Lessons learned

It is raining in earnest. Griffin, too. I am sitting here at 5:20, watching "King of the Hill". Hank tried to get a reinactment of the battle of the Alamo for the benefit of Bobby and the rest of the students at Tom Landry Middle School. Unfortunately, everyone had their own idea of history. As Hank said, he had been taught that the men who died at the Alamo were there to try to gain freedom for the Texicans from Mexico. I suppose it is debatable as to the value of their motivations. Many of them had left their homes and places of business back east to find a new life in Texas. Many of them had left behind failures and troubles in their past. But they died at the Alamo trying to keep a more numerous force of Mexicans from reaching the rest of the Texicans before they were ready to defend themselves. It was a futile effort. In light of the end result and the odds of their attempt to stop a more numerous force of better trained and armed army from Mexico, it did show bravery to stand up to the Mexican army. Bravery is not always smart or the more prudent act. It is true, however, that their actions kept the Mexicans at bay long enough for Sam Houston to organize his troops and find a place where they could defend themselves and win the day. The winners write the history. That is true. And there are parts of the story which don't support the truth of the telling. But the importance of the story is not lost over time. The bravery of the acts don't disappear with the years. We need to know and recognize their sacrifice, even if the motivations for their actions was flawed. The story needs to stay in the books. And retained in our memories.

Coho salmon at end of day

In a collection of fishing boats near Craig, Alaska:

Among the expectant lines
The relentless flow ran in and out
The Summer sun rising and falling
Toward the end of a perfect day,
And we all saw the silver salmon, pink striped
And black speckled, like a puppy.
Playfully flipping, leaping, swimming
Freely up from the chilly water through the cool air.

Sensing his freedom, we shared his joy,
Shared his freedom briefly, a candle flicker moment, then lost it,
Despite our collective wish to capture it, own it in each of our hands:
A hopeless attempt at what we could not grasp.

But we could feel the joy in the experience
And share that brief moment of freedom.
As we chuckled together in the August sunshine.

Fall memories

Well, it feels like rain. It must be rain. Tomorrow will probably be one of those days in which the phone won't ring, people won't come and I will probably find myself napping in my chair, instead of working. Oh well.

These are those days in Fall when you can enjoy the warmth of the hearth, literally or figuratively, at the end of the day, with a cup of hot tea and warm light and the nearness of your loved ones. Ah, the dying light of Autumn and the restful peace of a quiet evening at home.

I really enjoy driving in late November and early December in Georgia. The pastel light of early evening. The shadows of the leafless trees against the western sky. Driving of 441 toward Athens and Madison, then to Monticello and Jackson and on homeward to Griffin. Stopping on the road in Monticello to buy ice cream at the Dairy Queen. Taking comfort in those bright colorful lights glowing in the early darkness of evening. Sweetness, lapping up the creamy sweetness. Driving on as the light dies around you. I love it.

Friday night, high school football season is heading into the playoffs. You can see the lights and hear the roar as something unseen on the field prompts the fans to cheer in unison. It is a mixture of the fun of watching the boys play and a memory of being on that field yourself. Seeing the bugs flying through the lights. Feeling the adrenelin running through your veins, as the quarterback barks out the signals and you await the moment of motion. The dance of the players, the pull and tug. The dull pain in your head. Feeling your feet a few inches off the ground. Grabbing the quarterback in the backfield and flinging him to the ground.

That was my favorite moment on the field. One time against Cedar Grove, I stunted and rushed through the gap between the center and the guard, and followed the quarterback as he rolled away from me. I was a cat chasing its prey, unseen, lithe. I grabbed his shoulders and spun him around and as I pulled him down toward the green grass, he released the ball, flung it away out into the empty flat. As I walked back toward our huddle, I noticed the line judge throwing a flag. I knew what that meant: intentional grounding.

At the blowing of the electrical currents through my synapses, I realized the significance of the little yellow piece of cloth. I jumped upward into the air in a movement which was not very different from the joyful leaping of a silver salmon, jrising into the air, exhibiting pure joyfulness in the extreme.

Several days later, my future wife told me saw me jump for joy on the field. She really didn't know why, but it was the noticing that was the important part. Still is.

Anyway, Fall is a grand time. Cool weather. The dying leaves. Football under the lights on a Friday night. And Saturday afternoons in Virginia on Wilson field in Lexington. Cool comfort in the dying light.

Monday morning, 7:00 a.m.

I walked Tex out this morning and I could feel a little drizzle. I thought this rain was coming later in the week. I was getting used to the cool, dry weather. Now we get another day of rain to soak into the ground again. It seems like this whole year has been full of rain. I know when I have travelled over Lake Lanier recently it seems nice and high. I am sure all of the people who have houses around the lake are pleased. They may be the few group of homeowners in Georgia whose homes might have held their values because they suddenly had real lakefront homes.

Well, it is brew coffee time.

A long, strong line

The old steeple points to Heaven. This is the parish church of Mitcheldean, the church in which my ancestors worshipped in Gloucestershire. One ancestor was prosecuted and punished because he followed Martin Luther. Another was moved to assist the conspirators who tried to blow up Parliament and King James I. Later, an ancestor tried to support Prince Charles Edward of Scotland and was sent to live in Virginia for fourteen years. He never returned. His descendants fought with George Washington and watched the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown.

Scottish ancestors who were forbidden from worshipping God in the manner in which they chose. Their marriages were considered illegal; their children were illegitimate. Meanwhile, the landlords in Scotland dispossessed their tenants. They emigrated to America and Canada. They left Scotland forever.

Meanwhile, the same thing happened in Northern Ireland. Before the potato famine drove our Catholic brothers to the four corners of the world, the same English Parliament passed laws which made it impossible for Scots-Irish in Ulster to live without giving up their religious traditions. Many made their way to America, spreading down the Appalachians and then out to Kentucky and Tennessee.

Playing cowboys in the snow after a birthday party, probably. Going to church at the Methodist church between the north and south lanes of Us 41 between Clarksville and Hopkinsville. Growing up and leading children to Georgia. Then grandchildren, in Georgia and Florida.

And today we celebrated those traditions and connections to the past and to the future. Katy Scot got her own Bible in Sunday School today. She was very proud. Kate carried a tartan banner with her middle name, McKay, printed on the top. She was proud, also. Traditions and connections.

"As for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord."

Kirkin the tartans

The skies were bright blue this morning and there was a crispness to the temperature which let you know it was Autumn. I woke up early and made salmon dip and a chicken dish made with Drambuie, a Scottish liquour. After we all got cleaned up this morning, we adorned our church clothing with the McKay tartan.

When we got to church, we could see several members of the congregation out front, wearing kilts of various clans. There was a piper, holding his bagpipes in readiness. We walked over to fellowship hall and left the salmon dip and the drambuie chicken for Sunday dinner after services.

Afterward, we entered the sanctuary and saw the tartan banners hanging on the walls. Toward the back was the McKay banner, with a note on the pew for Kate to sit next to the banner. Later, as I went back into the choir room to get dressed for services, Kate took the banner and entered the narthex with the rest of the celebrants for the beginning of services.

We were waiting in the choir room, listening to the flautist and harpist playing the prelude. When the finished, we entered the choir loft and sat down. Suddenly, the sanctuary was filled with the sounds of bagpipe music, playing "Be Thou My Vision." The piper entered, followed by a member, wearing a kilt, and holding a wooden cross. Then came another kilted member with an old Bible, then the ministers and elders, followed by various members of the congregation carrying the tartan banners. At the end was Shelley McKay, carrying the McKay banner.

During the service, we had harp and flute duets, a recitation of the old Scottish creed, an anthem based on a gaelic rune by John Rutter. Afterwards, the celebrants left the sanctuary with the bagpipes. We left also and went to supper. People seemed to like my chicken. Afterwards, we went to the field next door and held "highland games" for the children. It was a bright, sunny day, getting warmer.

Toward the end of the service, I couldn't help but think about dad. I thought he really would have enjoyed the special service. The 'kirkin of the tartans' is a celebration, in our church, of our traditions and heritage. We look back to our beginnings. and remember our families and their place in our lives. I have been thinking about all of those family members ever since. This was a day to celebrate the past, enjoy the present, and consider the future. There seemed to be more little girls and boys with red hair and blue eyes today than normal. Maybe it was just me.

As the old year slowly dies, the new one confronts us with all of its promise and opportunities.

No rain in early November

I went up to my office for a little while today and got very little done, but I did get to leave the office and see the sky turn an incredible orange-blue. It was cool, like fall, but wasn't raining, which was an improvement. Apparently, this was a weekend for naps. After working with Habitat on rehabbing a house, I took a shower, dressed and then filled yesterday with naps. I would be hard pressed to count how many naps I took, and it continued this afternoon, after church.

Cindy, Kate and I went to church, then came home and took our good clothes off and then headed to J. Henry's for lunch. Afterward, there wasn't anything to do but turn the tv on and sleep in front of the programs. Later, I had to go into the office, and, as I said, the only thing of significance was the late afternoon sky.

Now there is a full moon shining over the southland, and I wonder what effect it might have on us this early November.

We gather together....to nap and avoid the rest of the rain.