Family

Guest Post: Can You Say Stranded with a Country-Western Drawl? (#2)

Posted on April 5, 2013 by Kami

Song lyrics often have unusual roots.  One of my daughter’s penciled the lyrics to a song once, while we were stranded, after another one of our infamous car breakdowns. She even put the lyrics to music, which our family and a few of our friends have been privileged to hear over and over again. Unfortunately,  it’s never been recorded.  You’ll have to imagine your own tune to go with the delightful word stylings of this charming child.

As her perspective is unique, quirky and more entertaining than mine., I naturally, I asked my daughter to guest post this particular tale of being stranded. She’s available for interviews, guest appearances and autographs every other Thursday.

Please enjoy Leanne LeCheminant’s version of Another Stranded Tale of Insanity, Silliness, and Misery:

“If you are a devoted reader of Kami’s blog (or MeeMa, as I affectionately call her), then you are well acquainted with the fact that my family has no shortage of car trips.  We also have had more than our share of crappy cars.

Crappy cars + lots of car trips = lots of crappy car trip stories.

Blessedly, most unfortunately, since I have been married, I haven’t been able to participate in nearly as many memorable family car trips, which may explain why all of my car trip memories are kind of blurred together; it’s been so long.  Or maybe it’s because most of them occurred along the same route between Arizona and Utah.  Or maybe it’s because there’s just been so many of them, and they’ve all been so endless, insane, and 97% of the time they involve being stranded.

English: view of the Monument Valley, Between ...

View of the Monument Valley, Between Arizona and Utah. We don’t really drive through here ever, but some parts of our trip look similar to this dry, arid landscape. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(It’s funny: when discussing car trips with my family, one of us will inevitably ask, “Wait, was that the trip where we were stranded in (insert remote location in the vast desert of northern AZ/southern UT) or (insert other remote location in the vast desert of northern AZ/southern UT)?”)

There is one trip in particular however, that will be forever seared in my brain, maybe because we actually WEREN’T making the exodus between Arizona and Utah.  No, this car trip was much more local.  It was a camping trip just outside Payson, Arizona.  From our humble abode in the suburban east valley of Arizona, Payson is only about two hours away, a breeze compared to the 11 to 15 hour journey to Utah.

I was probably around ten or twelve, and  I’m pretty sure it was the middle of summer.  My dad, being the wilderness man that he is and always-eager to escape the 115 frillion degree heat of an Arizona summer, announced that he was going camping, and whoever wanted to come was welcome.  My mom of course joined in, craving the familiar smell of pine and fresh mountain air, as well as myself and my younger sister.

After loading our older white Mazda Van with gear, we piled in and headed out.  We blasted the air conditioner and slowly cooled down as we left the greater Phoenix area.  After about a half hour though, Dad switched off the AC.

Yet again the Land Rover overheats in the desert

A familiar scene on our road trips. (Photo credit: Steve & Jemma Copley)

“Hey, why’d you turn it off?” I complained.

“The car’s starting to overheat.  We’re going to give it a break.”

I groaned.  I knew (still know) approximately 0.4% about cars, but I had had plenty of experience with the word “overheat.”  I said a silent prayer that our trusty Van would carry us through.

My prayer must have bounced off the drooping fabric ceiling though, because one very miserable and  sweaty hour later, we had to stop at a gas station in Payson.  The car was smoking, the engine was completely overheated, and there was no way we’d be able to trek up the ever-steepening inclined roads to our desired remote camping location, probably another half hour to an hour away.  Conveniently, there was an auto shop right next to the gas station.

“Kami, why don’t you take the girls inside where it’s cool and get some drinks,” my dad said.  “I’ll take it next door to get it checked out.”

English: Texaco Petrol Station in Poá (São Pau...

NOT the actual Texaco we stopped at. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The three of us eagerly jumped out of the car and collectively sighed in relief as the wave of cool air washed over us as we walked in.  When the door opened it let out an electronic signal, sounding like a door bell: “Ding-dong.”

We got a couple of bottles of soda and sat down at a table in the snack area, cooling off and watching the heat undulate off the asphalt outside.

My sister and I, being as young as we were, quickly got bored.  The gas station was pretty busy, customers in and out, and the door kept ringing, “Ding dong” every time it opened.  Every time it would “ding-dong” I would respond by singing the corresponding part of a song from the movie, The Wizard of Oz: “The witch is dead!”  Now, the gas station was pretty busy, so the number of my responses of “The witch is dead!” piled up quick.  So did my younger sister’s annoyance.

“Arrrrrrgh, Leanne, shut UP!”

Of course this just egged me on, and I would laugh and then whisper it, but still loud enough for her to hear:

DOOR: DING-DONG

ME (whispering): The witch is dead! *giggle giggle*

LITTLE SISTER: Leanne, shut UP!

I think it was my Mom’s brilliant idea to distract me by suggesting I write a song about our adventure.  She pulled a paper napkin out of the dispenser, slapped it in front of me with a pencil and said, “I’m going to go see how the car’s doing.  You two stay here.”

My sister gave her a look as if to say, “Really, you’re going to leave me here with her?!?!?” but I just grinned.  My wheels were already turning.

The ONE AND ONLY ORIGINAL someday-worth-millions NAPKIN.

The ONE AND ONLY ORIGINAL someday-worth-millions NAPKIN.

Over the next hour or so, I penned my one and only undiscovered top-of-the-charts, platinum-award-winning country song, on a napkin, with a pencil, at a gas station:

STRANDED IN PAYSON (copyrighted 2001 ish)
 
Stranded in Payson in a Texaco, by the side of the road.
Five thirty on a Friday afternoon.
And every time a customer walks into the store
the door rings ding dong.
 
So I say:
Ding dong the witch is dead
ding dong the witch is dead
ding dong the car is dead toooooo
and I wish that I was dead
just like the witch and the car.
Yes, ding dong the witch is dead.
 
Ma ‘n Pa went to go check on the car,
but I’m pretty sure that it’s still dead.
My sis and I are so bored we’re playing with bottle caps
and a customer just walked in through the door.
 
So I sing:
Ding dong the witch is dead,
ding dong the witch is dead!
Ding dong the car is dead tooooo.
And I wish that I was dead
just like the witch and the car.
Yes, ding dong the witch is dead.
 
(Bridge)
Cuz bein’ dead would be much better 
than bein’ stranded
in Payson
in a Texacoooooooo-oh-woah-woah
by the SIIIIIIIIIIIIDE of the ROOOAD
 
ding dong the witch is dead!
Ding dong the car is dead toooooo!
And I wish that I was dead,
just like the witch and the car.
Yes, ding dong the witch is dead.
 
Stranded in Payson in a Texaco
by the siiiiiiiiide of
the roooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooad.
 

[Definitely an award winning song, don’t ya’ think?]

After a couple of hours at the car shop, our little Van was ready and rarin’ to go.

Looking up at the Mogollon Rim east of Payson ...

Looking up at the Mogollon Rim east of Payson Arizona (Photo credit: Al_HikesAZ)

Napkin in hand, song completed, my future stardom in country music ensured, we hopped in. I bid a fond farewell to my beloved Texaco, and miraculously, we even made it to a camping spot before it got dark.

Camping was relaxing and enjoyable, and we got home okay, as I recall, so of course we all said, “We’ll have to do this again sometime!”

(Oh and yes, I know I totally could have been the next Taylor Swift.  But I wisely decided to forego the celebrity lifestyle.  Just way too much riches and fame for me).”

Categories: Family, Humor, Travel | Tags: , , , , , | 3 Comments

It Was a Wonderful Life!

Posted on April 1, 2013 by Kami

Yesterday I got the chance to watch the second installment of home 8mm films that my Dad has transferred to DVD. If something like that doesn’t fire up the old neurons of memory, then nothing will!

North Ogden Utah Ben Lomond Peak

Ben Lomond Peak (Photo credit: OwnUtah.Com)

I was the opening shot, well, me and Mom. I looked extra adorable in my frilly bonnet and chubby cheeks. Mom looked stylish as she always did and does. There followed scenes of my older brother in various stages of helping Mom in managing this new little sister he had.

Loved seeing Dad do his famous tricycle riding trick. He’d kneel on the back and pedal with his hands. That’s not an easy feat to pull off, but he could do it with a grin.

Ah, they were so young! The world seemed new and young. Life was new. For me, that is when the world began. (Insert a long, audible sigh here, if you would please.)

I cheered my baby self on when I lifted my head, crawled, walked and fell down. I watched, amazed, as I saw myself grow from a baby to a five-year old in less than twenty minutes. Looking back on my life, sometimes that ‘s about what it feels like. Yet, my childhood had a timeless quality about it that felt as if I’d always be a child. I was protected, provided for, well-loved, and given a wonderfully varied exploratory life filled with fun and adventure.

English:

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A trip or two to Yellowstone National Park was a highlight and a memory I still cherish. The bears ran as freely and as abundantly as chipmunks. Even without the film memory jog, I still remember the fishing bridges there, seeing fish thick in the water. Nothing can erase the memory of the smells of Yellowstone, the sound of footsteps on the wooden walkways, the feel of my hand in Mom’s hand.

I watched as we enjoyed breakfast picnics in the mountains, trips to Bear Lake, camping trips, hikes up Ben Lomond. What child could ask for more? Not me. I was happily allowed to explore my world, taken out and about often to see the wonders that this life has to offer. I think I fell in love with it all at a very early age because of exposure to so much abundance. I haven’t been able to narrow in on one particular favorite. The world is full and rich and I have tried to take in and be a part of as much of it as I have been able to.

see mum, i can garden

(Photo credit: moirabot)

One thing I found particularly fascinating in this DVD that I’d hardly noticed in the first one was the backdrops in each scene. There was the beautiful hexagon shapes in the Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt on the bed my brother and I were playing on. The cars that drove past were classics from the 50’s and 60’s. The television was vintage, the furniture now collector’s items. Even the drinking glasses were particular to that era. What I wouldn’t give to own a set of aluminum colored drinking cups now!  The piano I learned to play on, the one destroyed in my parent’s house fire, made an appearance. Changes in the landscaping of the yard, neighbor’s houses I haven’t seen in decades, the up close view of the mountains that surrounded my childhood home all served as key elements in the background to this trip down memory lane.

Feeling very nostalgic today. Wishing for a time machine to visit those innocent, sweet days of love and learning.

Thanks Dad and Mom for the DVD, for the amazing childhood, for a wonderful life!

Categories: Family, Love, Memory Lane, Nature, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Few Words to Remind Me

Posted on February 28, 2013 by Kami

The elusive qualities of clarity and focus in life drive me crazy sometimes. My priorities get squidgy and mixed up all too often. How I spend my time doesn’t always reflect what’s really important in my life.Seems like I’m always searching for balance.

I have a few reminders around my home that, if I’m paying attention, can help me with my perspective, my priorities and my balance.

Sure the photos are a bit out of focus. I find that symbolic. That’s another reminder. You see, I’m not a photographer, but I am a writer. The words say more than the picture of the words do.

WelcomeIf you came to my home this is what you’d be greeted with at the front door. I want everyone who comes into my home to feel welcomed. I hope there’s a sense of open arms and relaxation when you walk through the door.

HugsI haven’t always been a demonstrative person. In fact, I still work on it. But I’ve learned the power of a sincere hug and have embraced (hahaha) the idea and practice of hugs.

KindnessOne of the most important qualities a person can possess is kindness. Helping out in small ways, sharing, paying attention to those around you, trying not to be judgmental. Kindness is a thousand little things that add up to something enormous and powerful.

FamilyIn a crisis where is the first place your thoughts race to? Family. The most basic instinct is to protect and love these people. And yet, sometimes, due to familiarity, selfishness, tiredness, or other reasons, they can be the ones we treat with the least amount of kindness and love.

laughterHere’s what gets me through many a tough spot. If I can see the humor in a stupid situation then I can get through it. If I can’t then I look for something to laugh about somewhere, anywhere. A good joke, a funny story, a hilarious picture. Laughter has magical powers to melt impenetrable walls, soften hearts and lift loads. A day without laughter is a rough one.

BlessingsWhen life gets to feeling too heavy it helps me to remember how blessed I am. Whether it’s a daily practice of writing down a few good things in my life, or a weekly practice of expressing gratitude, or daily prayers of thanks, it’s vital for me to pay attention to and acknowledge that my life is blessed beyond measure.  Those blessings take on so many forms, large and small, weird and wild, immediate and occasional.

LoveI am lucky to have tons of this in various forms in my days. I can’t even begin to list all the ways I feel loved and cared for. It’s phenomenal, it’s decadent, it’s more than one person ought to have. I hope I’m sharing as much as I’m getting. I hope you find love in abundance in your life, too.

JoyGiven all I’ve just shared, is it any wonder that I feel joy? Apparently it’s the central theme in my life. In spite of money struggles, health issues, car troubles, heaviness on my heart and worries about a zillion things, I still feel joy every single day. That is a miracle to me.

What are the words that surround your life, hang on your walls and fill your life? I’m curious to know. I might have missed a few important ones.

Categories: Family, Joy, Love, Relationships | Tags: , , , | 3 Comments

Keeping the Past Alive and Well

Posted on February 24, 2013 by Kami

My parents sent me the first of five DVD’s they’ve made from our family 8mm films. We loved watching these flickering gems as kids. There’s nothing else like seeing your very own past play out on film, even if it’s a past you don’t remember.

English: Bell & Howell Regent home 8mm film pr...

Bell & Howell Regent home 8mm film projector (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This one opens like a major motion picture doing a flashback. There on my screen was romance and nostalgia that a filmmaker only dreams about creating. Yet, it was simply real. And mesmerizing!

Most of the early shots are of Mom, since Dad was the one holding the camera. She was so young, and such a flirt in front of the camera. That surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. Dad shows up building one of his famous snowmen. This one had on a flannel shirt and had arms. Try doing that yourself sometime. It isn’t easy.

When my older brother shows up as a newborn, so do my Grandparents. My heart skipped a beat or two at this point since I haven’t seen the four of them ages. I still have a kind of achy feeling banging around in my chest, a combination of love, heartache and homesickness. So much of who I was, who I am, is wrapped up in memories of my Grandparents. I was glad they visited today.

Watching my older brother get chubby and independent was priceless. Then came my other brother, who looked so happy and was so loved for his short few months of life. I wish I had met him. Seeing him bouncing around, laughing, being hugged by his big brother, made him more real, more alive, more mine. What a gift.

Just before the DVD ended, I appeared on the scene, dressed in a white dress and a white bonnet.  It seemed I ought to be able to remember that day, that dress, those feelings of being so welcomed and so loved.

There’s a joy of  having the past recorded. I felt for a short time as if I’d  climbed into a souped up DeLorean and went back to my past.

I can hardly wait for the next few installments. Even if they probably contain embarrassing scenes of me attempting ballet.

Life revisited. What a joy!

Life. What a blessing!

Categories: Family, Memory Lane | Tags: , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

To Answer or Not To Answer, That is the Question

Posted on February 22, 2013 by Kami

I’m one of those people who hesitates to answer the phone if I don’t recognize the number or the caller.

If the call is local, I’m more likely to answer. An eight hundred number, forget it. An area code from one of the states or cities I’ve lived, or a family members lives in has a better chance of getting picked up than some.

Telephone Keypad

(Photo credit: Chris Campbell)

Doctor’s office calls always get answered as do calls from hospitals. If detectives and police officers are your friends or on a volunteer committee with you, you’ll be needing to answer blocked calls, which can be very dicey.

If you have teenagers or young adults in your life you might want to reconsider the “to answer” or “not to answer” protocols you’ve set for yourself. Police stations and sheriff’s offices can show up as an eight hundred number, for that “one phone call,” or to convey other important logistical information.  I’d rather not tell you how or why I know this. Just believe me on this one.

Caller ID has the benefit of preparing us for whoever is on the other end of the line. You know whether to answer with your usual relaxed voice, or with an “I’m busy, get to the point quickly” voice. MSH has a menacing voice he answers with, which is handy for him, not so great for the caller. I have a friend who has some pretty funny ways to answer the phone that leave the caller a bit confused or bemused or simply laughing.

Some calls you  just can’t prepare for.

One lovely Saturday, I jumped up to peek at the caller idea when the phone rang.  Surprised, I saw one of our local hospitals identified as the caller. I caught my breath, then answered before it could push over into voice mail.

“Hello?” I said tentatively, as I reviewed where my children were, who had which car. My brain had kicked into high gear, the engine racing, the RPMs off the chart.

“Hello?” I heard back from a kindly sounding woman with a hesitating voice.

It was bad news, I could tell from her hesitation. I began to shake.

“Yes?” I squeaked out as my panic rose.

“Who am I speaking to?” the woman asked.

I told her my name. I signaled MSH, who was sidetracked by whatever it is on Saturdays men get sidetracked by. Food, TV, a project, lint. Who knows. He was oblivious. I leaned against the wall for support as my knees began to shake.

“Well, Kami,” the woman hesitated again, ” I’m afraid, it looks like…”

She stopped mid-sentence. I slid down the wall. I could hardly hold the phone to my ear. I thought they sent a police officer to your door for bad news like this. Maybe there was still hope, maybe we could get to the hospital on time.

I tried to breathe, but it was nearly impossible.

“Well, Kami Tilby,” she began again. “It appears that I have dialed the wrong number.”

I had sunk to the floor, my voice stuck in my throat. “Oh. Okay. No problem,” I managed to say.

She hung up.

I dropped the phone.

It was a full thirty minutes before my heart beat resumed its normal rhythm.

My kids couldn’t understand why I hugged them so hard when I saw them that day. I found myself placing a hand on their bedroom door when they were home, feeling contentment in knowing where they were and how they were at that small moment.

Caller ID is one of those blessings that carry a curse. You never really know what you’re going to get.

Categories: Family, parenting | Tags: , , , , , | 11 Comments

Acrophobia Anyone?

Posted on February 4, 2013 by Kami

High places terrify me. Having an overly active imagination I envisioned myself plummeting down a cliff face in an out of control car countless numbers of times. I’m not sure this is normal. Probably isn’t.

As a child we often took the mountain pass from our side of the valley over the mountains to camp, canoe, fish, ride motorbikes and go sledding. Every trip up from our side of the mountain we had to take the lane on the outside edge of the mountain.  I swear I held my breath for the entire ride up and all the way down until there were scrub oak thick enough to catch our car should it suddenly veer to the right off the side of the mountain.

The ride back home wasn’t as breathless since we were on the inside lane hugging the mountain.  It felt safer, although still plenty scary.

The other option to get to the fun side of the mountain was a narrow winding river road with both sides of the canyon closing in on top of us and cars racing toward us as if in a time trial.  After surviving that gauntlet we’d then have to drive along the tiny razor edge of the dam and the winding roads along side the reservoir.

Either road left me exhausted before we ever got to the “having fun” part of the day.

DEAD HORSE STATE PARK AND THE GORGE OF THE COL...

Dead Horse Point and the Colorado River – NARA – 545787 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In my teenage years we went as a family to visit the Grand Canyon, Arches, Bryce Canyon and Canyonlands.  You’d think the Grand Canyon with its precipitous drop-offs would have given me palpitations.  The truth is I was so captivated with the beauty and magnificence of the place I forgot my fears, for the most part.

Fear came later. Total, paralyzing, utter terror.

We took a shortcut off one dirt road to another dirt road while towing the camping trailer in Canyonlands.

Can I just warn you now, in case you ever think you’re smarter than a map, that there is NO SUCH THING AS A SHORTCUT in Southern Utah or Northern Arizona.  What looks like a little quarter-mile jog off the side of the road is, in actuality, a cliff face, or an impassable road, or a road cut into the side of a mountain shored up by a few railroad ties.

Which is what we found ourselves on.

By time we realized there was no pass that cut through the mountain, but instead only switchbacks up the side of the cliff for an eternity, it was impossible to turn around, especially with a trailer in tow.  Our only option was forward, or rather, upward.

Each hairpin turn required a two steps forward, one step back movement, repeated endlessly. Dad would ease the truck and trailer through the hairpin as far as he could go, then back up while cranking the steering wheel, then forward a few inches, then back up a bit, then forward a few inches, until he negotiated the turn.  Fifty yards of straight dirt road or so later, he would repeat the process.

A couple of times Mom had to get out and direct Dad, letting him know how close the trailer wheels were to the edge.  Meanwhile, us kids were in the back of the pickup under a camper shell, huddled in blankets, chewing our nails, trying not to watch and praying our little hearts out.

I was sure we were all going to die out there in the middle of nowhere.  I had already replayed the scene in my mind countless times before we were even halfway up the cliff.  If and when park rangers ever found us, we’d be an unrecognizable heap of burnt metal and glass and broken bodies flung all over the red sandstone cliff.  There wouldn’t even be a funeral.

After two eternities and a stint in Hades, we reached the blessedly flat top of the cliff.  If Dad would have let me, I’d have gotten out and kissed the ground.

Our destination was Dead Horse Point, which is itself a dizzying narrow-necked mesa.  After what we’d been through to get there, it was easy to gaze out over the edge of nothing to the tiny river below.

I can look back now and say, “What an adventure!” I’m glad I lived to tell the tale. But, no thank you to any more high rise exploits in my future.

Categories: Family, Memory Lane, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Forget Comfort Foods, Try This Instead

Posted on January 7, 2013 by Kami

Comfort foods.  I could wax poetic about all the varieties, textures, tastes, emotions and colors of myriad edibles.  So could you.

Have you ever considered “comfort memories?”

It’s self-explanatory.  Here’s an easy example.

My son can put himself to sleep by remembering himself through a specific ski run at a specific resort.  Recalling the swoosh of the snow under his board, the bite of the cold across his cheeks, the trees as they blur past, the feel of his muscles as he moves to catch a curve and negotiates the bumps and jumps, all combine to relax and calm him into a deep and restful sleep.

Nice way to put yourself to sleep, huh? I think so.

I have a way of relaxing myself when I’m feeling ill or in pain that, if I remember to remember it, works very well to comfort and ease my body and mind. It’s rooted in how I was cared for as a child when I was sick. It’s definitely a comfort memory.

Asleep on the couch

Asleep on the couch (Photo credit: geekdreams)

I recall pillows propped on the dark green couch, blankets tucked around me, with the TV on low and bluish across the room.  I remember the smell and taste of the concoction Mom would mix. It consisted of a bit of warm water, a spoonful of paregoric, and some sugar.  It was a licorice smell and taste, somewhat bitter, but eased by that spoonful of sugar.  My tummy always settled out if I was nauseous, my sore throat eased.  Sleep came easier in spite of noise or fever or pain.  I can still feel the coolness of the pillowcase as she turned my pillow to the cool side when my fever was high.  There would often be a cool cloth on my forehead and smoothed across my hands and arms, pulling the heat from my body and sending a swell of relaxation through my tired, aching limbs. Even if she was only checking my fever, Mom’s hand on my cheek let me feel cared for, loved and safe.

If I can conjure that image, those sensations, then I can settle into a rest that reminds me of that love.  I can relax and let the discomfort of whatever hurts lift away from me, even if only momentarily.

To know such care and comfort should fall to every child.  Every adult should be able to pull from the library of memory such a book, filled with tales of love and triumph.

What memories bring peace to you?  Is there anything you can recall from childhood, or adulthood, that on remembering, brings comfort, peace, joy, relaxation, love?

Categories: Family, Love, Memory Lane, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Magic of a Dusty Country Road

Posted on January 6, 2013 by Kami
Dirt road

Dirt road (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bouncing in the passenger seat of the dual wheel truck, dust billowing behind us, I rest my arm out the window, letting the leaves and bushes tickle my hand as we drive past.  If we were driving faster it would hurt to do this, but the ruts and rocks of this particular stretch of dirt road keep our speed at a minimum.  The truck eases right into the bushes and we slow even more as we make room for a jeep coming down the road toward us.  As that cloud of dust draws closer my father raises his left hand and waves at the jeep. A man with a cowboy hat lifts his hand in response as the two vehicles ease past each other.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“Don’t know,” replies my dad.

“But you waved at them,” I venture.

“Yup,” he says.

“So if you don’t know that man, why did you wave to him?” I push.

“Cuz, that’s what you do out in the country.” He punctuates the sentence in a way I know means that’s the end of this conversation. Not abrupt, not angry, just “that’s all there is to say about that,” communicated in an inflection, a tone or a breath.

A few minutes later, a truck lumbers past us, he waves, they wave, and I ask. “Who was that?”

“Don’t know,” he responds.

“But…”

“Yup, that’s what we do out here,” he says with a relaxed twang to his voice.

The fifteen mile road we bump along that day provided several more similar scenes.  As we emerged on the asphalt and headed toward home I dangled my hand out the window to ride the slipstream of air that blew past. I felt the temperature rise as we s-curved our way down the mountain pass.  I sighed as the scent in the air changed from pine to scrub oak, and from scrub oak to suburb.

We drove past many cars once we reached the main roads of our town and never did my dad raise a hand in a hello. I didn’t ask. When we reached our neighborhood, he wave once, twice. Then we pulled into the driveway and I hopped out of the truck.

Country roads were a staple in my life, for a variety of reasons, camping, canoeing, checking on the beehives my dad had stashed in various places, breakfast picnics, a day at the reservoir, or simply to go for a drive. Often my siblings came along, sometimes the whole family, occasionally just me.  Always the same ritual of waving to strangers happened. Sometimes he even talked to strangers. “Anything biting?” he might ask a man with a fishing pole. Or “Howdy!” he might say to a couple of kids walking in the dusty dunes of tire tracks.

The Pacific Northwest Trail

The Pacific Northwest Trail (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

All those roads taught me a kind of etiquette that isn’t in books. Out in the country, on back roads, on hiking trails, lakeside, or mid-river, there is an unspoken understanding. There is a camaraderie in solitary places, in nature, that temporarily suspends the walls we erect in ordinary places. There is permission granted in green open spaces that lets us, encourages us even, to be friendly, to be kind, to be more than ourselves.

To pass someone on a hiking trail and not say “hello” or “good morning” is unthinkable for me.   Brief eye contact seems like a given as well. At the very least, a nod of the head or a smile is a must. Conversation is optional, but allowed.

Similar behavior at a shopping mall, in the grocery store, walking down the sidewalk, gets you weird looks and feels completely off the mark.

I haven’t analyzed this too much. Just noticed it. Seems there are many unspoken rules that are difficult to explain, but make sense just the same.

One thing is clear to me. I need to travel fewer paved roads, and I need more dust clouds in my rearview mirror.

I’m drawn to the outdoors by the beauty and serenity of it all. There is energy and peace found in nature that nothing else can match. I wonder if maybe part of the attraction is also the relaxing of barriers, the lowering of the defenses, the slightly more open connection with other human beings.

Categories: Family, Memory Lane, Outdoors, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Power of Family

Posted on December 31, 2012 by Kami

The power of Family swirls around me. You can’t argue with the simple evocative strength of the word Mother, Father, Son, Daughter, Brother, Sister, Cousin, Aunt, Uncle, Grandmother, Grandfather, Grandchild, Husband, Wife, Niece, Nephew.

As strong as the ties of friendship might encircle and bind, they cannot entirely compete with the strength and veracity of Family. Maybe they aren’t supposed to compete.  Maybe they are supposed to complement.

If you doubt what I say, then attend a funeral of someone whose life touched thousands.  There are a select few who warrant inclusion in that sacred circle of Family ties, but only a few.  The rest are inherently barely outside the circle, pressing in with love, support, tears, memories.

There are many family like relationships out there.  I am called Auntie or Sister by those I have shared incredible life-changing experiences with. But does that make me Family?  It feels like family, it tastes like family, the hugs mimic family hugs; perhaps sometimes even exceed them in emotion.  But it isn’t Family.

Big “F” little “f”

Maybe the distinction is merely semantic or the difference between Family with a capital “F” and family with a small “f.”

Or is it all about legality and blood lines?  I have no idea.

I do know that I want my Family to know I love them.  I want my Family to know that those connections include a willingness to sacrifice for them.  They come first.  They are the why behind everything. I draw strength from the collective power of the love they have for me.  I count on their unconditional acceptance.  I am who I am in large measure because of their influence in my life, present or distant.  They are foundational and firm and forever.

Schorn Log Cabin, ca. 1700, with the cemetery ...

Schorn Log Cabin, ca. 1700, with the cemetery in between the cabin and church (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What about that second circle that surrounds me, my family of friends?  They are included in my willingness to sacrifice.  In fact, it’s that sacrificial nature of those relationships that has made them feel unbreakable.  Their losses are my losses.  My losses, and I’m sure of this, are their losses.  They are family in ways my blood kin are not, in different ways, like chinking between logs in a cabin, or shingles on a sturdy roof.

Both kinds of family feel necessary.  Both house and clothe me in safety, love, reassurance, gentleness and kindness.

To be the recipient of both Family and family is a rare and opulent gift of surpassing beauty.  I hope never to squander such richness.  I hope I can share it, one on one. One heart, one tear, one smile, one hug at a time.

My New Year’s Wish would be that such circles include more people that feel outside of one or both. Does that sound unrealistic?  I don’t think so.  If one person this next year feels more loved, safer, cared for, part of something bigger, because I reached out and pulled them into my Family or family circle then their world and mine improves, lightens and grows.  Would you join in with me in reaching out, including, caring, loving?  Just one person. That’s all it takes.

Categories: Family, Love, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Merry Conversation and Happy New Connections

Posted on December 24, 2012 by Kami

There’s a Peanuts cartoon that shows Charlie Brown writing a letter that reads:

“Dear Santa Claus, Well, it’s that time of year again, isn’t it? There are so many things I would like to say to you, but I find it hard to put them in writing. It would be so much easier if I could talk to you in person.  Do you think maybe we could have lunch together sometime?”

English: Santa Claus with a little girl Espera...

Some things are just better in person. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Seems to me there are some things better said face to face, in a conversation.  Letters are a bit one-sided, as are emails.  Texts can be sort of like a conversation, but threads can get tangled, inflections are missing and smiley faces don’t really convey intent that well. Texting is a kind of shorthand we lean on that enhances the efficiency of communication without really advancing the quality of it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a total fan of texting. It’s saved me hours on the phone, gotten me unlost, given me a forum for all sorts of things I want to say to people.  I think some relationships are better because of texting.

But, I know there’s nothing like a real conversation.  The rambling, wandering discussions that leap from topic to topic in a convoluted but totally natural flow of give and take. That’s why I look forward to a daughter’s visit over the holidays, and why my sister coming into town will be fun. We’ll be able to talk and ask questions and see the response in a facial expression or in a gesture, before the brain sends words to the mouth.  So much gets said by what we see.

I feel almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of all the pending conversations with family and friends.

Having a meal together isn’t about the food, not entirely. It’s about the talking that happens over and around the food.  It gives us a reason to be face to face, to read the eyes, the mouth twitch, the sighs. There’s a solid human interaction that I absolutely cherish.

Phone conversations are good too, but still, there’s that up close and personal thing that happens when you’re in the room together. A hand reaches out, a hug can happen, a fist bump connects, a strong handshake can pull someone in close.

And then there’s whispering.  There’s simply no other communication like a whisper.  Think about it. Private, quiet, stealthy, intimate, personal, direct, breathy, warm, ticklish.

I wish I had time to do lunch with every single relative, every individual friend, every happy acquaintance, every person that has meaning in my life. I’d love for all that one on one time to happen.  It’d be some ride ,wouldn’t it?

Alas, I am but one person, with a limited budget, and limited time.  And so I write, saying the things I think, talking about the things I’d share in a conversation. Hopefully I’m connecting a little with someone. It’s a good feeling.

In another letter to Santa, the words of Peppermint Patty say it well:

“Dear Santa, Just a last note before you take off. I hope you have a nice trip. Don’t forget to fasten your seat belt.”

I hope you get to have some great conversations over the next few days. I hope you go for a walk and chat a bit. Or sit on the couch, or the porch swing, or around a puzzle at the table and share some words between each other. I hope you eat something delicious and talk of real things together. I hope you make some great connections. I plan to do just that. It’s the best part of the holidays I can think of.

Categories: Family, Food, Joy, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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