Archive for January, 2010

Boanerges…..

Posted in Where Angels Perch with tags , , , , , , , on January 29, 2010 by rodzink

His little smile was more than any gift… any moment…. I have ever wanted to capture in my hands….or nail to my wall…. His wide, bright eyes….displaying all of his beautiful teeth….I can feel it in my heart.. his happiness… when the dark corners are filled with more than a random piece of useless furniture…to gather dust and neglect…..  There is a time… there has been a time… a very long time, it seems.. when faith was challenged… times of uncertainty.. of unwillingness to take the next step… and that unshakable, vulnerable feeling, masked with an impervious protective layer, shielding us from the wind and hostile climate.. repelling all things.. good things… bad things… all things…. Slowly becoming that which we repel and combat, until the battle becomes lonely and inward and useless…..

His smile.. that little boy that I held and rocked to sleep every night….

 We’ve begun this journey… packed in heavy.. just yesterday, it seems.. and started climbing….the altitude and thin air… carrying this necessary load until we near the peak and can discern items to discard…We are nearing the crest…. I hear the voice and promise of a summit… high above on a peak that was claimed for us… for him… from a voice that speaks and it is… a hand that waves and it appears… the very hand that guides….allows… rescues… From the summit… the view must be unbelievable…panoramic…

Yesterday….

Posted in Where Angels Perch with tags , , on January 20, 2010 by rodzink

We were children once…. All of us…. Many years later, it is difficult to remember the sounds and smells of it… but we were all children… I miss the days of childhood.. the romance of it all.. growing up Southern and not realizing it until the days were but memories….  The sharp teeth of puppies and the smell of their warm, pudgy bodies as we held them under our chins…. Breaking beans on the back porch, while Mom cut slices of watermelon for us… the peafowl that pierced the night as we pretended it was some restless spirit that walked the fields.. the smell of the donkeys when the wind changed direction.  My Grandmother’s iced down Tab….the smell of my Grandfather’s aftershave.. Seeing my Dad leave early in the morning… returning late at night… always working, providing, then spending Saturday hunting… Knowing my Mom would be managing our days… breakfast, ironed clothes, baseball practice, discipline, sacrifice, love….  I would find them in the summer, then Uncle Bill would take me back to them after autumn’s first frost to climb the trees and return with the silent hornets’ nests… often as big around as the tires on his ’68 Ford… they hung from the outbuilding….  Mr. Hulvey’s honey bees….Mr. Housley’s cornfield… Miles of walking the mountainsides with a deer rifle over my shoulder, after growing weary of sitting for hours watching a sun break on a very cold December morning… watching my older brother, motionless during infinitely long mornings….silent as an omen…then hearing the crack of  his rifle over a distant hollow… Fishing from the bank of the Tennessee… Billy, Danny, Tommy Lee… earning the trust of our parents as we disappeared regularly with shotguns before daylight… returning with a daily limit of squirrels….watching trust struggle as Monte blew a hole through his bedroom ceiling with an “unloaded” .12 gauge.  Frog giggin’… bicycles… Greg and I ventured out in the canoe…upstream… riding the banks of railroad property, knowing the hardwoods were overflowing with turkey and whitetail…. Walking the tracks each September produced two results… plenty of dove and a certain chase with the railroad detective.  We were children….  Sitting amongst farmers and truck drivers at the counter of the Whiz Burger… waving at Renee as she washed dishes at the Chow Time… water balloon battles on Green Hill…. BB gun wars… whelps, scars, cuts, bruises….  I remember falling off an embankment, breaking my jaw… and my brother carrying me home over his able shoulders, while I watched my own blood soak his back and legs… the 55 stitches I received on my face is obscure… a distant story lacking detail… but I’ll vividly recall Tim rushing to my side and carrying me home…and the color drain from Mom’s face once I got there… We were children…..  I remember the day I realized my sister was not a boy… her rifle set aside to brush her long blonde hair.. then the phone calls from boys… I remember the days of territorial scuffles… establishing hierarchy… my Dad’s instructions… “never start one… always finish one.”  I fought them all.. older, bigger.. I was slow to anger… and always fought my way out of a corner… “walk away, until there is no place to walk.” 

 We were children…. Trying to find our way… develop.. learn what it meant to be…..not a child….build character and let reputation fall into the hands of others.  Walk to the edge of trails blazed by others, then venture a lifetime further… to where my path ends… I have named my childhood, my days as a friend, an ex-husband, a father, a son, a brother…. a vagabond, loner, dreamer, laborer…That name is etched deep within and spoken in a language no longer recognizable… a memory…

Now…these days have become inundated with my children… providing the space and vocabulary… so they can name their days, memories, adventures… Some distant day… my two will share a dinner.. break bread… laugh, hopefully… and recall their childhood… roaming the trails of the Gorge… Williams’ Island… the hardwood in Lone Oak… handed the opportunity to explore… little innocent souls…. becoming slowly acclimated to a-not-so-innocent world… somehow… character will develop… interests will surface… talents will be realized… I’ll be watching… proudly.

Pipsissewah….

Posted in Where Angels Perch with tags , , , , on January 2, 2010 by rodzink

Crunching leaves….frozen beneath creaking, naked hardwood…. I knelt beneath a receding wintry sky… The rifle resting across my lap.. silent…. blended…. a Cooper’s Hawk graced the flats and disappeared in the tangles of leafless branches… a distant Pileated Woodpecker hammered the day’s last stoccato percussion… Silhouttes… shadows…

The whisper of children, crossing the trickling unnamed branch… a steady crescendo of which I shall never grow weary…. wool covered heads and hands… returning from an exploratory jaunt… readied spears…. I heard their voices and sibling laughter… breath from their warm bodies plumed and hovered… as words unwilling to depart hearts of purity… souls warmed by God’s embrace… and carried to this place.  

Pipsissewah… lush, verigated and green… speckled each step on this dormant, silent ground….  Snowflakes..swirling, riding the ubiquitous wake of God’s stroll through the garden… clearing the unnecessary… brushing away…… readied spears…  Baker’s face… slow breathing….sleeping soundly…. The subtle sun rose without glamorous display and arrogance… careful not to steal the splendor of the morning… Warm coffee… Baker, my son…. snowflakes on my window…