Story Exchange

It's been a while since my last blog. Needless to say, I've been one busy bunny with family, friends, career, and challenges on all fronts. I'm happy to report that I've come through them all intact and a bit wiser for the journey. Although... sometimes during the past few months, I've felt that I just didn't have enough time to meet the needs of the day. That's when I remembered this story...

I once complained to my grandfather that I never had enough time in the day to get everything accomplished. He told me, “Then, get up an hour earlier.” That was easy for him to say. He was a farmer. Grew up on a farm. Every bone in his body was shaped by the daily milking needs of the farm’s cow population, which presented him with the opportunity to develop the habit of rising early.

My suburban upbringing had no such mandate. The only evidence of the bovine species could be found in the refrigerator, or on a barbecue grill. Maybe if we had had a dog I would have stood a chance. But in a family of ten the dog wouldn’t have stood a chance. I was at the mercy of the trusty alarm clock, which proved, at best, to be a lame imitation of the rooster that woke my grandfather every day.

So I relied on the providence of a Big Ben, which I swear had a sound that could wake the dead. And I got into the habit. So much so that I couldn’t get out of it. I got up at 5:30 whether I liked it or not. Seven days a week. Which wasn’t all that bad. After all, it’s the best time of day, before humans have a chance to mess it up. It’s a hopeful time. A quiet time. And I grew to love it. Only problem was I’d get awfully tired by 3 in the afternoon.

Then I heard about Winston Churchill. Somebody once asked him how he got so much accomplished in a single day and he told them...he took a nap, and it doubled his day. It was just the ticket for me.

So I’m up with the birds. And any sleep I miss during the night, I catch up with during a delicious afternoon siesta. Call it a power nap if you must, but I prefer to think of it as a long, lingering snooze.

I got this from a reader... it puts a reality spin on the holiday!

Martha and I have just finished dressing the turkey for the big Thanksgiving meal. We got up early and started cutting up the vegetables right away. Lotsa family coming over for dinner. Like always. And I'm grateful they're in my life. Come to think of,it, I'm grateful about a lot of things. Like the food we’re about to eat.

Let me think. I've been alive for all of seventy five years, and I imagine I've been a fell-fledged participant in the celebration of Thanksgiving since I grew a set of teeth. And one day I got to wondering just how much food I've eaten in all those 73 or so holiday meals. So I got to figuring:

Lately ,late at night, after I settle into bed, I've been finding myself turning on a small portable radio and tuning into the AM dial. As I slowly scan through the stations from the lowest point on the band to the highest, I stop whenever I hear the sound of music--or a human voice. It's only late at night that I can draw in the stations from far away places. It reads of a dark and mysterious journey, even though there's a scientific explanation for it. Explanations don't matter in the night, so I just turn the dial upward through its trek across the country as I find my way to the stations from distant cities.. WOWO in Fort Wayne, Indiana, WABC New York, KDKA Pittsburgh, WBZ Chicago.

I'm not too sure just why I've been pursuing such an odd pastime when I should be falling asleep. The reason hovers just a few yards beyond my conscious mind, transformed into a quiet urge to search and listen, search and listen.

Dry leaves skitter and twist in ringlets across the front yard, bedeviled by unseen winds whipping down the driveway and around the house. I watch as they perform a haunting dance of the season, and I am swept up in its mystery, drawn into the whirl. I throw on hat and coat to join the festivities.

There's that familiar smell in the air, and a haze that renders things soft in the distance against a dramatic sky. I swoon at the beauty, but regain my equilibrium by a single concrete directive: time to rake the lawn.