One of Saturday's Golden Moments

Life has its rewards. Usually you have to work for them, but that only makes them better. For instance, a meal may take hours to prepare and only a few moments to consume. A party may take days of planning and work only to be over in a few hours. Yard work is like that too, but the reward is something I look forward to and it keeps me working until I am there.



What is the reward? I will explain. Once the mowing, weed eating, blowing, stick picking up, and plant watering is done, I am hot, covered with sweat, dirt, and grass, and powerful thirsty. Not to worry, because I have a refrigerator with beer in it. Now, I prefer dark beers, but for this moment it is a can of Bud Light.



I walk back outside with the ice cold can of beer. I take a seat in the swing under the shade of one of our live oak trees. The can is cold in my hand and the beads of sweat are running down the can and dripping on my leg. It is a welcome shock of cold. My legs are crossed and the one on the ground gently pushes me in the swing. I am being rocked and listening to the afternoon lullaby. A distant lawn mower buzzes occasionally hitting sticks causing the clank chink sound. The poor bastard is still working in his yard, but I am enjoying the reward. I also hear the whir of the neighbors air conditioner. Children can be heard screaming and splashing in another neighbor's pool. The afternoon clouds filter the sun and though hot, the gentle breeze feels cool and refreshing. The yard looks so good. It's all done for another week.



It is so comfortable and the beer is going straight to my head. I feel sleepy and allow my eyes to close. I concentrate on a lone bird scolding a cat or a squirrel and I am aware of the high pitched hiss of insects. It is all so peaceful, the cool beer, the gentle breeze, the rhythmic rocking, and all in a freshly cut lawn.



Five minutes pass and I begin to think about the next thing. I have a few pounds of boiled shrimp I need to peal for our salad tonight, yum. I need to throw away the empty can and take a shower. My work is complete and the rest of the weekend is for rest and fun. This moment is truly golden.



Life does not get much better than this if you ask me. I am healthy, my grass is cut, and there is plenty of beer in the refrigerator.



Until the next time

John Strain

Weekend Replay: Hunting Elephants With A Squirt Gun

Originally posted September 12, 2003. This post attempts to explain some of the things about men which are often seen as flaws. It is the silver lining, if you will, of some of the lesser appreciated male behaviors.

Until the next time

John Strain

Fireflies

These sultry July nights wrap arms of heat and humidity around you like a warm blanket. The crickets and night sounds are an ancient soundtrack which has played for eons of time. If I sit in my yard in the dark, my memory soon conjures images of summers past. Right now, I am thinking about lightning bugs or fireflies.



As a child, fireflies had a magical aura. What else could explain living, flashing lights in the night? I remember playing outside after the evening meal. As the sun slowly slipped beneath the horizon, color drained from the earth and darkness reigned. But in defiance to the darkness, tiny points of light began to blink. Silent lights piercing the darkness, moving and flickering were attached to little bugs. I remember their smell and the look of their light in my hand as they walked about.



Of course, as children, we had to possess them. Many times I ran scurrying through the garage for a mayonnaise jar, hammer, and large nail. After poking some holes in the lid and throwing a handful of grass in the jar, it was ready to hold the lightning bug catch for the evening. Sometimes there were two or three jars, but most of the time, the jar was filled by group effort. Some kids, usually girls, and I am pointing my finger at my own sister, made rings of the fireflies. I think they made the usual clover ring, then set it with a firefly butt. I was not nearly as brutal with my treasure. I let them out before going in for the evening.



In our neighborhood, the adults often gathered in one yard or another for coffee and conversation. They would sit around in the old aluminum and nylon strap lawn chairs. The glow of a cigarette would illuminate a face, laughter and happy voices surrounded their group. The kids would run through to show them the jar of fireflies or to seek arbitration in some sort of childish conflict.



Eventually, the party would break up. The parents would send little brothers or little sisters to tell the older children it was time to come in, and it would be time for baths and bed.



This describes many of my summer nights growing up. At the time, they seemed so ordinary, now they have become sweet memories.



I looked up fireflies on Google and found an explanation of how they "light up." If you are interested in knowing how fireflies work read this. One other thing I read which I found interesting had to do with one species of firefly. The female of the species has learned to mimic the light patterns of other breeds of lightning bugs. The duration of the light and the time between blinks is a form of communication fireflies use to "hook up." Each species has their own blink pattern. Anyway, these females blink various patterns. When a male responds to her, they either mate if they are alike OR if the male is a different species than her, she eats him. Talk about your bait and switch cons. Sheesh.



Well, it's getting late, I think I hear my dad yelling for me to come home.



Until the next time

John Strain

Taking Yourself Seriously - Or Not

I am the kind of person who really gets into things. I have been using computers since the early 80's. Desktop publishing appealed to me because I could go beyond a plain old page of text. Unless you used a typewriter before a word processor, you may not be able to appreciate just how neat it was to be able to put text in BOLD, italics, and to underline. Beyond these tools were the use of graphics and different sized headlines and don't forget fonts. Some of the first flyers I made were so "busy" with everything my software could do it would have done most car lots or firecracker stands proud.



At any rate, I learned desktop publishing and used it in my work in churches and as a student. One particular piece I worked on was to be a church bulletin insert. I spent several days designing the flyer, scrutinizing the text, and making it happen. When it was finished and copied, I was proud. It looked good. Barbara knew how hard I had worked on it and always encouraged my ideas relating to the flyer. As you may know, there is great satisfaction when a project is completed. One of the things I really like is when people notice and comment. I am sure this is one reason I like blogging.



Anyway, Sunday came and the bulletin insert made its debut. I guess I expected people to look at it and say something like, "man, check out this bulletin insert. I have never seen anything like it. It's beautiful and well written. Who did this? Author! Author!" I will never forget standing in the sanctuary after church and looking at the empty pews. Hymnals and bulletins littered the seats and sanctuary floor. One of my inserts was lying on the floor and I stood there looking at it. The contrast of my expectations against a lonely piece of trash on the floor, struck me as funny. Things began to fall into their true perspective. Not everyone appreciates what it takes to make a bulletin insert. Something that was very important to me was not important at all to someone else.



Then I thought about all of the pieces of junk mail I had thrown away without opening. The newspapers and magazines I never read. I realized someone had sweat and worked on them like I worked on the insert. Something important to someone else was not at all important to me. It all came full circle. I realized there were things I was passionate about and things I could care less about. We are all like that.



So take your passions seriously, but take yourself a little less so.



Until the next time

John Strain

Comes The Dawn

A poem I have always liked follows below. It is a poem of perspective and attitude. There are many bits of wisdom in this poem and they are beautifully arranged.



Comes the Dawn

After awhile you learn the subtle difference

between holding a hand and chaining a soul.

And you learn that love doesn't mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

And presents aren't promises.

And you begin to accept your defeats with you head up and your eyes open.

With the grace of maturity, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on

today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans,

And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After awhile you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,

Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure...

That you really are strong

And that you really do have worth.

And you learn and learn and learn...

With every goodbye you learn.

 

Author: Veronica A. Shoftstall



I like the line, "So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers." What are you waiting for someone else to do? Stop waiting and do it for yourself. From cut flowers to painting the back room, this is the stuff of decorating one's own soul.



I jut wanted to spread a little encouragement and motivation today. When you realize that you are enough, you will have tapped a great resource.



Until the next time

John Strain