Surprise from the past...

When I was born we were a family of five living in a small single trailer in my grandmother's backyard. Being that my great-grandmother passed away just before I was born my parents eventually acquired the homestead and we moved down the hill, into the garage (being far more spacious than the trailer) and my Daddy got to work on upgrading the house so that we could live in it.

Over the next two years Daddy did everything from stripping the stairs, painting, enlarging the fireplace, building book shelves, adding a whole new kitchen with beautiful wooden beams overhead, and putting in a powder room and laundry where the old walk in oven used to be.

That was a long time ago.

For years I've been on my mom to allow me to redo the powder room and laundry. She has finally given her consent. I've chosen the colors, new fixtures, toilet, sink, flooring, refinished my great-grand father's old shaving mirror from the early 1900's and finally... got the contractor.

First the powder room was completed. It looks amazing, just needs a bit of detail work that I intend to get to shortly.

We are now working on the laundry room... or I should say he is. As much as I want to watch his every move in order to learn, this job is beyond my skills and I try to stay out of his way.

That being said... he came to get me and asked if my father's name was Donald. He had found something and wanted to show me.



My mother's name is also Lydia. Unfortunately the rest of the message continues under the wall and into the powder room where it was not necessary to go that far down with the demolition.

Touching my Daddy's words touched my heart. I took photos so I could show my mother. She was never aware of his writing the message. The "bilt in" date was easy... it would be 1963. It was the PSA that took a little more thought.

At first my mother was a little perplexed and then between the both of us... all the pieces came together. Daddy was a religious man... when I suggested that it was the beginning of the word Psalms, she looked at her wedding ring and simply said, "I know."

When they were married he had their wedding bands engraved with Psalms 48:14.
For this God is our God forever and ever; he will be our guide even unto death. He was blessing the house and all those who would reside within.

Post script: That which I found endearing, was that when my father passed away he and I were in the midst of redoing my bedroom. When contractors were hired, before they put the paneling on the walls, under the window I wrote a message on the plywood to Daddy and left a date, 1976. It must be genetic.

It was difficult to allow the words to be covered again. It is so rare that I encounter a piece of my father. It was such a gift.

Baby blues....

Maybe the reason I enjoy peaking into their nests so much is because my own is empty...

but I do find the numerous relationships about my yard fascinating... and their results magical.

Fallen Hero....

Was it last night? Perhaps two days ago when I caught a two minute segment of the news announcing that another young American solider had been killed in Iraq. The Freedom Riders (?) a group of motorcyclist rode to his home to show support.

What captured my attention was first, the he was just a boy in my eyes... 26... but one year older than my first son. Secondly, that he was from Northampton, the town in which I work, just a few miles from where I live.

For the first time this war hit close to home. I couldn't help but wonder if my boys might have known him. And my God, what his mother must be feeling.

Today I hopped in my car to run a quick errand that took me to a little strip mall at Frank's Corner... When I came out of the shop I heard the rumble of the bikes, too many to count. Initially I thought, "what a great day for a ride" and glanced in the direction they were headed. At the corner there was a police car stopping traffic so that they might get through without interruption. My thoughts again went to the ride... it must be special of some sort... but nothing registered.

It was then that I started to watch the long line of motorcycles. I got into my car which was facing the road. As I started the car and headed to the exit of the lot the song Freebird came on the oldies station that was dialed in. Once I reached the exit I had time to start processing everything I was seeing. Behind the motorcycles were cars, many of which had American flags attached to their windows, everyone's lights and flashers were on.... and then came the fire truck draped in black and purple and I realized that I was witness to a funeral procession. And then it became clear as to who's procession I was in witness thereof.

I put my car in park and watched in awe... and in time found myself sobbing. I did not see the hearse, the family as it followed or the beginning of the bikes... but the portion I did see lasted the entire length of the song. It's a ten minute song. The words of which could not have been more appropriate for the occasion. I was no more able to turn off the radio than to stop the line of cars in front of me. All I could do was wipe away the tears that came freely.



Without a doubt I was witness to the procession of the fallen hero from Northampton. May his family be comforted by the outpouring of love on his behalf.

As I pulled out onto the road I glanced over at the strip mall. People had come out of the shops to also bear witness. I cannot imagine that anyone who bore witness to this event was not moved deeply, if not to tears.

May God welcome him with open arms and surround those left behind.

Let this not be another forgotten war. Bring them home. Safe.