December 28, 2014
There is a Place
There is a place where getting there is a pilgrimage, where every inch of pavement traveled builds the anticipation of arriving. It is a place where rolling hills scoff at being called flat, and steep rocky bluffs stretch towards eagles floating against blue skies. It is a place where the Mississippi holds backwater secrets, and honey is sold at the breath-taking view around the bend.There is a place where a small green house waits, where an old oak tree holds swings in its branches. It is a place where the garden is overflowing in the summer, and the pine tree sometimes still hosts daring visitors in its boughs. It is a place where curious children peer at the cows, and kittens are sought after like gold.
There is a place where electronics are not as important as conversation, and cell phone reception is spotty. It is a place where a game of bid euchre is only a question away, and the Princess Diaries is a ritual. It is a place where beautiful wood works decorate the walls, and a bear rug scares those with a vivid imagination in the dark staircase.
There is a place where sweet rolls are made with mashed potatoes, and pancakes with cream. It is a place where whipped cream topped with cherries is considered a salad, and homemade pecan pie is a favorite. It is a place where going hungry is your own fault, and gaining a few pounds is inevitable.
There is a place where adults join the water balloon fights, where laughter is shared around a fire. It is a place where four-wheeler rides are begged for, and swinging into the sky is a requirement. It is a place where a doll may be used as a football, and hide-and-go-seek or freeze tag is played by all.
There is a place where Christmas is a weekend, where family gathers to sleep under one small roof. It is a place where stealing gifts at the table is all in good fun, and ground beef exchanges hands more than once. It is a place where Christmas tunes are badly caroled, and sleeping past eight is impossible.
There is a place where time stops, where reality slips away. It is a place where childhood returns for those who want it, and simple joys are all that is needed. It is a place where hugs are free and frequent, and memories drift through the air.
There is a place that will always be dearest to my heart. It is a place that is not just a location, and that is only special because of the people who are there. It is a place that holds more of my memories than I can express, and that I will forever long for.
There is a place that is special to many. There is a place that is loved. There is a place that brings many together. There is a place that is more than a place.
September 30, 2014
The Bird on Top of the Bookcase
There is a bird on top of a shelf. It is a small bird, fitting easily into the palm of a child’s hand. It sits on a shelf among many shelves holding many birds. There are many brilliant birds that stand out from the others, ones made of clear glass that reflect colors of light along the walls and birds whose beautiful colors pleasantly please the eye. This small bird does not stand out among the rest. Its green wings are chipped on both sides, and its white tail is broken off at the end. The yellow head is strangely as big as its body, and its eyes are cross-eyed. It is not glamorous; but it caught the eyes of a little girl who played with the birds.
It’s been many years since I was young enough to play with the birds in the corner at Uncles Charles’s house. But they were always there to peer cheerily up at me, and I never could resist at least holding the little yellow-headed bird in my hand. Uncle Charles’s house was filled with birds. There were pink flamingos on the wall in the bathroom, a bird clock in the kitchen, and wall hangings with birds in the living room. Uncles Charles himself whistled better than any bird (or human) I’ve ever heard. When I was a little girl, I asked him one time how he whistled so well, desperately wishing to be able to hum any tune as perfectly as he could. He told me matter of factly that if I ate my bread crusts I’d be able to whistle, a small white lie I’m sure my parents were delighted with. To this day I eat bread crusts. Whistling is a different story.
Uncle Charles was always a humorous man, never without a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. That is of course, unless the Huskers were losing, in which case, rumor has it, you could hear him yelling at his TV all the way down the street. Sometimes he was funny without meaning to be, like the time my Aunt Carrie got a surprise Christmas gift. Uncle Charles always sent everyone in the family a Christmas present, and usually he sent them home with people visiting, so they would be waiting in the closet for months in advance. You always knew it was an Uncle Charles present when it was wrapped it a box that was not the same as the gift. One Christmas, while at my grandparents’ house in Pennsylvania, we were all opening gifts when Aunt Carrie starting laughing hysterically. She had just opened her gift from Uncle Charles, which had been put into an old ice cream bar box. Inside the box was her present… and an old, forgotten, and melted ice cream bar- still in the packaging.
Uncles Charles never failed to send Christmas presents for everyone in the family, but the more anticipated gift for me was the birthday card that always arrived several days before my birthday. Complete with a five dollar bill, you knew your birthday was coming up when his card was waiting in the mailbox.
One year, when Uncles Charles had a birthday coming up and was turning seventy, the family planned a surprise party for him. I’m not sure how we kept it a surprise with some of us arriving from out of town, but I remember decorating the house for him before his arrival. To let all the neighbors know about his birthday, we used streamers to create a large, green, “70” on the front of his garage door. I can still picture it in my mind- and I remember his reaction when he mistook the streamers for spray paint, and thought we had defaced his garage door.
He rarely, if ever, got angry. In fact, he was an extremely patient man. One who could, according to my mom, play candy land with me for hours, without complaint. He never tired of going to the zoo with us, and was a wonderful play mate for all the kids in the family. He even knew how to graciously respond “very nice” when a very young me asked everyone in the room if they wanted to “see my panties” without giving them a chance to say no (A moment of my childhood that was, luckily for my family, caught on video).
When I was older, he still took us to the zoo, and a couple times even went letterboxing with my mom and me, happily accompanying us on our long scavenger hunts, walking sometimes long distances through all types of terrains. He enjoyed walking, and was well known for waking up early and walking, sometimes several miles, each day. He enjoyed the beauty of nature, and a few months ago, the last thing he did before passing away, was admire the flowers outside his window- most likely with a smile on his face, a twinkle in his eye, and a whistle on his lips.
My birthday is in just a couple days. If Uncle Charles was still here, I know I would have already received a card in the mail, complete with the unfailing 5 dollar bill, taped to the inside cover, and signed, Uncles Charles. But this year, there is no card. There will be no whistling and long walks, or playing candy land with the most patient man in the world. But I still remember all the times I was blessed with, and will not forget them. I will never hear a bird clock chirping on the hour without thinking about the one hanging in his kitchen, matching so perfectly the other birds everywhere in the house. I whistle tunes in his honor, and think of him early in the mornings, remembering sitting in his kitchen eating stale cereal and listening to his teasing and cheerful voice. A part of my heart will always cheer for the Huskers, and someday when I have great nieces and nephews I will play candy land with them as long as their heart desires.
There is a bird that sits on top of a bookcase. It was once sitting among many glamorous birds on a shelf. This small bird is not glamorous; it does not stand out among the other trifles and trinkets. It is broken in many places. But the memories it holds are many, and very dear. And maybe one day it will catch the eyes of another little girl- one who doesn’t eat bread crusts, but just wants to whistle and play with the birds.
August 15, 2014
12 Days of Summer
While in my adventures this summer, I have been fortunate to have a lot of time in the outdoors and see a lot of wildlife! Here is a "list" of some of the animals I was blessed to see this summer, and amazingly, this count is pretty accurate... Although I did take liberties with a few of them- it would be impossible to see exactly 12 asian carp. 12 million is more like it! Enjoy!
On the 1st day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
A toad on top the levee.
On the 2nd day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee.
On the 3rd day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee.
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee. On the 5th day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Five spotted fawns
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee. On the 6th day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Six soaring egrets
Five spotted fawns
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee. On the 7th day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Seven baby ducklings
Six soaring egrets
Five spotted fawns
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee. On the 8th day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Eight great blue herons
Seven baby ducklings
Six soaring egrets
Five spotted fawns
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee. On the 9th day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Nine bunnies munching
Eight great blue herons
Seven baby ducklings
Six soaring egrets
Five spotted fawns
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee. On the 10th day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Ten pecking woodpeckers
Nine bunnies munching
Eight great blue herons
Seven baby ducklings
Six soaring egrets
Five spotted fawns
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee. On the 11th day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Eleven geese a honking
Ten pecking woodpeckers
Nine bunnies munching
Eight great blue herons
Seven baby ducklings
Six soaring egrets
Five spotted fawns
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee. On the 12th day of summer, my eyes were blessed to see….
Twelve carp a flopping
Eleven geese a honking
Ten pecking woodpeckers
Nine bunnies munching
Eight great blue herons
Seven baby ducklings
Six soaring egrets
Five spotted fawns
Four indigo buntings
Three swimming turtles
Two baltimore orioles
And a toad on top the levee.
July 9, 2014
My Eyes are Open
Rebecca's Note: My blogs usually come to me in a short amount of time. Conceiving my idea seems to come in minutes and even the hardest part of carrying my thoughts through my fingers to the keyboard never takes more than a few dutifully spent hours absorbed in my task with a small selection of songs playing over and over. This piece however, took a week, and when I started it, it was completely different. But over the few days I was writing it, my words came out in an unexpected way, and instead of what I started with, I came up with this blog, and a new version of the “12 Days of Christmas” (which I promise I will post later this week). I’m still unsure of the finished status of this one, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway.
The alarm clock went off too early that morning. We had set it for that time of course, for although we love to blame our hated devices for not beeping us awake on time or awakening us too early with a screeching siren, they rarely stray from the programmed path we have set them on. But that morning at 4am, it seemed too early. We had already become accustomed to Hawaii time, and although it was a bright mid-morning 9am back in Iowa, our sleepy heads and bleary eyes lamented the early wakening.
Austin always wakes up faster than I do, propping himself up on a pillow, and scanning his phone for interesting facebook posts, news articles, or… well, I don’t know what he does. Because I am always still sleeping. On that particular early morning, he nudged me awake, urging me to keep my eyes open to wake myself up. We had an exciting adventure awaiting us, and we wouldn’t want to miss it. I muttered some agreement, and proceeded to re-close my eyes, drifting into dainty dozing, confident that my rebellious act was going unnoticed, thanks to my stealthy skills. A few minutes later, Austin smugly asked me, “How is keeping your eyes open going, Rebecca?” I responded in a cheery, child-like voice, “My eyes are op-en!” Austin laughed, knowing the truth, and eventually was able to rouse me from my dream world of unreality, and we were on our way.
We slithered up the mountain through the black night ahead of us. The road sliced back and forth, our headlights bouncing off the rocks and grass on the left side, and then the right, as we traveled back and forth across the sharp plains. Often, a sheer drop accompanied us sleepy adventurers on the opposite side of the car. We began to see other headlights above us twisting upwards on the landscape not long before the first faint pastels dimly brushed the edges of the sky. We were running out of time.
Austin sped up, careening around curves faster than my stomach cared to handle, and I closed my eyes to avoid watching the zigzagged path before us and the cliffs to our side. Soon enough however, we made it. Paying the tired looking ranger at the gate, we proceeded to the visitor center parking lot. We were not the first to arrive, nor the last. Before us stretched a crowd of tourists, as sleepy looking as we were, waiting for the great gift we were all about to be blessed with: sunrise at Haleakala. We had climbed to an elevation of 9,740 feet, where it was less than 50 degrees (frigid temperatures in Hawaii) to gaze at the beauty about to befall us between the mountains.
And beauty she was. Pinks and oranges unavailable in Crayola’s pallet stretched across the sky, giving the dark mountains a backdrop of a million brilliant colors. The colors brightened, shone, and intensified as the sun opened its eyes to us, revealing its glory. The Hawaiian ranger chanted a reverent call, pulling us into an awestruck wonder. It was the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen, and in those moments that touched my eyes for a lifetime, I realized we had invented no colors. Nature had them all.
We saw many other beautiful and brilliant wonders while in Hawaii. We were relaxed, slow, and careful observers, strolling around watching life and her colors in all her grandeur, performing for us. We took in all of Hawaii’s beauty, our hearts and minds slowed and our eyes open. It was easy to open our eyes, to take in the wonders; to forget the troubles of life, the difficult obstacles preventing progress, and the endless lists of tasks waiting. The challenge was remembering to keep our eyes open upon our return.
It is easy to see beauty, when our minds can be mindful and our hearts can be happy. But how often do we miss the beauty in our sights, because our eyes are not open to it? How often do we pass underneath a rainbow clutching our umbrella tightly while the colors go dismally unnoticed? How often do we forget to smell the roses, the coffee, or the first cut grass of spring? How often do we watch the raindrops splattering, the leaves falling, or the sunbeams teasing the water with twinkles of light? Do we notice the wonders? Do we pause to take it in? Do we open our eyes?
Beauty is everywhere; from 0 feet to the highest peak, from Hawaii to Iowa, from the backyard to the shell covered beach. It is begging us to acknowledge life’s splendor. The colors await, brilliantly lighting the day, expelling the shadows, while natures sounds beep us to consciousness. And when we are lifted from our dreams, and our minds become aware, we can throw back the covers, arise from our slumber, and joyfully proclaim, “My eyes are open!”
