Recently I heard, yet again, someone start a sentence with “As sentient beings…” And I thought to myself “well there’s yet another person who likes to toss out an authoritative term to prove our superiority over other animal species.”
OK, I admit I’ve used that term myself in the aforementioned manner. And a while back I looked up the definition of the word. The root word is “sense”, and the definition actually is:
“adjective: having the power of perception by the senses; conscious”
Thus brings to mind the definition as applied to various animals. Since we have lived with cats for about 21 years now, I’ll start there.
Beemer, for whom this blog is named, was extraordinarily sentient. He was three years old before he learned he was a cat, and then only because we brought another cat into the house - Alyssa, who was the runt of the litter and underdeveloped and was not long in this world. Before she was in the house, it was not uncommon for The Beem to follow our morning routine of getting up, eating, getting cleaned up, dressing and getting ready to go to work. Of course his job was to hold the house down by sleeping in one spot all day. But while we engaged in our morning toilette, Beemer would sit on the bathroom counter and clean himself and talk to us. Thing is, we seemed to understand him, and he us. A few years later after my first surgery, Beemer used to just crawl into my lap after lunch and stare at me until I’d finally recline the Lay-Z-Boy and take a nap. With him curled up in my lap. He sensed what I needed, and took good care of me. And even today, Sadie seems to know when I’m sick and will come and stare at me until I lie down, with her parked right on my hip.
Ever watch a border collie work sheep or cattle? Well, a lot of folks will tell you “oh, they’re just trained to do those things, and it’s part of their breeding anyway.” True to an extent, but… Vali and Miss Patsy Montana work cattle very well, and do follow commands (for the most part). But they’ve never been trained to be aware and react quickly when a cow kicks a hind leg sideways toward them (yes, cattle can kick sideways). They’re aware of what’s going on around them – more so than a lot of people I observe – and act accordingly. “Power of perception of the senses” – take the sense of touch as an example. A dog or cat or just about any other animal knows the difference between a touch as in petting, or a touch as in slapping.
Horses – also well trained animals. Jo and I visited a couple of horses that Chuck & I rode for several years – both of them retired because of injuries. Great horses - couldn’t stand to put them down. I walked up to the fence and greeted them - “Hey guys! Have you missed me?” Both of them came over and just nodded their heads up and down. Aware of who I was. Then there’s a time when Chuck missed a loop on a calf and his horse TJ just came to a stop and looked back at him with a “what in the world was that?” look. To be fair, I’ve missed my share of loops too.
And finally, Chuck is convinced that Texas Longhorns have a sense of humor. (Can you tell that when Chuck and I get together we spend a lot of time with animals? Maybe because animals put up with us easier than most people would…) Chuck had a large stock tank in one of his pastures which was located close to the horse corral. One of the morning chores was to fill the tank to entice the herd to come up to water since that pasture has no stream running through it. One morning, the tank was filling, the herd came up, and one of his barn cats jumped up on the lip if the tank to get a drink as well. One of the cows looked at the cat, then just gave it a nudge with one of her horns and suddenly a barn cat was going for a swim! Chuck still laughs about that one.
Animals do have instincts and genetic abilities and behaviors which we as humans have learned to domesticate and use to our advantage. Some would use the term “exploit”, but that’s another discussion. Hunters use phrases such as “that buck just out-smarted me” or “those ducks coming in somehow knew something wasn’t right”. Probably because they’re aware of their surroundings, and can tell when something is out of place. Their senses let them know that.
It may be that we have been given the ability to reason while other species have not - the scientific community’s jury is still out on that one. But as far as humans being the only sentient species on Earth – I ain’t buying it.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Phases
There are times when I have to admit that there are times when I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. Recent chats with folks I respect greatly but haven’t talked to in a while got me thinking. This is going to go in a few various directions, so bear with me. Or pet a bear with me. Or give me a bear hug…
OK – first heart attack (myocardial infarction to be precise) on September 28, 1990. First of eight (so far). Yada yada yada, lots of surgeries, lots of procedures, lots of close calls, lots of angst among my relatives (at least in the Hollywood version – and I’d rather have George Clooney play me instead of Brad Pitt. Or maybe Matt Damon) and I’m still here. Unable to work, says the medical professionals who have overseen my health care for nearly 20 years now. As does my insurance company, much to their chagrin I’m guessing. As does the Social Security Administration, who recently sent me a very kind note telling me that they’re not even going to review my case anymore. I read the letter with mixed emotions – figured out that they know a day to day job would not be good for me, or they figured out that I’ll probably be dead soon and they will no longer have to worry about me.
They don’t know the history of longevity in my family… (evil grin).
And then I started thinking about the last 20 years and what I’ve done with them. And one important thing, a gift, really, that I haven’t done:
I’ve not had to get up and go to a job that I feel desperate to hold onto.
But what I have done and learned…
I’ve been able to be there for all the kids’ celebrations – birthdays, confirmations, graduations, sports events, “just cuz I was within 200 miles” weekends.
I learned a cowboy trade of leatherwork – made a lot of tack for me, and some for friend Chuck as well. Worked on a lot of saddles, including a few owned by PRCA cowboys. Need to start doing that again. Some of what I learned is nearly a lost art.
I did a silly thing I called “Recipe Tuesday”. Sent out a recipe every Tuesday for about 18 months – eventually to over 100 people a week. Lot of folks enjoyed the standard greeting of “It’s Tuesday, and EVERYONE gets a recipe on Tuesday!” Built up their cookbooks and chronicled & shared my life at the same time. Fun stuff.
I learned to play guitar. And in doing so, opened myself up to also being a cantor at Mass. And in re-opening that musical side of myself, I also sang at a lot of funerals. I pray that I was worthy.
I re-learned the art of doing research. Mostly Biblical, because I have a friend who loves to pose arcane biblical questions. I also had a father who asked my opinion on serious theological questions because he knew I had more theological training than him and could do the research. I’m pretty sure he had more faith than I do. And I do miss him.
I’ve learned that miles on an odometer are just that – miles. I know people who won’t drive from Denver to here because “it’s too hard on the car”. Hello? An automobile is a depreciating asset, and you not driving it is not going to make you more rich. Unless it’s a very limited edition – one of only 500 made or something like that.
I’ve learned that those miles inevitably have stories behind them. Great stories that should be passed from generation to generation. Phred has 267,000 miles on him. Not the prettiest vehicle on the road anymore, but I haven’t found another that’s been from Jasper, AB to the Gulf Coast of Texas.
I’ve learned that trucks are made to work. And work hard. They don’t get prettier with age. Me neither. Guess that’s why we don’t own passenger cars, and why I own two less than gorgeous trucks (which still run beautifully). TLMK’s Yukon – whole ‘nother story. Still a truck.
I’ve had the ability to go, do, see, experience all kinds of things that I never would have been able to do in a different situation. I’ve been able to help out friends. I’ve been able to be there for family on a moment’s notice. I’ve been able to immediately go to a friend’s side and stay until a crisis passed.
If anything, my “disability” has made me… free.
I’ll grant you that I have days when just getting out of bed is a challenge. But then I have days where I work my tail off with Chuck on the ranch, put in a 16 hour day, feel great and sleep very well.
God invented the concept of balance. And He’s tossed it at my life more than once. Guess I'm learning to apppreciate that.
OK – first heart attack (myocardial infarction to be precise) on September 28, 1990. First of eight (so far). Yada yada yada, lots of surgeries, lots of procedures, lots of close calls, lots of angst among my relatives (at least in the Hollywood version – and I’d rather have George Clooney play me instead of Brad Pitt. Or maybe Matt Damon) and I’m still here. Unable to work, says the medical professionals who have overseen my health care for nearly 20 years now. As does my insurance company, much to their chagrin I’m guessing. As does the Social Security Administration, who recently sent me a very kind note telling me that they’re not even going to review my case anymore. I read the letter with mixed emotions – figured out that they know a day to day job would not be good for me, or they figured out that I’ll probably be dead soon and they will no longer have to worry about me.
They don’t know the history of longevity in my family… (evil grin).
And then I started thinking about the last 20 years and what I’ve done with them. And one important thing, a gift, really, that I haven’t done:
I’ve not had to get up and go to a job that I feel desperate to hold onto.
But what I have done and learned…
I’ve been able to be there for all the kids’ celebrations – birthdays, confirmations, graduations, sports events, “just cuz I was within 200 miles” weekends.
I learned a cowboy trade of leatherwork – made a lot of tack for me, and some for friend Chuck as well. Worked on a lot of saddles, including a few owned by PRCA cowboys. Need to start doing that again. Some of what I learned is nearly a lost art.
I did a silly thing I called “Recipe Tuesday”. Sent out a recipe every Tuesday for about 18 months – eventually to over 100 people a week. Lot of folks enjoyed the standard greeting of “It’s Tuesday, and EVERYONE gets a recipe on Tuesday!” Built up their cookbooks and chronicled & shared my life at the same time. Fun stuff.
I learned to play guitar. And in doing so, opened myself up to also being a cantor at Mass. And in re-opening that musical side of myself, I also sang at a lot of funerals. I pray that I was worthy.
I re-learned the art of doing research. Mostly Biblical, because I have a friend who loves to pose arcane biblical questions. I also had a father who asked my opinion on serious theological questions because he knew I had more theological training than him and could do the research. I’m pretty sure he had more faith than I do. And I do miss him.
I’ve learned that miles on an odometer are just that – miles. I know people who won’t drive from Denver to here because “it’s too hard on the car”. Hello? An automobile is a depreciating asset, and you not driving it is not going to make you more rich. Unless it’s a very limited edition – one of only 500 made or something like that.
I’ve learned that those miles inevitably have stories behind them. Great stories that should be passed from generation to generation. Phred has 267,000 miles on him. Not the prettiest vehicle on the road anymore, but I haven’t found another that’s been from Jasper, AB to the Gulf Coast of Texas.
I’ve learned that trucks are made to work. And work hard. They don’t get prettier with age. Me neither. Guess that’s why we don’t own passenger cars, and why I own two less than gorgeous trucks (which still run beautifully). TLMK’s Yukon – whole ‘nother story. Still a truck.
I’ve had the ability to go, do, see, experience all kinds of things that I never would have been able to do in a different situation. I’ve been able to help out friends. I’ve been able to be there for family on a moment’s notice. I’ve been able to immediately go to a friend’s side and stay until a crisis passed.
If anything, my “disability” has made me… free.
I’ll grant you that I have days when just getting out of bed is a challenge. But then I have days where I work my tail off with Chuck on the ranch, put in a 16 hour day, feel great and sleep very well.
God invented the concept of balance. And He’s tossed it at my life more than once. Guess I'm learning to apppreciate that.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
About Hats
I just spent a few days in a house where there are more hats than you could imagine. Mostly “cowboy” hats, two of which belonged to me. (One of mine stayed home.) And both of those belonging to me I wore, with the choice of which to wear depending on the situation at hand.
You don’t wear a straw when the wind is steady at 15 knots. Horses don’t like seeing your hat fly by their face when you’re trying to get a halter on them. You wear a felt, screwed down as tightly as possible. You wear a straw when it’s hot and the wind is calm or non-existent. Or while driving. Don’t matter – you’re gonna sweat through it anyway.
You learn to tilt your hat into the wind so it’s pushed further down on your stupid head for being out in such elements in the first place. Though I have to admit there are times when being out there isn’t a choice.
You have your work hat. And you have your town hat. Your work hat sometimes goes into town with you, and serves to remind folks that you do actually work sometimes.
For a cowboy/rancher/day laborer, his or her hat is two things: utilitarian and signature. First, it’s shade, mostly covering your face and neck from the sun, rain, snow, whatever. Second , I can spot someone a ¼ mile off from the hat they wear. The hat gets shaped and weathered just as the face and body of the person who wears it does.
You know you understand hats when you feel comfortable wearing one, no matter what the hat looks like and no matter the situation. Let everyone else look and posit questions in their minds – you wear it with confidence.
I have a straw that I’ve worn for about a decade that is sweat stained, dust stained, and the crease has gotten longer and deeper over the years. I’m told that I now have a “Long Trail” crease on that hat. I guess it’s fitting – that hat has seen more than a few miles, both driving and horseback. Truth is, that crease came from removing my hat and/or replacing it as a sign of respect.
We won’t go into a discussion about ball caps… after all, they’re not hats.
You don’t wear a straw when the wind is steady at 15 knots. Horses don’t like seeing your hat fly by their face when you’re trying to get a halter on them. You wear a felt, screwed down as tightly as possible. You wear a straw when it’s hot and the wind is calm or non-existent. Or while driving. Don’t matter – you’re gonna sweat through it anyway.
You learn to tilt your hat into the wind so it’s pushed further down on your stupid head for being out in such elements in the first place. Though I have to admit there are times when being out there isn’t a choice.
You have your work hat. And you have your town hat. Your work hat sometimes goes into town with you, and serves to remind folks that you do actually work sometimes.
For a cowboy/rancher/day laborer, his or her hat is two things: utilitarian and signature. First, it’s shade, mostly covering your face and neck from the sun, rain, snow, whatever. Second , I can spot someone a ¼ mile off from the hat they wear. The hat gets shaped and weathered just as the face and body of the person who wears it does.
You know you understand hats when you feel comfortable wearing one, no matter what the hat looks like and no matter the situation. Let everyone else look and posit questions in their minds – you wear it with confidence.
I have a straw that I’ve worn for about a decade that is sweat stained, dust stained, and the crease has gotten longer and deeper over the years. I’m told that I now have a “Long Trail” crease on that hat. I guess it’s fitting – that hat has seen more than a few miles, both driving and horseback. Truth is, that crease came from removing my hat and/or replacing it as a sign of respect.
We won’t go into a discussion about ball caps… after all, they’re not hats.
Monday, August 17, 2009
As a matter of fact, it is August 17
And I'm mostly blind. This because I had an eye exam with full pupil dilation just before noon, and without two pairs of very dark shades on, I am literally "Blinded By The Light", as Mannfred Mann and his Earth Band said in song about 40 years ago. I write this missive wearing both prescription glasses and the ultra-cool dark green plastic sun blockers that you can only get from your optometrist.
BUT WAIT! This pair of once worn, slightly bent, unscratched Opto Shields can be yours for the low low price of only three easy payments of $79.99 (plus shipping and handling).
Buy that and I'll throw in the Golden Gate for free.
Good news on the optic front: my diabetes has not found its way into my eyes. In fact, my new prescription is improved over the one from 18 months ago. Now I just have to find a seriously stylish frame in which to house the new prescription lenses.
I've been canning a lot. About 40 pints or so of Salsa. I've given some away, have more to give away, but also have about 14 or so pints yet to can. I actually tasted some yesterday with fresh tortilla chips. It reminded me of why people look forward to getting my salsa. I'm good!
Other canning is going to include pasta sauce (eh... no big deal) and my Killer 'Za Sauce. My pizza sauce that has a great bite to it and everyone seems to love. Fortunately, I just do that sauce in half pint jars, so I can do a whole bunch at a time. I bought a very large stainless steel canner several years ago. It will probably be listed in the will.
Do not ask for these recipes. The best took me about 5 years to develop. So unless you're offering a multi-million dollar cookbook deal and a Food Network show, Sadie's not interested. (She's my agent now.)
Other than that, 'maters are doing great, we don't have the cucumber issue that Grace has (Grace - donate what you don't want to a food bank!)and Olathe sweet corn is on the menu for supper.
Eat well, live well, and do well.
Much love,
Jay
BUT WAIT! This pair of once worn, slightly bent, unscratched Opto Shields can be yours for the low low price of only three easy payments of $79.99 (plus shipping and handling).
Buy that and I'll throw in the Golden Gate for free.
Good news on the optic front: my diabetes has not found its way into my eyes. In fact, my new prescription is improved over the one from 18 months ago. Now I just have to find a seriously stylish frame in which to house the new prescription lenses.
I've been canning a lot. About 40 pints or so of Salsa. I've given some away, have more to give away, but also have about 14 or so pints yet to can. I actually tasted some yesterday with fresh tortilla chips. It reminded me of why people look forward to getting my salsa. I'm good!
Other canning is going to include pasta sauce (eh... no big deal) and my Killer 'Za Sauce. My pizza sauce that has a great bite to it and everyone seems to love. Fortunately, I just do that sauce in half pint jars, so I can do a whole bunch at a time. I bought a very large stainless steel canner several years ago. It will probably be listed in the will.
Do not ask for these recipes. The best took me about 5 years to develop. So unless you're offering a multi-million dollar cookbook deal and a Food Network show, Sadie's not interested. (She's my agent now.)
Other than that, 'maters are doing great, we don't have the cucumber issue that Grace has (Grace - donate what you don't want to a food bank!)and Olathe sweet corn is on the menu for supper.
Eat well, live well, and do well.
Much love,
Jay
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Well whatever
Been a while since I posted.
Been a while since I thought I had anything purposeful to say.
I hate IE 8. Mozilla is my bud,,,
Been a while since I thought I had anything purposeful to say.
I hate IE 8. Mozilla is my bud,,,
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Blogging... About Blogging
I'm starting to wonder if I want to keep this up. For the most part, my entries are pretty neutral, as I told Justin. To wit:
“I’ve been writing personal essays for about 35 years now. I’ve been doing Biblical research for about as long. With Ma being a Library Science major and an elementary school librarian, and Dad building an award winning library at Dike Elementary, I pretty much knew research and the Dewey Decimal System by the time I was 11 or 12. Research for various college papers was a snap for me. And one English professor at ISU finally let me write pretty much the same way I talked. Grammatically incorrect, using idioms, starting sentences with “And”. My blog entries are sometimes whimsical, sometimes a response to a Biblical question, and sometimes they’re just chronicling events in the literary form of a personal essay."
Don’t get me wrong – I do know grammar very well.
Malcolm Price Elementary Laboratory School, which I attended through 4th Grade and as noted by my sisters regarding 4th Grade memories, taught us to think and reason at a much younger age than most schools. That probably also had something to do with shaping both my writing and research skills.
I’m starting to question how communication in our society works and whether the current state of it is good. Technology is advancing at an incredible pace. For instance, my cell phone, purchased 5 months ago, was absolutely state of the art with its touch screen and access to various content (TV, movies, music) and relatively large screen. It’s now considered “last generation” technology. But it’s very good for text messaging – and the messages I compose actually use full words and punctuation. Why? IDK…
Even the pace of the spoken word has increased. In talking to my kids or my nieces & nephews, I often have to tell them to slow down. Not because I’m dumb, but because the twenty-somethings of the world have learned to communicate (speak and hear) at a much faster pace.
Twitter is something I don’t get. A micro-blog. Every 15 minutes or so, “Tweet something about what you’re doing, why, what your opinion is on just about any subject (i.e. “I don’t like over-cooked asparagus.”). Seems to be the object behind this technology that “we can’t live without”. My question is: Why? I’m living without it just fine.
Blogs are becoming the same thing. I know if someone has read mine when they leave a comment, which in general, like Twitter, is very short. If nobody leaves a comment, I just assume that a particular entry didn’t compel a reader to engage in conversation. Or just ignored it. No problem. Just like it probably doesn’t keep an author like Norah Roberts or Sue Grafton awake at night knowing that I haven’t read every one of their books.
Email is already going the same way of snail mail.
I’ve run into folks who, when I ask them to just send me an email, say, “Oh just check my blog.” Question: When did it become my responsibility to track down info and keep up with the information of others instead of them sending me the information they want me to know via email? Or snail mail for that matter. Geez – even our language is changing to accommodate this!
“Snail mail.”
“Blog – from weB LOG”
“Texting” (or worse, “sexting”)
“Google this…”
“IM me.”
“Tweet us at… “
It ain’t that long ago that my ramblings known as the Beemer Report were sent via the United States Postal Service, required a stamp, and you actually had to open an envelope and hold some paper while you read it. Your mailbox outside of your home actually contained something more than bills, solicitations and junk mail.
“Oh but we’re too busy for that these days.”
Then I’d say it’s about time to put on your boots and do something like sit on a precipice out in Rabbit Valley, watch the Dolores River roll by while enjoying some iced tea, and let a collared lizard sit on your boot and check you out. Been there, done that, and that lizard and I both knew the other wasn’t there to hurt the other.
I may just have to become an anachronism by reverting to just email and the USPS. Wouldn’t be a first. After all, it was less than two weeks ago that I shaved with a straight razor. Something I think only a few of my generation would know how to do, and even less of my sons’ generation.
But it still works. Just don’t try doing that and texting at the same time.
“I’ve been writing personal essays for about 35 years now. I’ve been doing Biblical research for about as long. With Ma being a Library Science major and an elementary school librarian, and Dad building an award winning library at Dike Elementary, I pretty much knew research and the Dewey Decimal System by the time I was 11 or 12. Research for various college papers was a snap for me. And one English professor at ISU finally let me write pretty much the same way I talked. Grammatically incorrect, using idioms, starting sentences with “And”. My blog entries are sometimes whimsical, sometimes a response to a Biblical question, and sometimes they’re just chronicling events in the literary form of a personal essay."
Don’t get me wrong – I do know grammar very well.
Malcolm Price Elementary Laboratory School, which I attended through 4th Grade and as noted by my sisters regarding 4th Grade memories, taught us to think and reason at a much younger age than most schools. That probably also had something to do with shaping both my writing and research skills.
I’m starting to question how communication in our society works and whether the current state of it is good. Technology is advancing at an incredible pace. For instance, my cell phone, purchased 5 months ago, was absolutely state of the art with its touch screen and access to various content (TV, movies, music) and relatively large screen. It’s now considered “last generation” technology. But it’s very good for text messaging – and the messages I compose actually use full words and punctuation. Why? IDK…
Even the pace of the spoken word has increased. In talking to my kids or my nieces & nephews, I often have to tell them to slow down. Not because I’m dumb, but because the twenty-somethings of the world have learned to communicate (speak and hear) at a much faster pace.
Twitter is something I don’t get. A micro-blog. Every 15 minutes or so, “Tweet something about what you’re doing, why, what your opinion is on just about any subject (i.e. “I don’t like over-cooked asparagus.”). Seems to be the object behind this technology that “we can’t live without”. My question is: Why? I’m living without it just fine.
Blogs are becoming the same thing. I know if someone has read mine when they leave a comment, which in general, like Twitter, is very short. If nobody leaves a comment, I just assume that a particular entry didn’t compel a reader to engage in conversation. Or just ignored it. No problem. Just like it probably doesn’t keep an author like Norah Roberts or Sue Grafton awake at night knowing that I haven’t read every one of their books.
Email is already going the same way of snail mail.
I’ve run into folks who, when I ask them to just send me an email, say, “Oh just check my blog.” Question: When did it become my responsibility to track down info and keep up with the information of others instead of them sending me the information they want me to know via email? Or snail mail for that matter. Geez – even our language is changing to accommodate this!
“Snail mail.”
“Blog – from weB LOG”
“Texting” (or worse, “sexting”)
“Google this…”
“IM me.”
“Tweet us at… “
It ain’t that long ago that my ramblings known as the Beemer Report were sent via the United States Postal Service, required a stamp, and you actually had to open an envelope and hold some paper while you read it. Your mailbox outside of your home actually contained something more than bills, solicitations and junk mail.
“Oh but we’re too busy for that these days.”
Then I’d say it’s about time to put on your boots and do something like sit on a precipice out in Rabbit Valley, watch the Dolores River roll by while enjoying some iced tea, and let a collared lizard sit on your boot and check you out. Been there, done that, and that lizard and I both knew the other wasn’t there to hurt the other.
I may just have to become an anachronism by reverting to just email and the USPS. Wouldn’t be a first. After all, it was less than two weeks ago that I shaved with a straight razor. Something I think only a few of my generation would know how to do, and even less of my sons’ generation.
But it still works. Just don’t try doing that and texting at the same time.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The One About...
A television reference this time instead of music. We all remember “Friends”. Each episode was titled “The One About…” or “The One Where…”
Well, this blog post is the one about being a new grandpa.
At age 53, I actually was hesitant about being a grandparent. A mite too young, is what I thought. Norah had other plans for me. So sitting on the patio and thinking about this, I had to remind myself:
- All my sisters were younger than I am now when they became grandparents.
- Dad was about my age when he became a grandpa – Ma was younger than I am now.
All is relative – in both definitions of the word. MA!!! I hope to live to know 6 great-grandkids as you have. Sharing history and heritage cannot begin early enough (I’ve already told Norah a few stories while settling her into sleep).
I told my friend Dr. Dan – who is not yet a grandparent – “I can only say that you will melt and instantly love being a grandpa when you first hold that little one.”
One of Norah’s pictures – “SnuggleSaurus” – is now my computer wallpaper. And I absolutely love looking at the pic of TLMK holding Norah under Ma’s quilt. Norah looks tiny (c’mon – she was only three days old!), the quilt looks ginormous (which it actually is not) and the black & white challenge fabrics we sent to Ma are outstanding when Ma added the red fabric for contrast.
Already thinking about the timing and planning of our next trip out to The Shire. Maybe Thanksgiving…
So – in general, I love being a grandpa. And I’m being called Grandpa Kole now.
Marshall told me I had some pretty big shoes to fill with that moniker.
Trust me, son… I am well aware of that.
Well, this blog post is the one about being a new grandpa.
At age 53, I actually was hesitant about being a grandparent. A mite too young, is what I thought. Norah had other plans for me. So sitting on the patio and thinking about this, I had to remind myself:
- All my sisters were younger than I am now when they became grandparents.
- Dad was about my age when he became a grandpa – Ma was younger than I am now.
All is relative – in both definitions of the word. MA!!! I hope to live to know 6 great-grandkids as you have. Sharing history and heritage cannot begin early enough (I’ve already told Norah a few stories while settling her into sleep).
I told my friend Dr. Dan – who is not yet a grandparent – “I can only say that you will melt and instantly love being a grandpa when you first hold that little one.”
One of Norah’s pictures – “SnuggleSaurus” – is now my computer wallpaper. And I absolutely love looking at the pic of TLMK holding Norah under Ma’s quilt. Norah looks tiny (c’mon – she was only three days old!), the quilt looks ginormous (which it actually is not) and the black & white challenge fabrics we sent to Ma are outstanding when Ma added the red fabric for contrast.
Already thinking about the timing and planning of our next trip out to The Shire. Maybe Thanksgiving…
So – in general, I love being a grandpa. And I’m being called Grandpa Kole now.
Marshall told me I had some pretty big shoes to fill with that moniker.
Trust me, son… I am well aware of that.
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