Old, Red, Brick House

 
About seven years ago my next door neighbor at the time told me they were moving.  He wondered if I knew anyone who wanted to buy their house.  I told them I could think of a few people and asked them to keep us posted.  About a year later, they finally got around to actually moving.  My neighbor asked if we wanted to take a tour of the house.  We agreed, thinking we could tell our friends about it.

Upon finishing the inspection, my neighbor tore a sheet of paper from a notebook.  “This is our offer to you,” he said, handing me the sheet.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, laughing.

He continued with his speech.  “We are giving you a good deal and won’t negotiate on the price.”

“But we aren’t in the market to buy a house,” I insisted.

“If you want the house,” he said with conviction, “this is the price.  Let us know your decision in the next few days.”

I was stunned by the odd conversation.  “Okay, thanks,” I replied, shaking my head.  “We will look this over.”

We went home but didn’t think much about it.  Nancy did make a comment about how the kitchen was bigger than ours.  And I may have wondered aloud a few times as to what they were thinking.  But we were definitely not in the market to buy a new home – at least not for a few hours anyway.


The very next day, I walked past the house and it seemed to call out to me.  “Look over here,” it whispered.  I turned my head to look and suddenly got a strange idea.  I pulled out my phone and called my dad in Oregon.

“Hello.”

“Dad, do you want to live in my house?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to rent it or buy it?”

“Buy it.”

“Okay, I’ll call you back later.”  Click.

The next day I called my next door neighbor and said we’d take it.


About four weeks later it was a done deal.  After closing, Nancy and I walked through the house and talked about what we would do with each of the rooms.  I had been in the house several times over the years, but this time was different.  Most recently, I had helped carry numerous armloads of stuff out to the moving van, parked out in the driveway.  In all those trips in and out of the house, I didn’t really think about it being mine.  I guess the superstitious part of me didn’t want to jinx things by getting too wrapped up in it before it was official.

But now the house was ours, and this gave the familiar spaces a different feel than before.  We ended our tour of the house in the kitchen.  I realized there how pleasantly satisfied I was with the purchase.  Without really thinking about what we were getting ourselves into, we had actually stumbled on a great find.  “I like this house,” I said.

Nancy gave me a look that I understood roughly as, “We just bought a house, before you were sure you liked it?”

“It’s a great house,” I said.  “I think we did pretty well.”

“Yes we did,” she agreed.  “I can’t believe you are just figuring that out.”

“Everything happened too fast,” I suggested.  “I just went with the gut on this one, and it turned out to be a good thing.”

In reply, she just gave me another look.


Years later, I have come to realize this whole thing was less about the choice I made to go with the gut, and more about our good neighbors, who were really looking out for us.  They knew the house was better for our growing family, they understood prices were going up faster than most people could afford, They knew we loved the neighborhood, and they also knew we would take care of the old place like they would approve.  I suspect they decided months, if not years earlier, that we were the ones for the house.  It turns out our good neighbors were right.  They slowly made things happen, and in time, we finally fell in step with the way they had things planned.

And by the way, it has been, and still is a great house.

Grampa Next Door

This is a repost from my old blog, dated June 7, 2009.

Today my dad took a couple of the youngest children for a walk.  Not ten steps past our driveway, still in front of our house, the preschooler fell down.

I was sitting in the kitchen nook when it happened, watching them head slowly up the street.  An overgrown flower bed blocked my view so I didn’t actually see him hit the ground.  My dad quickly leaned down and helped him up.  By the look on my sons face, it was easy to tell he had gone down hard.  He stood there, red faced and crying, while my dad brushed the dirt and bits of gravel off his clothing.  5, 10, 15 seconds passed while my son stood sobbing.  All the while, my dad knelt beside him, brushing his clothes.

Eventually the crying ended and the red in my son’s face subsided to its natural color.  As they continued on their journey, hand in hand up the road, I considered the relationship between this unlikely pair of neighbors and friends.

For most of my life, my dad has lived hundreds of miles away from me.   For the most part, our time together could be counted in hours, days or weeks, with an occasional month long visit at summer time.  My son was just barely born when my dad moved into the house next door.  This was a big and welcome change for all of us.  While it may have been new and unusual for most of us, to my son, who has lived his entire life in a house next door to his Grampa, this arrangement is perfectly normal.

Ever since he was old enough to let himself out of the house, my son could be found hanging out at my dad’s house.  The first few times he got out, we panicked and ran out into the yard and street, calling his name and thinking the worst had happened.  Each time, we eventually found him at my dad’s house, working in the yard, eating a snack at the kitchen table, or listening to my dad read a book or play the guitar. 

Even now, at least once a day, he will slink away next door for a visit or a treat.  And, since those first scary experiences, my dad has learned to let us know where the little guy is as soon as he gets there.   

Recently, my dad took a week off work to get his yard in shape.  My son would spend hours over there every day, chatting with Dad and working in the yard.  When my dad finally went back to work, his preschooler buddy was very distressed and sulked around the house for several hours.

Lest you think this relationship is all one sided, listen to this.  On several occasions, my dad, who will be 65 this week, has mentioned how much he enjoys having my son come and visit him.  Of course it’s great to get a visit now and then from a grandson.  And yes, clearly one is in charge, while the other is aimlessly following him around (but, even these rolls change from time to time).  All said, they really do seem to enjoy one another’s company as good, old friends should. 

I suspect the enjoyment of one another’s company is most of what makes this friendship work – or any friendship for that matter.  It’s the spending time with someone you like – and who likes you back just as much – that makes a friendship a friendship.

If all goes as planned – and of course things rarely go as planned – I imagine we have about 15 years or so until this four year old son heads out into the world on his own.  It will be interesting to watch his relationship with my dad as it evolves over those 15 years and beyond. 

As a very young boy, my dad and his mother lived for a short time with his own grandfather.  Now, over 60 years later, he often talks with great fondness about this period of his life.  He very much loved his grandfather and is thankful for the many firsthand memories he has of him.  I am thankful as well, that my children will have similar memories of growing up next door to their own Grampa.

The Tooth Fairy

 

Twice last month, the tooth fairy forgot about my kids.  Twice!  Once is bad enough, but twice?  That’s ridiculous.  Once is an oversight.  The second time was unforgiveable. 

The first time happened about two weeks ago.  I got the terrible news when my six year old came in, crying about how the tooth fairy had not come.  I was livid.  How cold!  How uncaring can this individual be?  I explained to my daughter that perhaps the tooth fairy was extra busy last night and was still on her way.  “It’s still pretty early,” I suggested.  “Maybe she had to pick up so many teeth last night that she is running behind.”  (Note: I use ‘she’ herein as a general reference term.  Because I have never met the tooth fairy face to face, I cannot be sure what gender he, or she is.  I did almost see her once, when I was a boy, but it was from behind and kind of dark in the room, so I wasn’t able to come to any decisive conclusion.  But, that thought assumes my children have the same tooth fairy as I did, which, I suspect is probably unlikely.  In any case, please substitute ‘he’ for ‘she’ if you feel so inclined.)

Of course telling my daughter the tooth fairy was busy was a lie (something I very much dislike about being a parent and avoid whenever possible).  Obviously, the tooth fairy just fell down on the job and misplaced the information about coming to our house that night.  But that was way too crushing for my sweet daughter to hear, and way too complicated for me to explain when I had just woken up. 

In the end, everything turned out okay because the tooth fairy came through while everyone was gone from the house.  In addition to the traditional one dollar bill, she even threw in an extra ten cents for having messed up so bad. 

You would think she would have learned her lesson.  And you would think she would want to try harder to hang onto her extra ten cents.  But no, like a week or ten days later, it’s the same old, same old around here.  This time it was my son who was ripped off.  But he’s a little older, and tougher, and I think also a little more forgiving.  He seemed to be okay with it and nonchalantly mentioned the incident at breakfast that morning. 

“Again?” I shouted.  Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to him, but I was infuriated.  “This is an outrage!  Who does one complain to about these things?”  I gave him the same old, worn out speech about the tooth fairy being busy.  He seemed to be okay with that.  Besides, I think he was excited about the possibility of an extra dime. 

Later that night, as he went to bed, he casually asked, “Is the tooth fairy a man or a woman?”  Without giving us time to answer, he mentioned that if we saw the tooth fairy tonight, maybe we could remind him or her that he had lost a tooth.

“I don’t know if it’s a man or a woman,” I said.  “And we probably we won’t see him or her before we go to bed.  But, if we do, we will let him or her know.” 

Fortunately, without any prompting from us, the tooth fairy did make it to our house that night.   And again, he or she left a little something extra for my son’s troubles. 

Last month, all totaled, the tooth fairy came to our house four times.  Twice she caused a stir and twice she did her job flawlessly.  I’ve had a thought that makes me reconsider my position on the whole thing.  In baseball, a 50% average gets you instantly inducted into the hall of fame.  So maybe it’s not as bad as it could have been.

Come to think of it, it’s probably a tough job keeping track of all those kids and teeth and dollar bills.  And it’s got to be hard trying to never get caught, and then never getting any credit for all that sneaking around and stuff.  I suggest, everyone just forgive the tooth fairy for a little mistake here and there.  Maybe she’s new to the job or maybe it’s just a second job to help make ends meet.  Whatever her problem is, please forgive if you can.  But, if that’s too much to ask, maybe we should all just cut her a little slack. 

Clark

Photo fo the Day - Tree in a Snowy Field and a Pair of Eagles

I've been driving a lot for work lately.  Today I had to stop for a minute and take a few photos of this tree.  

Today I'm also going to do a bonus photo.  Not a great shot but definitely a great subject.

 
A few minutes before I took the photo of the tree in the snowy field, I saw a Bald Eagle, with what I assumed was a juvenile Bald Eagle.  Before this, I took a few photos of the adult as it flew around.  After I got home and downloaded the photos, I found a third Eagle on a fence post that I hadn't even noticed before. 

Clark

Feel the Fear

First I have to say this photo doesn't even remotely do this waterfall justice.  My daughter is about 40 feet above the pool at the bottom of the fall and about 50 feet away.  She's roughly at the same height as the big, red rock on the other side of the gorge. 

So the election thing didn’t work out quite like we had expected.  To avoid sounding bitter or discouraged, that’s all I’m going to say about that part of it.

But, I will mention a bit about the great kids who ran in this election.  There were six girls and six boys that made it through the primary election.  On Friday, this was narrowed down to three girls and three boys.  The kids found out right at the end of the school day.  After the announcement was made to the school, the six girls – the three that won and the three that lost - all went out together for a Hawaiian Ice and a movie.  I think this showed some good character and sportsmanship on the part of the girls that lost the election, as well as the girls that won.

Before our daughter came home from the movie, we wrote her a quick letter, telling her how proud we were of her for going after this lofty goal.  Earlier in the week, while she was preparing for her speech, we had talked with her about some of the great speakers of the past.  In the letter after the election, we quoted Winston Churchill, who said, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

This has led me to consider the changes in our family over the past couple of years.  For a while now, we have been trying to do more things outside our current comfort zones.  It’s the old idea of feeling afraid and still doing it anyway.  These opportunities can be as small as making a phone call we are uncomfortable with or diving into a swimming pool.  Or they can be big things, like starting a business or writing a book (or a blog).

One of the more recent and dramatic of these was last summer in Yellowstone National Park.  Before we left for our vacation, we heard about a waterfall that you can swim through and hang out behind.  We easily found the place and decided to give it a try.  Everyone put on their life jackets and we trudged down to the water’s edge.

For some reason, I had pictured an easy swim under a thin, clear sheet of smooth water.  This waterfall was anything but; at the bottom of the trail we found a thick wall of turbulent white water, thirty feet tall and twenty feet wide, crashing into a deep, dark pool of swirling, green water.  In addition to that, it started raining and hailing just as we got there.

After the storm passed on, we decided to go for it.  I went first, to see what it was like.  In a few words, the journey through the pounding wall was horrible, amazing, terrifying, thundering, disorienting, and hugely satisfying.  Once on the other side, I swam to the back of the shallow cave and stood on a rock for a minute.  I could not see out of the wall of water and couldn’t hear anything but the roar of falling water on stone and more water.  The spray coming off the back of the waterfall was so intense, I couldn’t face into it for more than a few seconds.  After catching my breath, and regrouping my courage, I headed back out.

On the other side, I found my children, excited and terrified by what was in store.  One at a time, I took them into the deep pool, explained how it would feel, what they would see, and what we should do once we got inside.  No one was forced to go, thought I encouraged each with the understanding that they would either regret not going or feel good about it if they did go.

Two more times I went through the crashing wall into the cave, first with the oldest, then the next oldest, and two more times I came back out.  Finally, it was time for the last run.  My six year old daughter cried as she told me she did want to go.  I could see the noise and the cold water were starting to break her down.  We stood, our eyes at about the same level, her on a rock in knee deep water beside me.  I explained again what she should expect and do as we swam.  Finally, exasperated, she cried out above the thundering noise, “But I’m afraid!”

I leaned close to her and whispered in her ear.  “I’m afraid too,” I confided, “but I just do it anyway.”  She looked me in the eye, amazed by what her dad had just said.  Then, as if something had just clicked into place, I watched her face change suddenly from fear to determination.  She immediately gripped my hand and stepped off into the deep water.

That was a win for her, and for every one of us.  On the other hand, the election this past Friday was not.  One experience makes it easier to try next time, while the more recent example could have just the opposite effect.  Each of us, and especially our jobless politician, will have to dig a little deeper the next time we decide to step again out onto a limb.  But, I’m pretty sure she’ll be just fine.  Besides, she’s already told me she’s running again next year.

Clark

Election Day

I don't have a ton of these reposts left, but I want to get them back on the internet.  So thanks for your patience.  This was first posted on May 29, 2009.

Today is the big day at the elementary school.  Who will be on the next Student Council?  More specifically, will our daughter be among them?  She has her speech all ready and she has practiced it plenty.  She seems confident and has been filled with enough tips and positive mental attitude stuff to last her a lifetime.

Last night, after she went to bed, I was thinking a little about what she has to do today.  For the first time in my life, I got butterflies for someone other than myself.  It was kind of an interesting experience, and reminded me immediately of the first time I remember getting them for myself.  I have had the butterflies many times since then and don’t think about it much anymore.  But that first time, I had no idea what was going on and had to ask my mom what was happening to me.  Now, all these years later, I wonder the same thing.

I know I just wrote the other day about how she is so wonderful and special and means so much to me.  And, of course, she is all of these things and more.  But it amazes me that someone can be such a part of me, of who I am, and of what I feel and think, that I actually get butterflies when she is taking the stage.  Wow.  That’s incredible to me.

I actually don’t like the butterflies.  I don’t hate them or anything, but it’s definitely a feeling I don’t love.  At the same time, it’s a feeling I wouldn’t ever avoid.  For me the butterflies are a way of knowing I’m alive and that I’m doing something that will help me grow and learn more about myself or the world.

Today it won’t be me standing in front of the audience, but the butterflies are still letting me know I’m alive.  I’m growing as a parent, and as a person.  And it’s nice to also recognize that my capacity to love and feel for another human being is also growing.

So this morning I think I’ll sneak into the school during the assembly.  I’ll stand in the back doorway of the auditorium and watch her speak.  I’ll feel some of what she feels and experience for myself some of what she is experiencing.  My first baby is growing up and I want to be there to feel it.

Clark

Rock Rock Chair

Sleep-eating a carrot in the rock rock chair

This was first posted May 30, 2009 on my other, now dearly departed blog.

I slept most of the night in the baby's room, sitting awkwardly in the big rocking chair.  The baby wasn’t feeling well, though we never did find out what was going on.  He would cry every time we set him down in bed so it was just easier to hold him.  We did try letting him cry for a little while to see if he was just messing with us, but it was hard to listen to his crying.  Because he’s such a good baby, and normally so great about just plopping down in bed and going to sleep, we figured it must the real deal.

Normally the chair rips my back or neck apart and after one night of sitting there, I pay for about four days.  But this morning I actually don’t feel too bad.  As I sat there, I thought about when we first bought that chair, just over nine years ago.  Our oldest was a bad sleeper and needed to be rocked to sleep every night.  This is a luxury reserved only for the oldest child.  I’m not sure if that’s because you don’t have as much time with the second child, or if you just learn your lesson and get better at saying, no.  Probably a bit of both.

Every night I would settle into the chair and she would lie across my lap.  She would use one armrest as a pillow and the other for her feet.  Most nights I would get up within 30 minutes or an hour and drop her in her bed.  But some nights I would fall so deeply to sleep that I would end up spending the entire night there, sitting in the chair.

We bought this chair a few months after Kris died.  My mom got some money in an insurance settlement and gave some to each of her boys to buy something to remind us of Kris.  With part of the money, I bought a nice watch at a pawn shop.  Kris spent a lot of time in pawn shops, so I thought it would be a good way to connect with him.  I found a store near his home, one I assumed he had been in from time to time, and there found just the right watch for me.

With most of the rest of the money, we bought a big, blue, rocking recliner chair.  I remember standing years ago at his grave, crying and telling him how we would rock our children to sleep in the chair and tell them stories about the uncle they never met.  If not perfectly, this is a promise I have tried hard to keep.

In many ways, this chair has come to represent, or even take the place of my brother.  It has become literally, his contribution toward raising some of his nieces and nephews.  Bought with the most precious money I have ever held, this chair has served our family well.  And all these years later, it’s still fairly nice, though a little dated, and showing signs of those many, long hours service to our family.

It won’t be long until our baby doesn’t need to be rocked each day for a few minutes at bedtime.  And eventually the long nights of rocking a sick child in the chair will only be a memory.  But, even when the old chair’s productive years of service have passed, we will still keep it around for a long, long time.

Clark