Fireplace

 

Fireplace

 

Finally got around to contacting the chimney sweep to come and check the  fireplace. It’s been a few years and the stack and flue need cleaning. The leaves are starting to turn. Montana winter is not far away. Time to prepare. Burr!

 

In years past I would grab the chain saw and head for the woods. When Judy and I ran the ski lodge at Bridger Bowl, I would cut, split and stack three to four cords of Montana fir to make it through the winter. It was a chore I enjoyed. This was the precursor to hunting season. Ahead, there would be a lot of evenings around the field stone fireplace.

 

Now the time has come when I order a cord from a dealer who delivers a cord to my front door. This takes the fun out of an autumn ritual but it’s better than looking at a cold fireplace all winter. I enjoy stacking it in the garage. A good feeling to know I am prepared for many evenings in front of a warm fire.

 

When the days grow short and a chill in the air, Judy and I pull up our easy chairs, pour ourselves a glass or two of wine and warm ourselves in front of the fireplace. Once in a while family or friends join us. Most often we enjoy the solitude, embracing the time together.

 

Here’s a short ode to the fireplace. Some anonymous poet caught its essence on paper:

 

Although upon a summer day,

You’ll lightly turn from me away.

When Autumn leaves are scattered wide,

You’ll often linger by my side.

And when the earth the snow does cover,

There you will be my ardent lover.

 

A new season warmed by the fireplace.

Thank You

 

Thank You

 

Two nice words! Wondering why I haven’t written about them before. These  words were drilled into me at a young age. I remember my mother and grandmother lecturing me on the importance of saying “thank you.” I was told it was an essential part of politeness. It made no difference to whom it was said but very important on how it was said.

 

Our culture seems to have lost this ingredient of common courtesy. Two simple words go along way in acknowledging kindness in an increasing atmosphere of hostility. They are the building blocks of refinement in social decency. How easy to complain about this or that and forget that two words can change the atmosphere.

 

I am working on my “thank you” of late. I noticed how it touches people who serve me. The checkout lady at the grocery store, the person who helps me with the self serve bar scanner machine at Walmart. Just to see someone smile because I remembered to say the magic words.

 

I discover that I am happier when I acknowledge a person’s help. Waiting in line for anything tends to raise my blood pressure. Then I remember that others are just as important. I smile and let then in ahead of me. They say thank you. I perk up and smile.

 

My biggest thank you comes first thing in the morning, thanking the Lord for a new day and the last thing at night for all that he has provided. I know it sounds a little religious but saying those words sets my heart at rest. I have much to be thankful for and I have great need to say it.

 

Here’s a little song that helps me remember:

 

Thank you, Lord, for this fine day.

Thank you, Lord, for this fine day.

Thank you, Lord, for this fine day

Right where I am. Alleluia!

Sunshine

 

Sunshine

 

Most days, on my early morning walks, a song comes to mind. I don’t sing out loud, letting the neighbors sleep. I hum a tune as I recite the words in my head. Some mornings worship songs come to mind. Other days childhood ditties pop up. Every once in a while, I tap the Pandora icon on my iPhone and listen through my hearing aids. The marvels of modern technology.

 

Doing this daily, I discovered that by the end of a mile and a half walk my attitude is significantly improved. I don’t wake up grumpy or down. But it does take time to shrug off sleepiness to embrace the day.

 

I am blessed to live in a beautiful part of the country. These morning walks are a visual smorgasbord of nature. The sun rising over the mountains that surround our city. The voices of nature welcoming the new day. The sounds of the city coming alive. All part of a symphony of a new day dawning. Even Daisy, my walking companion, joins in the chorus now and then.

 

What brought all this to mind was the song that popped into my head as stepped out on the sidewalk this morning. It’s a tune I haven’t heard in years. As a hummed the chorus over and over I noticed a lightness of step and a smile on my face. I first heard it as a child when Doris Day sang it back in the 1950’s. You may remember it as well. If, by chance, you don’t know the melody look it up on Google. I guarantee it will bring a smile to your face and a lightness to your heart.

 

Here’s the chorus:

 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey

You’ll never know dear how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

 

Now smile!

 

 

 

 

School Days

 

School Days

 

August signals summer is almost over and fall is fast approaching. When I was a kid it meant the school was dead ahead. The lazy days of summer with little demand on my time were to come to an end. The discipline of learning was about to consume my life.

 

Back then there was a ritual leading up to the first day of school. First there was getting school clothes. Those years I attended parochial school, new uniforms had to be purchased: corduroy pants and button down shirts. No jeans or shorts allowed. Then came a new pair of shoes purchased at Nelson’s shoe store. No tennis shoes allowed. Just the right attire for those hot fall days in a classroom with windows that didn’t open and no air conditioning. My one free choice was a new lunch box. I always chose one with Gene Autry or Roy Rogers on it.

 

It was time to brush up on excuses that I would need to miss school. These were designed around the seasons. Not feeling well would work once or twice during the fall. Flu symptoms (headache and fake vomiting) worked for a couple of winter days. Hay fever with runny nose and sneezing did it for a spring day. I had to work  hard at this since my dad was a doctor and not easy to fool. Then there were those God given snow days when it was below zero and a blizzard.

 

If only I had grown up in a pandemic where you didn’t have to make up excuses. The decision to stay home is made by the school. The fear of virus exposure outweighs learning in a classroom petri dish of germs. My mother would not have survived homeschooling eight children. Come to think of it, I don’t think we would have survived.

 

These words from an old song keep running through my head. Let me share them with you in closing: “School days, school days. Dear old Golden Rule days. Reading and writing and arithmetic taught to the tune of a hickory stick….”

 

No need to dress up for school anymore. You can learn everything on your tablet lying in bed.

 

 

 

Seventy Six

Seventy Six

Yesterday was my birthday. At this stage of life birthdays are not quite what they used to be. Seventy six is a good age. The Bible says, “seventy is the sum of our years, eighty if we are strong.” With that in mind I have a few more to go. There is longevity in the family genes so I a confident that this won’t be my last birthday. My doctor says that I am in good shape for the shape I am in.

When I was born the Second World War wasn’t over. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president. The atomic bomb was still in the making. Radio and the newspaper were the major means of communication. There wasn’t a television, computer or cell phone to be found. Streetcars were a major form of transportation. Although I don’t remember that time, I am told life had a more leisurely pace.

I remember my mother telling me how excited she and dad were when I was born. I was the first of eight children but not necessarily the smartest or best looking. Mom kept the hospital bill for my birth. She was told that I really wasn’t hers until the bill was paid in full. When she gave it to me as a birthday present one year, I was shocked to see the total, $350. I was worth it.

Yesterday was also our forty fifth wedding anniversary. I know, who gets married on their birthday. I did! It’s easy to remember that August 2^nd is a very important day. Hard to believe that Judy and I made it this far. Not sure how she put up with me all these years. I had a good friend who quipped  “the first fifty years of marriage are the hardest.”

I credit Judy for making sure I lasted this long. She is the one who continues to hang in there with me. Here is a word from Proverbs 31 that says it well. “A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds, never spiteful she treats me generously all her life long. Many women have done wonderful things, but you’ve outclassed them all.”

Oh, by the way, no need to send gifts.