  The refreshing, dreamy, dewy magic of the dawn is gone.  The stark reality of the searing heat saps  strength, robs determination, burns the skin.  We abandon clothes, smear on lotion, don sunshades, and cover our heads to escape; it is mid day.  For a while we seek the shade.

Growing up in a small town, as I did decades ago, one of the facts that I had to learn to accept was divorce.   Will you believe me when I tell you I was in my mid-twenties before I met my second divorced person?   In that era, what is accepted (in fact, I think, expected) today, was viewed as shameful, something whispered about.

How drastically society’s and my own feeling have  changed.

“It will never happen to me”  was my smug, self-righteous declaration as the foundation of the sacred institution began to  crumble in the late 1960’s;  during the  70’s seeking gender equality was blamed for the roar of marital erosion.  By the 1980’s the crushing landslide took it’s toll on my own 20+ years of marriage.  It had happened to me.

Twenty years later,  I know few families who  have not suffered the heartbreak of  broken homes.  I dare not ask a person I have  not seen in years, “How is  (insert name of spouse I knew) these days?”  I have made that mistake once or twice; the answer was short and sweet. “I have no idea we’ve been divorced for years.”  There is no graceful way to overcome that faux pas.

The effects of the searing sun are tempered with  comfort measures.   In marriage, as the relationship matures, to survive as a couple, we  learn to put on the sunshades of forgiveness, the lotion of  understanding, as we shed the uncomfortably hot clothes of selfishness; seeking  the refreshing shade of each other’s love protects and comforts when there seems to be no relief in sight.

Just as we  could perish in the boiling heat of midday, should we refuse  protective devices; our relationship can succumb to the torch of reality, the pressures of life.  We forget the promise of the sparkling beauty of early morning; we lose the dream of a leisurely evening to be spent with one who has weathered the day with us.

So many times we are like the dying man in the desert who pushes on alone.   The mirage that is always just ahead drives us relentlessly toward the destruction of what was once dear.

Sadly, in our society we expect 50 per cent of all unions to fail with a few years.  They do not survive the realities of life.

It is  easy to become cynical; but I am surrounded by couples who have made a lifetime commitment; living proof that together as loving couples they will enter the evening of a life together.   Shining examples that with love, understanding, forgiveness two people accomplish  much, even today.

Recently Linda and I received an invitation we marveled at.  Our friends, Henry and Rosa were inviting us to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary with them!   My own parents were married almost 57 years. But they are of the older generation.

I had begun to believe marriages in my generation did not endure; I had developed tunnel vision after I became one of “the divorced ones”.

Beginning to look around, I find myself surrounded by successful commitment.

At my 50 year high school reunion several couple have been together almost 40 years, many 20+ years;  my brother, LeVaine and Barbara were married in 1965–44 years; my own second time round is  23 years!  Suddenly, I realize commitment and enduring marriage is still a reality.

Now, we approach the evening of our day;  a wonderful thing is happening.   We can look back, remember the heat of midday;  be thankful we were able to face  it  together; it did not defeat us.   In the soft glow of the early evening light I hope she sees not a feeble, bumbling fool, but through eyes blinded by love, may I be at least part of what she saw as the day star of love began to rise in our hearts in the early morning of our love.

I began the day, hurting from the sunburn of a previous day; hoping, but not really sure I could survive.   Now in the coolness of the evening I know the comfort  forgiveness, understanding, unselfish giving brings.   The protective shade of her love has sustained and refreshed me.  She taught me well.

Little World–Great Joy

It always starts as a slight urge in the gut about the last week in December.

Swore last year I was not going to get caught  off guard a full three months ahead this season as I have been every year since I can not remember when!  My word, the first killing frost was less than a month ago;  seems just yesterday I was rejoicing that grass would not have to be cared for a three whole months.

So what happens when the sun shines brightly and some plants start to respond with swelling growth.  Yep! I feel the  urge to get outside to put fingers in the dirt;  it does not  whisper, it yells!

You are not looking at the most organized or neatest outdoorsman; my garden area would drive the perfectionist batty, in fact.   I love it.

I try, without success, to convince my wife it has that lived in look; the tools and pots, bags of soil, etc.,sitting around suggest I have been working and just stepped inside for something to drink.  She rolls  her eyes; I think I hear her mumur something on the order of “poor old fool” as I head back toward the couch.

First order of business is the clearing around our gold fish pond.  This hole was dug and cemented by previous owners about 40 years ago.  Situated about 8 feet in front of our kitchen door, (thankfully, I never step outside drunk; I would probably stumble in and drown), this simple hole leak-proofed  with rubber lining gives us a lot of pleasure.

Beautiful flowing fins, so graceful

A school of beautful  gold fish greets us each morning, anxiously begging food.  What started as a few cheap feeder fish has developed into a school of long flowing finned beauties that are so graceful as they float through the water among the plants.

The first real sign of spring, is the frogs croaking  their mating call in the night over the chorus of crickets.  Next morning I know there will be strings of frog eggs.  Soon the pond with boil with tiny black tadpoles eating the scum on the rubber lining.

Later, the froglets, no bigger than tiny beetles scurry around the area looking for invisible insects.  It is such a pleasant surprise to turn stones and have these microscopic creatures leap away; brings a smile.

I enjoy creating micro-areas in my garden playground.

On the upper end of the pond I have created a small bog garden; growingthere is a foot tall purple pitcher plant, pickrel weed, and sedges.  In the pond  a floating plant spreads to fill the surface.  During the summer water lilies  bloom above the surface.

It would never happen naturally, but in my world, the pond edge nearest the door is  a rock garden,a variety  of hen and chicks, sedum, ice plants and other succulent that can survive in almost no soil, with little moisture fill the spaces between the stone I  have collected from  the roadsides to outline my waterhole.

The backdrop for all this is a planting of canna, elephant ears, and ginger to create a tropical look.

Next to our driveway, a planting of daylilies, bearded iris and other “stuck in plants”  separate the space from the gravel; this forms a side border for the 8 foot high archway leading into the garden area,  toward the backdoor, where, as the summer progresses, a jungle of color, texture and greenery slowly emerge until finally in the fall it is a jumbled mess that would drive a neat freak insane, but I love it!

This past season, that archway was covered with red climber roses, given as an aniversary gift by my bride; there was a beautiful rose bud opening Christmas day!    The pot of white mandevilla  and the morningglories had been removed.   The pink angle’s trumpet filling the small space between the archway  the house no longer filled the air with fragrance; its leaves are scalded by the cold, but it will return next spring.

Welcome!  Step through the arch, look left and enjoy this 12 x 30 foot space then let me introduce you to some other little pieces of my  world.

Paradox Of Our Time

This was shared with me by   Gary  Millwood

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but
shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but
have less; we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller
families; more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less
sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, yet more problems;
more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little,
drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too
little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our
possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and
hate too often.

We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life. We’ve added years to
life not life to years. We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but
have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer
space but not inner space. We’ve done larger things, but not better things.

We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We’ve conquered the atom,
but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but
accomplish less. We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more
computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we
communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion; big men and small
character; steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of
two incomes but more divorce; fancier houses but broken homes. These are
days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night
stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to
quiet, to kill.

It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the
stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time
when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.
Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going
to be around forever. Remember to say a kind word to someone who looks up to
you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your
side.

Remember to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only
treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn’t cost a cent. Remember
to say “I love you” to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all
mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside
of you. Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that
person will not be there again. Give time to love, give time to speak, and
give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments
that take our breath away.

(This note was attached to submission: Dr. Bob Moorehead is the former pastor of Seattle’s Overlake Christian Church. He wrote a narrative, which  for some reason has been credited to comedian George Carlin (who himself denied any association with the narrative). What he has written is worthy of our ponderings, as it speaks to a worldview that is likely held by many people, though they may not articulate it as beautifully as Dr. Moorehead.)

The Question I Didn’t Want to Hear

One of the best pieces of advice I ever got came in the form of a question I did not want to hear.

My life seem to be in shambles.  Some one very important  to me was headed down a path that could only lead to hurt for us.

I sought advice from a very capable and compassionate councilor.

He listened, patiently, as I outlined all the things my wife was doing to create the problems;  I was arrogant enough to have made a list of  everything I felt she needed to do to make things right.

My mission,  get him to talk to her; point  out the error of her ways; she would  make things right. (I would never admit that 30 years ago, but now I know  it is true.)

He sat silently for a minute, thinking, then he gently laid his hand on top mine.

“You know,  Iris did come to me;  we have talked  about your situation quiet a bit.  She is a troubled young women, she realizes she needs help.”

“But  right now it is you who seeks assistance.  I am going advice you as I advised her.  In fact, I am going to tell you exactly what she and I discussed.”

I remember thinking, “At last,  someone who knows what I am  going through; he can  help me make her do things right.”

He continued, “You are fine young couple, you have 3 beautiful, well behaved children.  Your family is   well respected in the congregation.  Right now you feel that nobody else is facing a situation like yours; just know that you are not alone.”

“What you want is for me to tell her what she needs to do.”

Like a tongue wagging salivating puppy, in my mind I go, “Yeah, yeah, yeah–right, right, right”.   “She needs to understand this whole thing is her fault; she is not acting like a good submissive wife.”

“Lane, Iris is not the one seeking help at the moment.  You are.    In any situation there are two sides to the story; there is a shared responsibility for what is happening.”

Hmmm, suddenly this not going to my liking.

I am also responsible for what is going on?  I have done everything I know to make her see what she is suppose to do to be a good wife.  How am I responsible for her not listening?

He let me absorb the impact that he knew the statement made.

“The real question we need to talk about is, What are YOU  willing to do to help solve the problem?”

That was a question I did not want to hear.    How could I be responsible, I was doing everything I knew already.

“Interesting, Iris feels the same as you.”

That is a shocker.

“You feel you  have done everything to make this work, she hasn’t cooperated;  she feels she has bent over backward to satisfy you but you don’t see or appreciate her efforts.”

He looked at the list I had made, smiled, “I find it interesting that not a single one of these say anything about what you should be doing.”

In subsequent conversations we reviewed my responsibility.

First I learned to think of my wife as an individual personality–not “Lane’s wife”;  her every opinion did not have to mirror mine.

Like too many of the male persuasion, I struggle with the idea that I am as accountable as she, for the success of our union; marriage can be a partnership between two strong individuals, living  different lives, but united in purpose, respect, cooperation and love.

Learning the answer to that question, “What are YOU  willing to do?” came to late to save my first marriage.

The hurt I had inflicted in my ignorance, the pattern established in nearly 20 years of masculine  insensitivity took its toll.  Like the beautiful caged bird whose wings had once  been broken; when she realized the wonders of freedom, she chose to fly through the open door.

The simple advice given years ago with the question, “What are YOU  willing to do?” has changed my life.   It is a question that can be applied to any situation.

I seek first to acknowledge my own responsibility,  realizing that is the only one I control.

It is astonishing how that simple acknowledgement makes my world seem a better, more loving place to be.

Hey, my name is Stupid

This has been one of those weeks.

I would be denied membership in the CLUB OF THE SUPER STUPID,  if I applied.  I am using the extremely cold weather  as  the excuse, seems the most obvious thing to blame for these deficiencies.

Actually it all got started a month or so ago.   To encourage the grandkids to put forth extra effort in school this year I came up with an incentive plan.  This thing had signed contracts, promised rewards, newsletters, the whole nine yards.

I am sure the poor parents groaned cause I even had them verifying certain things, giving written  permission for participation; all those pain in the butt things moms and dads hate about  having kids in school.  But they smiled, or was that a smirk, and  humored my request.

My "cute" checks

Well, I was going all out.   I designed and ordered special checks to use for the project.  On the original order I mistyped one single little number; would you believe those checks would not go through the banking system? Glad I checked before I sent any to the grandkids!     So I reorder, this time they worked.

The checks were so “cute”.  I think someone called them a work of art they started to frame rather than cash.

Hey, I would not object!!  At the price I ended up paying for a book of checks art would have been more economical.

When  December big payout  time rolls around, I could not find those checks anywhere!  I thought I searched the world.

Ended up issuing plain old blue everyday checks; certain the kids did not care; but I had worked so hard on those “cute” checks.   Figured I must have picked them up with trash when I cleaned my hoard infected “office” and trashed them.

Yesterday, my car battery died, had to have  it replaced.  When I opened the glove compartment to file the receipt, guess what smiled up at me?

My box of  “cute” checks!

Now why would I put them in the glove compartment–why, cause I filed the car registration  in the box of checks. Now it makes perfect sense!!

What does the sign on this stick I am carrying say?  St….d!

I should know better, but I decided my big project for the new year will be a concentrated  effort  with my blogging activities; decided to buy a domain!!

Idiot!!

GoDaddy, sounded like it would work (besides with a name like that …).  I pay to sign up, I even get a free hosting site–WordPress!  Hot dog!!  For 3 solid (and I do mean day and night) days I try to install and make WordPress work  on  lanecockrell.com.

All I could ever get was my Simple thoughts  blog exactly like I was getting before.  The ironic thing is GoDaddy techs very patiently worked with me; we never figured out what  was wrong.

Last night I was awaken from a light sleep by a kick in the tail voice:  “You idiot!”

Why did I think I had to install WordPress, I was already using it everyday for free.   My website was just  a piece of land to park it on–that I paid for!!

Oh me!!  Today I have been happily designing away and writing on the same  free spot I have used for over six months.  Only difference I now own a piece of real estate I am not using; it is in Arizona–no ocean view!

If it happens to be true that you will do all year what you were doing New Year’s Day, I might as well hang a shingle  “Stupid”  and not worry.

A Teacher’s Influence Is Forever

I was blessed to be guided by many outstanding teachers.  I remember them fondly.

Some were excellent; all of them helped me  understand the value of  seeking  knowledge; motivated me to see value in myself and those around me.

The base was laid by caring tutors to  see life as an exciting adventure.  They lead me to understand that failing to reach one goal does not doom one to a life of  ruin; it should motivate one to  approach the situation from a different angle.

Positive results satisfy — that is success.

Attitude  is all important. Teachers showed me the mechanics, the method, of doing things.  Much of that,  I have long forgotten, never used;  but the attitude they helped me develop  has remained; I use it everyday.

The importance of a positive attitude is demonstrated by   a negative experience with one of my teachers.

Do I call him a teacher?  Yes,  I did learn from him; I saw what I did not want to be.

Was he a tutor?   He lead me no where; he made  me want to run in the opposite direction.

Better training, stricter (more restricting) laws, vastly different attitudes of every individual in the world of education, makes  teaching  a  more challenging profession.  There is constant change.

Some things never change, they are forever true:

• A true teacher is not in it for the money.   He is doing one of the most important jobs in the world, when he could probably do better financially  in the business community.
• An instructor guides students through the mechanics to deal with life’s challenges.
• A  tutor   guides his students to value knowledge.
• A mentor points the way  to finding value in self and others.

.

(Note:  I never  realized the extent of   hurt that negative experience  caused, or its effect until now .  I am the one who suffered, not the teacher.    I hope he changed ; that  no others are scarred by his insecurities.   Now, it is I who must learn to forgive.)

I Must Open This Gate

I have no choice, I must open this gate. I will cross the meadow to enter the woods. The creek beckons me to follow its path into the darker valleys of the hills behind the trees.

I stand behind the gate, I lift the latchkey, I remember the fields I entered a few short months ago.

Oh how bleak that landscape!  There is little joy as I begin; the boulders, the storms, the dust and rain slow me as I plod, determined to reach the flourishing valley I know lies ahead.

I stumble face first; but I pick myself up.  I  am thankful!  It is just a bruise.

The storm lashes, I brace myself using the resources I had not realized were there.   The boulder shields me from the whipping wind, providing shelter and an unexpected sense of security as I allow myself to be embraced by the solid feel of it wall.

The storm passes.  I have survived, rejuvenated, recognizing there is help and hope when I thought none existed.

Oh, the pleasures along the way.   Simple things, really.   The fresh, clean feeling that comes, even after the storm has passed.   The glorious vibrancy of the flowering meadow; the maturing greenness of the grasses as they sway toward golden harvest time.

I remember the people who share my journey.   They offer comfort;  they give support.  they do what they can, but each of us must find his  own way across the land.

The land behind me gave  pain, sorrow, a feeling of joy, a sense of pleasure.  Within it’s boundaries I  experienced defeat; I triumphed, in ways I never dreamed.  I lived.

Now, I stand at this gate of another year.  Another land of opportunity lies before me.  I must open this gate and pass through, I have no choice.

My choice is a determination that this will be a fruitful journey.  Beauty,  promise,  adventure  lie ahead as I cross toward those distance mountains, beyond the shadow of the woods.

So, I  close the gate on yesterday; stand by the gateposts of today; anticipate crossing  the fields of tomorrow.

Kenneth Cockrell: Simba, My Friend

Kenneth Cockrell

My son, Kenneth Cockrell, has had a long enduring love for dogs.  He should write a book on his dog escapades.  He shares one of the sadder aspects of life with the animals he  loves  in this obituary to Simba.

——————————————–

Many years ago I was a young lad just starting out in this adult world and often I met people. Sometimes I was really interested in them and the relationships blossomed for a little while and then these individuals eventually got on with their lives. Many people came and many people went but I am a dog lover and for me the one constant in my life was my dogs

I could tell you some stories involving me and my dogs but I won’t bother with that now.

It’s been Ten years or better and through everything I have had Four “core” dogs that have become family for me.

There is the first one Tommarrow, a Chocolate Lab / Rottwieller mix that is very personable and has been my best friend for the longest, I think about 14 years now.

She used to hang around with a pitbull mixed pup I named Kujo who was a “fertie Gertie” and had many litters of pups.

Folks, lesson learned here is if you get a dog,PLEASE PLEASE get it spayed / neutered.

Out of a litter of Kujo’s came my second oldest dog Simba, aptly named after one of the characters in the first Lion King movie.

That litter also produced My third dog Buck a big strapping lab mix all white. The dumbest but most loving boy you will ever meet.

Then while the dogs where on the farm (long story) I got a litter of pups from a stray bird dog and one pup survived to come to where I live now, Her name is Lil Bit although she doesn’t fit the characterization any more.

I have been through thick and thin with these dogs and they have never asked me for anything only Love in return for their love and loyalty.

Yesterday morning I came home from work and I saw Simba at the gate to the back yard and I noticed she wasn’t looking so great. I went in and loved on her a little and she looked up at me with those big brown eyes as if to say,” You’ve been great and I Love You!”

Then she walked away to the bottom corner of the yard and I looked around and noticed they had knocked over the water pail I have for them in the yard.

I went and turned on the hose which means I have to go to the front yard because that is where the spigot is.

It occurred to me that the hose wasn’t hooked up to the waterer but instead had been attached to a hoe in front so I could wash out a litter box. That was last Wednesday!!!!!

I rushed back around to stop Simba but it was too late. She had gulped down a huge amount of water and now was in respiratory distress. I got her calmed down and laying down and I went inside to sleep.

I went back out when I got up and looked for Simba….No Simba to be found anywhere? I called for her and continued to look for her..

I found her in the utility room by the water heater, Stiff and cold.

Needless to say last night at work was tough and this morning is even harder…I have to go bury this dog before I go to bed.

I am sorry Simba, you were a great dog and I love you too.

RIP my dear pup wait at the Rainbow Bridge for me….I will be there.

God-Hugs: When Dolphins Danced

Debbie Cockrell Brewer

Debbie Cockrell Brewer has spent the past two years caring for her son who suffered traumatic brain injury as the result of a shooting accident. She has reached out and inspired many with her courage, faith, and determination, sharing her life through Carepages . She has agreed to let me post some of her observations which she calls God-Hugs.

Posted Jan 27, 2009 11:16pm

I had gotten in the habit after school started of walking on the beach just soaking in the glory of God. I have always felt so connected with God and eternal perspective watching the waves come ashore and shrink back out into the swell that returns to the vastness that touches foreign shores.

I always get glimpses of God and special little hugs from Him when I’m out there. After the beach renourishment project last fall huge conch shells were on the beach.

God would point out various life lessons in the surf or the people around. I had gotten out of the habit as the weather got colder. It’s been a month maybe since I’ve gone for a walk.

So, today as I felt better, I was determined to head to the beach for a walk, even though it was less than 50 degrees.

I tried to get in touch with a couple of friends to walk with me, but they were unavailable. So I headed to a beach that I would not have otherwise.

I am always amused by how God lines things up for us!

I walk off of the wood ramp and onto the sand to low tide.

The beach is flat with very few shells. I look down at the broken fragments, wishing that I could find one of those big conch shells again.

I sigh. “So, what are you going to surprise me with today?” I pray.

Then a motion just beyond the breaking surf catches my eye. I see a brown triangle arch in the water followed by a smaller triangle. It is turning like a grist mill wheel.

I think to myself, “What in the world is wrong with that pelican?”

The smaller triangle stretches out and reveals another triangle. It’s a dolphin tail!

I love dolphins! I’ve heard people say that they’ve seen them playing here, but I have never seen one in the eight years that we’ve been here!

I got to “swim” with the dolphins on a vacation once. It was magical and I came home thinking about how cool it would have been to be a marine biologist. The boys have gotten me dolphin momentos. I have dolphin earrings that Graham gave me.

Get it? This is a very personal, special hug…just for me!

As I start to laugh I notice a second dolphin! I watch the two of them play together and travel up the beach for a little bit. My heart is dancing!

I continued on my walk away from the dolphins and praise God and thank him for such an individualized gift.

When I turn around to head back to the van to go pick Weston up from school, I scan the breaker line, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the couple. I see a group of 5!!

Then I notice that people are pointing further up the beach!

There must have been 20 just in my immediate line of sight! Absolutely incredible!!

You know how after you’ve had that screaming match with your grandpa and he’s managed to calm you down, he’ll look at you, nudge you on the shoulder and say, “Feel better? Ok, let’s go get some ice cream.” And you just know that everything is going to be ok!

That’s what the dolphins were for me.

Precious Gifts

Gift giving is so important this time of year.   Some complain, feeling obligated to express emotions that do not exist.

It is more blessed to give than to receive; but there is secret disappointment when a gift is not presented  in return ; next year that recipient’s name may be stricken from the list.   We are human, conditioned by tradition.

Is there any simple gift anymore?  If we are to believe the advertising, “No.”

Toys are not just toys; objects to trigger imagination. Playthings are designed with a preconceived notion of what they should do, how they should be handled, what their use should accomplished to “educate” young minds.

For adult make it small, if you like, just be sure it sparkles, glitters, and is impressive.

Like anything  written, this is a generalization;  many gifts are given without ulterior  motive; expressing love and affection.  Blessed, indeed, are those who give and receive for the right reasons!

In true, this was the way in the old days, fashion my mind travels back about seventy years.   This was a time before everyone was  conditioned to think selfishly.

Seventy years ago, an orange, an apple, some brazil nut (that’s not what we called them!), a box of Muscat raisins thrilled us.  Christmas was the only time we got those.  I suppose that  was the only time such items were available  away from the large city markets, and believe me, Saluda was away from any place back then for a kid in the backwoods!

If a wagon or bike was part of the deal we kids  shared the treasure!  We loved the boxes; those containers kept us entertained until they disintegrated and  we burned them.

Times changed, we grew, gifts became more varied and personal, over the years; interestingly,  I remember  few of them.

I do remember the more precious gifts, treasured memories,  each of my loved ones gave.

My Dad was not a man who easily expressed his feelings, physically or emotionally.  I remember no particular physical gift  from him.

What I fondly remember is the day  he took me to Emory School for the first time as a 5-year-old kid.  In that old red truck,  we rattled up to the same building he had attended, to a chorus of what sounded like a pack of dogs chasing a fox through the woods.  It was the older boys pretending to coon hunt before classes began.

Sunday afternoons, he would pile all seven of our family on that red truck;  we headed to Calk’s country store for a cone of ice cream, a really rare treat.

For a nickle we could get a single dip; for a dime the triple dip of hard factory  made frozen treat was incredible!

Mr Homer would entertain us with his slip off the thumb trick; we actually believed he could do it!!

He  dipped the cream without ever washing his hands; making a certain sweeping gesture under the waistband of his overalls while reciting some outlandish tale.   His cigar wagged over the uncovered case as he scooped.

Well, I am not dead yet!! And that ice cream was sooo good.

Before his death, Dad created an opportunity for the two of us  to talk privately.  This was something we rarely did.   He told me  how proud  he was of the man I had become,  how he admired my handling of my family.  He let me know, he was proud to call me his son.  This was a gift unlike any I will ever receive.

My memories of my Mom are of a woman who despite bouts of depression, she sought to  hide, labored long and hard as a faithful companion to my Dad; raising 6 children to become responsible adults.

I see her, bent over the treadle sewing machine, in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s peddling away, her slightly bucked upper teeth, unconsciously biting her lower lip, as she stitching dresses for the two girls and shirts for three boys.  She listened  to her “stories”  on the little brown box radio as she peddled away the hours.

She had spent much time selecting the material from the printed feed sacks  that had held my Grandpa Watson’s chicken feed.

Dolly Parton describes the way I felt, in her song “Coat of Many Colors.”

Iris, my children’s mother, told me she regretted she had given me the best years of her life; a blessing for me, not for her, her meaning saddened  and hurt.  She gave me three children who are the light of my life, a gift beyond compare.

Linda, my wife, has given me twenty-five years of devoted cooperative companionship that I never knew could be until we became a couple; this is an eternal and undeserved blessing.

My three children, each in his own way, has shown me what unconditional love can do.

When, unintentionally, I  have pushed them away; they have shown how love never fails.

Each has presented  grandchildren who fill my life with pleasure.

I enjoy gifts and presents; tokens that  some one cares.

I enjoy presenting unique remembrances to those I love, I hope they enjoy them and think of me as they use them.

My wish is that as the years, and I inevitably,  pass they  reflect on precious gifts of shared moments.

Treasures of the heart that  can never  be taken away.