Past Imperfect/Future Tense

I'm writing a book ("Hunter's Moon"), and this chapter is inspired by a YouTube short of Matthew West's.

The setting, time-wise, is in the nineteen-eighties, in the Colorado Rockies just south of Wyoming, mid-winter high country. Rugged, unforgiving, but beautiful country.
Levi is Minerva's dad, and also son to Mordechai (who isn't present here). There is a friend, named Matt Williams, who helps out.

Past Imperfect/Future Tense

By

Dana Hansen

(With thanks to Matthew West, whose YouTube Short inspired this chapter.)

 

(Levi)

I’m standing in my boots and parka, at the beginning of the biathlon trail. There’s no biathletes training today, and we’re dressed more warmly than usual, Min and me. Today’s exercise will be slow walking, rather than running, since we’re outfitted with the bearpaws instead of skis. Snow is coming down, but lightly. It shouldn’t affect my plans by much.

I look over at Min, snowflakes dusting the hood of her parka. She’s also wearing her dark brown skier’s headband, like I asked her to. She looks back at me.

“So what’s the plan, Dad?” she asks, smiling. Besides the bearpaw snowshoes, we have our day packs and ski poles. We’re outfitted for an easier day than usual, and she recognizes this. Smart girl.

“We’re just going to walk easy today. We’ll take the spectator’s track instead of running the race trail. We need a rest, and I need to reset the targets anyway.”

She laughs, “Funny way of resting.”

I chuckle, “You know how it is by now, we rest by—”

“—by working less hard. I know, Dad.”

“Well then, no surprise, right? We gotta keep the muscles moving so they don’t forget what they’re for.”

“Well, I’m getting cold. Don’t you think we oughta get moving?”

A small shiver runs over my shoulders, “Right as rain, er, snow, as always. You go ahead and set the pace for the first bit. Remember, fast enough to warm, but not make us sweat.”

She leads off the march, “I know, Dad, for Pete’s sake!”

“I know you know. But you know me…”

“I know. Sometimes, you’re worse than Mom.”

“Heaven forfend! Not worse than your mother!”

Her laugh comes back over her shoulder, her breath are puffs of white smoke in the cold air. I find myself grinning just from the joy of being outdoors. As we settle into an easy pace my mind drifts to other times, other places…

The time Poppa and I walked this trail in autumn with bows and quivers, not intending to shoot at anything, just walking, letting my jangled nerves learn again the rhythm of the woods. The time I was alone, just me and my backpack, looking for a suitable place to make a camp for the night. I missed a trick that time, night caught me before I had a fire built. Another time, I was caught in a summer thunderstorm, and I cursed everything in the world. Then, any wood I found to build a fire with was soaked and my matches had got wet. I cursed the wood, the matches, the rain, the forest, the sky itself, for all the good it did.

A sudden swirl of wind brought me a faceful of snowflakes, not terribly hard, but enough to remind me of where I was.

Min had gotten farther ahead that I had expected. I picked up my pace to catch her up.

When I got close, I called, “Hey, girl child. If you’re leading, you need to look back over your shoulder to make sure you still have followers!”

Min stopped. “You don’t,” she called back.

“Yah I do.”

“Since when?”

“Don’t argue with your elders, young’un.”

“I will if I wanna!”

She sounded sassy, but so did I, and we both were smiling.

I made a note to in the future make sure my followers were where I thought they were; sauce for the gosling was sauce for the gander, after all.

“Behave yourself, before I wash your face with snow,” I replied.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oooh, wouldn’t I?”

She glared at me. I glared back. She broke into a laugh first, “You win.”

“That’s fine, Cublet. Tell you what, let’s slow the pace and walk side by side.”

“Sounds good. You want a cookie?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“Here,” she held out a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

“Hold on a minute, let me get out of my mitts,” I pull off my mittens and let them dangle. I take the bag, open it, then hold it out, “You first.”

Min pulls off a glove, reaches in a hand, grabs a few cookies. I close up the bag to save the rest for later, tucking the bag into my parka, then taking my share of the cookies from Min’s hand.

Between bites of cookie, I tell Min the rest of the plan for this day: “In a moment we’ll start today’s lesson.”

“I thought we weren’t going to do training today.”

“Silly Cublet. There’s always lessons to be learned,” I take a bite of my second cookie, “Great cookies, by the way. That’s one lesson you’ve learned well.”

“Dad!”

“What?! A very tasty lesson learned, I’d say.”

We munched the last of our cookies. “Good thing we put those away, I’d want to finish the bag, then no more cookies.”

“Ha-ha! I brought two bags, Dad!”

“That’s another lesson you’ve learned: never hurts to be overprepared.

I continue, “So for today’s lesson, I want you to learn three things. One, I will never leave you. Two, you can ask and tell me anything. Three, listen only to the sound of my voice. Now, repeat those back to me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Do you need them again?”

“No. ‘One, you will never leave me. Two, I can ask or tell you anything. Three, only listen to your voice.’”

“Close enough. I’ll be quizzing you on those three things while we’re walking, so be ready.”

“Okay, Dad.” Minor eye roll.

“Let’s get going then. I’m getting chilly just standing here.”

“Your turn to lead off, Dad.”

“That’s fair. Be sure to call out, if I get too far ahead.”

“No problem of that, Dad!”

A challenge, well…, “We’ll see.”

I zip up my parka (cookies still tucked inside), and pull my mittens back on. Then I grab my poles and start stretching my legs.

Taken by surprise, Min yells, “Wait up!” I slow my stride until I hear her close behind me.

“You there?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m here.”

She’s annoyed. Too bad. The corners of my lips twitch upward, “Let’s go, then. Stay close, but don’t dog my heels.”

“Right here, Dad.” Again the verbal eye-roll.

I set off again, snow blowing in my face. The wind should be at our back when we complete the loop. I set my pace to be steady, just fast enough to keep us warm, but not so fast as to break a sweat. I unzip the parka a little, anyway. I hear Min’s trudging steps behind me; with these bear-paws, it’s easy to step on a body’s heel if you get too close.

“Dad! Look!”

“Whichaway?”

“Left, in the bare tree.”

I look left, and sitting in the aspen is an unlikely sight: two bald eagles. “Glory! You’ve got a good eye, Min! I haven’t seen an eagle in years!” They’d been endangered for a couple of decades, “I’ll take that as a good sign.”

If there’re two, then they’re likely a mated pair. If they manage to winter over, then hopefully we’ll have eaglets. And then… I smiled at the thought. Nature is bouncing back, part of the way, anyway.

After a few more ups and downs we reached the far side of the loop. Here, there was a forestry picnic table for the spectators, covered in snow.

“Let’s break for lunch. I’ll clear the table,” So saying, I move my arm across the end of the table; the snow fell to the ground with a flumph! I continued down the table, leaning over the bench to do so. I then cleared off the bench. Loosening the straps to my ruck I swung it off my shoulders.

“I’m ready for it.” Min had loosened the straps to her rucksack as well, setting it on the table.

I brushed the snow off my arm, unzipped my parka, took out the bag of cookies, “Here’re your cookies, by the way.”

“Nah, they’re your cookies. I’ve got another bag, remember?”

“Thanks.” I got out my thermos out of my rucksack, “I packed coffee. How about you?”

“Earl Grey, extra sweet.”

“Yeey.”

“What? It’s better than your coffee.”

“Blasphemer! NO-things better than my coffee!”

“Dad, you can float nails on your coffee.”

“That’s how you know it’s ready.” I took out a sandwich and started munching. Between bites I asked, “So. What are the three things?”

Min mumbled past a bite of her sandwich, “Row?” Gulping, “I mean, now?”

“No better time.” I took another bite.

She swallowed, “One, you’ll always be there.”

“So far, so good.”

“Two, I can tell you anything.”

“You left out something.”

Thinking, “Oh, yeah, right. ‘ASK and tell...’.

“Yup. And?”

“And I should always listen to the sound of your voice.”

“That’s true, but not quite.”

“Huh? What’d I leave out?”

“ ‘Only.’”

“ ‘Only?’”

“ ‘Only,’” I confirmed, “ ‘Listen only to the sound of my voice.’”

“If you say so, Dad.”

“I say so. For this lesson, anyway.”

We munch our sandwiches and drink our tea and coffee. The forest was alive with sounds, muffled as it was by the snow. A raven made its slow way, changing course a little to check us out, gave a croak and continued its journey. I saw it swing towards the aspen with the eagles, then away, apparently thinking it was above its pay-grade to challenge the two majestic birds. There was a chattering in a pine about fifty yards away, then a racket of jays scolding at the bushy-tailed intruder.

Just as I was considering whether to save some coffee for later, I heard someone call, “Hello the camp. Can I come in?”

I looked up to see Matt Williams, a relative newcomer to our high country community. He’s been here  only about ten years. Only ten years. “Hey, Matt,” I yell back, “Sure, c’mon in.” When he gets closer I ask, “Wanna cookie? The Cub made ‘em.”

“The cub?”

“Y’know, Min. She’s getting to be a fair hand around a stove.”

“In that case, I don’t mind if I do.” I open the bag and hold it out. He takes a couple. “Thank you.”

“Most welcome. What brings you out on a snowy day?”

“The usual stuff: critters, and the things they do.”

It was then I noticed the camera slung behind him. “Did you catch the eagles back a ways?”

“I did! I was able to maneuver to a spot where they were backed by a pine, made them stand out more clearly.”

“I wouldn’t mind a print of ‘em, if you’ve a mind to share.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Matt replied, “By the way, what’re y’all out and about for?”

“Kinda the same things as you. And training.”

“ ‘Training?’”

“Always. Just ask her.”

Min answers without being asked, “He’s always training me on something.”

“Okay, cool. What’s up today?”

Min looks at me. “I’m not sure, Dad hasn’t told me yet.”

“He’s one for surprises?”

“Not usually, but today he is.”

Matt finished his last cookie. “Well, don’t get too cold. I gotta get these feet moving. Thanks again for the cookies!”

So saying, he hit the trail.

“We’d better get moving, too, kid.”

“Okay, Dad.”

We repack our bags, including the wrappers. I have a bit of coffee left, though it will likely be cooled off, despite the thermos, the next time I want a drink.

Min asks, “Who leads off this time?”

“I will,” I reply, “At least to where the trail bends back to the trailhead.”

“Sounds good.”

I settle my rucksack on my shoulders and arrange my poles in my hands. Min does the same, I look back to see if she’s ready and she give me a nod. I set off.

We shuffle down the trail in silence, letting the woods do the talking. The wind has died down, and it’s no longer snowing. The clouds are getting brighter, and we might just have some sunshine at our backs as we finish today’s hike.

The sun peeks out a bit just as we get to the eastward bend in the trail, and I call the halt. “Cookie break.”

“It’s kinda early, Dad.”

“You’re right. I’ll leave it up to you: cookie now or cookie later?”

“Later.”

“Great. Here’s where we’ll start today’s lesson. You still wearing that head band? Yes, I see that you are. What I want you to do is to pull it down over your eyes.”

“WHAT!?”

“Do you trust me, kid?”

“Yeah, Dad, but …”

“Don’t worry. Just pull down that head band, and tell me the three things again.”

“But … Okay. ‘One, you’ll always be here. Two, I can tell you and ask you anything. Three, listen only to your voice.’ Is that right?” she asked, as she finished adjusting the headband and pulling up her hood.

“Exactly right. What we’ll do is walk the next bit of trail together, my hand on your shoulder.”

“Okay. This is crazy, but okay.”

“Now we begin,” I say, placing my right hand on her left shoulder, “I’ll keep my steps short.”

I step off, she follows. She feels my rhythm and calls cadence under her breath. We continue this way a hundred yards or so.

 

(Min)

This is crazy. It’s been a fun walk so far, I don’t mind the cold. And spotting those eagles before dad did was cool! I’ve gotten used to his weird way of teaching me things, but now, in the cold, with my headband over my eyes, I’m nervous. ‘I’ll keep my steps short.’ he says. He steps, and, with his hand on my shoulder, I step, too.

He says, “Now, I want you to keep your eyes covered until I say otherwise. Understand?”

“I understand.” I didn’t, but whatever.

We walk on. I know this trail when there’s no snow, so I know…no, I think there’s nothing to trip us, me, in the next section of trail.

I ask, “Are you sure about this, Dad?”

He answers, “Of course I’m sure,” his voice sounds steady; I trust it, “I trust you to come through this practice just fine.”

I smile a little at his confidence in me, but I relax as we keep a steady pace, falling into the rhythm of the hike. I even start counting, ‘You had a good home and you left…’ under my breath. That helps calm me as well. We go on like this for a while, then Dad says, “I need my hand for a minute. Don’t worry, though, I’m right here.”

“Okay, Dad,” I reply. But I’m not sure I’m okay. But I continue counting cadence.”

“You’re veering off the trail. Come back left a little bit.”

I correct, “How’s that?”

“Better, but not quite so much.”

I make what I think is a smaller correction to the right.

“That’s better. Now keep straight on.”

I smile to myself. I can hear Dad’s breathing, and that helps.

“You’re slowing down. Are you okay?” Dad asks.

“I’m fine,” I answer, though I’m feeling the edge of panic, despite hearing his voice.

“That’s good,” he replies, “Remember Rule One.”

“I will.”

“Great. Now walk straight the next hundred feet. I might get a little ahead of you, but I’ll be here.”

“Okay, Dad.” A little ahead of me, what’s he playing at? I continue walking, trusting his voice. But I can’t hear his breathing anymore.

I go what I think is a hundred feet. My normal pace is about five feet, and I’ve counted twenty ‘left’s. “I think I’m there, Dad.”

You’re doing well, but you’re short the distance by about twenty feet.”

Twenty feet? “Uh, Thanks.” I do some quick mental math, and I take another five steps. “Where am I now?”

“Just about right. I’ll lead off the next few steps, then you follow my voice to get your bearing.”

“When will I ever use this?”

“You’ll have to trust me that there’s a purpose for this. I won’t play tricks on you or steer you wrong. Alright?”

“All right.” I shiver. I hadn’t really been feeling the cold, but without my sight, I’m feeling every little thing.

Dad says, “Okay. I’m about ten feet ahead of you. C’mon ahead.”

I’ve been sort of feeling my way, with the toes of my snowshoes and with my poles. I’m starting to feel bold enough to start taking bigger steps, back to my normal stride. I counted off twenty paces, and I’m beginning to feel comfortable when I manage to stub my toe on something. I don’t go down, but only because my poles were planted. Dad’s ahead of me, but he must have heard me stumble. I listen, like he’s taught me, but all I hear is a raven flying overhead. I feel I should call out for him, but … I think this must be some sort of test. I try to remember which cheek I last felt the breeze on and turn my face to match the memory.

I turn my body to match my face and confidently put my left foot forward and I feel a branch on my face. Startled, I take a couple of steps back. And bump into something.

“Oof!” I hear someone say. Turns out I backed into a someone, not a something.

“Sorry,” I say automatically.

The voice says, “Can I help you?”

I recognize that voice, Dad’s friend, Mr. Williams.

“I seem to have lost the trail. Can you help me find it again?”

“I might be able to do that for you. But you seem to have something over your eyes.”

“That’s part of the test.”

“Surely you can take … whatever it is, off of your eyes.”

“I’d better not.”

“Suit yourself. But tell you what, I’ll get out of your way. Then you can take about five steps back along your track, and take a right from there. Then you’ll be back on the trail.”

I remember that this was a friend of Dad’s, so I say, “I’ll give it a try.”

I do what I think is an about-face, and take five steps, then take a right. Now I’m stopped by tree.

Mr. William’s voice again, “Sorry, I should have said five of my steps.”

I’m shaky and about to cry, but I don’t dare, not in this cold. Then I remember:

“Dad!” I call.

“I’m right here, dear.” Sounds like he’s just a couple of feet away.

Relief crashes in like a flood. “Dad! Help?”

“Certainly. Take a step back.”

I do.

“Now turn to your left.”

“Can’t I push my headband back?” I plead.

“Not yet. Walk forward three steps.”

I do.

“Now make your right turn, and take just one step.”

Once more, I do so.

“Great. You seem to be pointed right. Now go ahead, carefully. I’ll be right here.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I’m still shaky, but my confidence is coming back.

“You’re welcome, Bear Cub. Let’s get back to the truck. I’m ready to eat another bagful of your cookies!”

 

(Matt)

 I watch the two of them walk off down the trail loop, back to the entrance. I follow at a distance, still on the lookout for anything photogenic. I snap a picture of them snowshoeing together, framed by two tall spruces, one on either side of the trail. I’ll include it with the print of the eagles.

Meanwhile, I sling my camera across my shoulder and stretch my arms wide. Then push off. The Golden Hour is coming up, and, if the clouds cooperate, I might get few more shots of the countryside before I pack it in for the evening.

I wonder what the special at the Dew Drop Inn is.

 

(Levi)

 At the truck, we’ve taken off our rucksacks and tossed our bear-paws and poles in the back. Min’s in the cab of the truck and firing up that big block Ford V-8. It’s making its normal sound of a camel slurping water before it catches, then settles down to a slow lope of an idle. I pull our thermoses from the rucks and root around for that second bag of cookies.

As a last thing before climbing in, I look around at the snow-covered forest. Cold, it may be. Forbidding, I’ll allow that some may think it so. Beautiful? Without question.

I kick the running board to knock the snow off of my boots, then open the driver-side door, “Slide over, Cublet! This big ol’ bear’s comin’ in!”

“I deserve to drive!” she says, softly, but with gritted teeth.

“Maybe so, but I’ve got your cookies! If you drive, I’ll eat ‘em all myself!”

“DAD! I’m mad!”

“At what?”

“At YOU!”

I should have anticipated this.

“You shouldn’t drive mad.”

She just glared at me.

I ask, gently, “Are you gonna slide over?”

“I’m not done being mad at you.”

“All right. I’ll take shotgun for now.” I close the door and walk around to the passenger side, open it up, toss in the bag of cookies and, more carefully, set the thermoses down on the seat. Then I haul my butt in, settle a little, and pull the door closed.

I look over at Min; she’s looking out the window at nothing. After the motor warms up and the idle is about twice as high as it needs to be, she taps the gas to unset the choke. When it drops to low idle, she angrily flips the heater switches and the fan roars to life. Min is not usually like this. She turns her head to glare at me, then back to staring out the windshield. I wait.

It took a while. The slanting sunlight shadows started walking their way up the pines.

About the time the sun disappeared from the top of the tallest pines she spoke, “I’m mad at you, Dad.”

I started to ask why, but she made a shushing motion.

“I’m mad. I trusted you. I was scared!”

There it was. I stayed silent, waiting.

“Dad, I know it was for some important lesson, but I was SCARED!” Her voice catches, then she says, “I thought you had disappeared, gone someplace!”

This was not some academic lesson at this point. I gave her more room to talk.

“I just… OOOOOOH!” She raised her right arm and thumped me several times on my shoulder. It hurt; She meant it to. I gritted my teeth and let her beat on my shoulder until she ran out of steam. It took a while. When she was done, she rested her head on the steering wheel. I could tell from her shaking that she was crying, but doing her best to not show it.

The truck had gotten very warm by then, so I turned the heater fan down. I asked, “You want a cookie?”

She looked up, sniffed, reached for a tissue from the bunch we keep in the glove box, and said, “Sure.”

I opened the bag, held it out. She reached in and took one. I find her thermos, pour her some of her Earl Grey tea. It’s even still warm. Sort of. “Here ya go.”

She takes her tea, and I repeat the motions with my coffee. It’s not as warm as her tea, but there wasn’t as much left to hold the heat. I take a sip anyway. I take a cookie as well.

Between munches, Min asks, “Dad? What was this all about?” Smart girl, she knows this wasn’t something random.

I take a sip of coffee. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure. I think you were testing me.”

“Oh? In what way?” I’m not giving anything away. Not yet.

“You wanted … to be sure that I’d follow your directions.”

“Maybe. What else?” I can see the thoughts chase around skull by the faces she makes.

“You wanted to see if I’d listen to just anyone else’s voice.”

“Rule Three.”

“Yeah. Rule Three. Was Mr. What’s-his-name supposed to be here today?”

I catch a movement out the window, in the dusk I see Matt walking towards his Jimmy. “You could ask him.”

Min sees where I’m looking, sees him as well. “Nah. I’d rather ask you.”

“Alright, Min, yes he was. It was a cunning plan, well executed. He played his part perfectly.”

She squinched her face at me, “What was his part?”

“He was supposed to lead you astray.”

“But I thought he was a good guy, you didn’t yell at him to stay away or anything. You even offered him a cookie.”

I smiled at her, “For the record, he is a good guy. He was playing the ‘red team’ part in the exercise.”

“Red Team?”

“Yeah. We’re the blue team and he was on the red team, the ‘opposing force’.”

“Yeah, but, you didn’t treat him like the enemy.”

I took a breath, let it out slowly. I asked, “Why do you think we played it that way?”

She finished her cookie, found the bag and got another. Eventually she spoke, “It was supposed to be like normal people. A normal day, except I was lost.”

“That’s part of it. Tell me more.”

“I’m not sure I trust you.”

“I can see that, but why?”

“Because you set me up to fail, in a dangerous place!”

I sighed. “I know this is going to sound like I’m blaming the victim, but what were you tasked with?”

“Huh?”

“Give me the three rules.”

“Dad!”

“No, really. What were the three rules?

“Okay! One. You’ll always be there!” I noticed the heavy sarcastic stress on ‘always’.

“Wasn’t I?”

“You were, then you weren’t!”

“I assure you, I was never more than ten feet away.”

“You were? But I couldn’t hear you!”

“A flaw in my character, I tend to go jungle quiet in the woods. I was there, in any case. What’s the second rule?”

“I can ask and tell you anything.”

“Correct. When you called me by name, didn’t I answer right back?”

Min nodded, “Then the third rule, only listen for your voice.”

I nodded, “And hearing my voice, we had the conversation that got you back on track.”

“So it was a test. And I failed.”

“No, Min, it wasn’t a test. And you didn’t fail.”

It was getting dark. Even so, I could tell that Min was very perplexed. I continued, “It wasn’t as much of a test as it was a demonstration. What was I demonstrating?”

Min’s face did that squinch thing again. “You were demonstrating that the best thing to do is listen for my guide, and follow the guidance.”

I nodded, then realized she probably couldn’t see me very well. So I said, “That’s right. And how easy it is to hear a nice-sounding voice and follow it instead.”

“So, in a way, I did still fail.”

A Bible verse went flitting through my head just then, but I couldn’t catch it. I did catch its flavor, “You made the same mistakes that we all do. This exercise just showed them to you.”

She munched on her cookie. I took one as well. We sat in the truck in the gathering night.

Finally she said, “I expect we ought to head home.”

“I expect you’re right. One more thing?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

I could hear the smile in her voice.

She reached for the driver’s seatbelt. I stowed the cookies and thermoses on the floor, and put on my own seatbelt. She turned on the lights, and gently put the truck into first gear, the gearbox thumping with a quiet authority.

 

The next chapter will be ‘After Action Report xxx’ (number to be filled in later), beginning with:

 (Levi)

 I cooked supper that night.

We’d left the snowshoes and the poles by the door next to our skis, and brought in our rucksacks. Min had taken hers to her room, then came back to set the table. Poppa read the room and kept his thoughts to himself.

The meal was subdued. Poppa kept his contributions to a minimum as we worked through the meatloaf and succotash. We finished off the last of a loaf of sourdough. I’d have to do some baking tomorrow. I told Min that I’d take care of the dishes. She fixed herself some cocoa and curled up in the big chair by the fire. Poppa said his good-nights and went off to his room. I finished the dishes, wiped them dry, put them away, and hung the dishtowel by the stove.

I fixed myself some cocoa as well, pulled a chair closer to the fire and sat down.

Minerva was staring into the fire, a distant look on her face.

“A peppermint penny for your thoughts,” I said, holding out a peppermint lozenge.

She blinked, then said, “I was thinking about today, going over the stuff we did. What you did.” She unwrapped the peppermint, and dropped into her cocoa.

I nodded. “Have you come to any conclusions?”

She continued her silence. I let it continue, contemplating the flames myself. When she spoke, it was with a steady voice, “You were trying to teach a bigger lesson, I think.”

The Socratic Method would have had me nod encouragingly, but stay silent. I’m not Socrates; I said, “You’re right. Any ideas?”

“I don’t want to say it aloud.”

“Kind of like, ‘as long as you don’t say it, it won’t happen’?”

“Yeah. That.”

I nod, still gazing into the flames. “That’s a form of childhood magic. We never quite lose that magic, no matter what happens. What if I say what I think you’re thinking. You can tell me if I’m right or not.” I glance over at her.

She thinks a moment, then says, “That works.”

“It goes without saying that you can choose not to answer, with no blame or penalty.”

She nods in agreement.

I nod as well, “You know that I won’t always be here, right?”

“A fact of life. I know.”

I glance over again, and see the tightness in her jaw. “Not to worry too much, kid, I’m not planning on leaving this world any time soon.”

“That’s good. I don’t know if I could stand it if you did, Dad.”

I nodded, “It’d be rough, but you’ll manage. Especially when you remember today’s lesson.”

Min’s staring at the flames, her brows knitted.

“You see,” I continue, “Mine’s not the voice you should listen to, ultimately.”

“You’re meaning God’s voice.”

“Yes.”

“How do I make sure which voice is his?”

“You do something I’ve never been too good at. You read the Bible.”

I see her look over to me. “But I see you read your Bible.”

“I’m glad you’ve noticed. I’m making up for lost time.”

Her curiosity makes her ask, “How do you mean?”

I look back to the fire, seeing the past in my mind’s eye, not wanting to. “ 'Nam beat a lot of any idea of God out of me.”

I feel her eyes on me, “What was it like?”

“You don’t really want to know,” I say, and I really don’t want to tell you. That thought stays unspoken. Thankfully, she lets it go. But I know she’ll ask again.

“Anyway,” I continue, “Remember to always listen to His voice, you can tell Him anything. And ask Him anything. And know that He’ll never leave you.”

We both stare into the fire, sipping our cocoa.

“I’m not sure I can believe that, Dad.”

“A Centurion had the same problem.”

She’s looking at me again. “What’re you talking about?”

“Yeah. I forget what was going on, exactly, but he said: ‘I believe. Help me with my unbelief.’ ”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means God will help us stretch, and meet us more than half-way.”

She turns back to the fire. I take the poker and stir it up, then throw another log on.

She says, “I’m still not sure I believe that. But I’m willing to take a chance.”

“ ‘A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.’ ” I say.

“Is that from the Bible?”

I smile, “Naw. Confucius, I think. But, you can’t say he’s wrong.”

I hear the smile in her voice, “No, Dad, you’re right; he’s not wrong.”

I try to puzzle out the positives and negatives in the grammar, give up, and say, “It’s been a long day. Soon as I’m done with this cocoa, I’m off to bed. How about you?”

Min says, “I think I’ll stay up a little longer. I have some thinking to do.”

“All right, but don’t stay up too late. ‘Tomorrow is another Day,’ remember.”

“I won’t.”

 

(Minerva)

“I won’t,” I tell my dad. Then I go back to thinking about what he said, that’s he’s not going to be here forever.

I don’t want to face this. I especially don’t want to face the thought of Poppa not being here. Death seems all around me. The eagles were a good thing, though. It was a lucky thing to see them; I just happened to glance that direction, and there they were. Majestic. Dad said that he hadn’t seen an eagle in years, that they’d died out almost. Having seen them, I couldn’t imagine not seeing them sometime in the future.

And there it was again. Death. Maybe the eagles dodged death for now. But not forever. I didn’t want to think about it, but it kept popping up.

I take another sip of my cocoa, and realize it’s almost gone, too.

I almost throw the mug in the fire, but catch myself.

I think back to earlier today, and the three Rules.

They make no sense, if they’re not about Dad. But then, they make no sense if they are about Dad.

Mom never talked about religion much. Then again, she was always so busy, and never seemed to have much time for me. The restaurant kept her busy. If she wasn’t cooking, she was cleaning. If she wasn’t cleaning, she was waitressing. I tried to help out, but I was always out of step, I could never get the rhythm of the café. The day I was going back with a bin of dirty plates, glasses and silverware she came rushing out with a big tray of plates in the middle of the lunch rush. We crashed, I can still hear one of the plates doing the spinning coin thing as it spun down. There were broken plates, lunch specials, broken glasses – it was a mess. Mom was so mad she couldn’t talk.

The next day one of her friends took me up Poudre Canyon to Jeremiah Township and dropped me off at the Conoco at the south end of town.

I blinked. That was a memory. My mom hadn’t exactly said she’d never wanted to see me again, but … it’s been a few years now.

But Dad… We didn’t hit it off at first, but, we got caught in a rainstorm, me and him and Poppa. We tried to take shelter in one of the privies the forest service set up in the woods, but it was locked. So we huddled under the eaves until the storm let up, me wearing my Dad’s oversized field jacket.

After that, we just sort of clicked.

It scares me that these two strong men won’t always be there for me.

I take one last sip of cocoa, or try to. I’d hit the bottom of the mug a minute ago, and hadn’t noticed. Time for bed, then. I’ll leave the heavy thinking for tomorrow, I’m done for the night.

 

(this may continue some more, but we’ll see)

That's it for now. 

 

No Excuses!

New books, new ideas:

I recently found an audiobook, No Excuses; by Brian Tracy, and it spurred me to finish the update, proofreading, editing, and cover artwork for my own book. 

This is pretty much done; I still need to run the whole thing past other eyes to catch glaring and not so glaring errors. 

And add this essay.

First off, and credit where it is due, The above mentioned book by Mr. Tracy reminded me of this basic essential: I need to do the work. I am responsible. So are you.

The whole point of my book, of course is to affirm your ability. But, even more importantly, to get you off the dime and moving. So.

For on example, if you are in the artillery, you get your orders from your commander, and your sighting information from your forward observer. Then you aim, fire, evaluate, adjust your aim, fire again, repeat as necessary until the target is hit & destroyed.

Achieving your own aims is just like that: choose the goal, make the plan, work the plan, focus on the objective or outcome. Correct as needed, evaluate the progress, re-evaluate the goal. Ready, Aim, Fire! Evaluate, Make ready again, Aim, Fire! Repeat as necessary to achieve your goal.

No matter what, you are responsible. No matter if the cause of failure was at someone else’s hands, no matter if it was a (so-called) Act of God, you are responsible. If nothing else, you are responsible for your reaction to the circumstance. No excuses!

That said, I AM a good one for excuses. Even if I have ‘good’ excuses, they only get in my way. Too bad, so sad. I should pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again!

I lost my job some months ago, and ultimately deserved to. Never mind the reason; I was not performing to specifications. Anyone from the old shop who reads this, please understand, I do not blame my former work place. They did their best to keep me on, as the things I was doing right and well, I was doing very well indeed. However, I couldn’t keep my call times short.

I am slowing down, and that contributed to the loss of my former position. Again, not their fault. I was unable to find a strategy that allowed me to complete my call tasks on average in the time limit required of me.

I am responsible for that.

So, when I found Mr. Tracy’s book, and listened to it, it resonated. Maybe I didn’t like to hear the message, but the message was important, and I was open to it.

And here we are. 

I will give you a glimpse of my most recent vision:

In my immediate area we have a food desert. A thrift grocery that had been the source of food for the  area closed, and the building razed (as well as the buildings around it). Now, someone is setting to build a McDonald’s in a corner of the block. Considering the location, it should be a success. However …

What I wanted to do, and still want to do, is create a destination business, something that people not from the immediate area would want to visit. A business that, in and of itself, draws people (and their dollars) to it. Tentative project name: Nate’s Bistro and Dinner Theater.

Nearby, there would be a grocery store that would provide foodstuffs a notch above what the dollar store carries, but not so expensive as to be a hardship for the folks around to purchase. It would be good for it to have a specialty of some sort, like (for instance) a specialty bakery. This would be one more draw to bring people from outside the immediate area to our corner of the world.

And just for the fun of it, a bookstore and newsstand.

The bistro could have open mike ‘sing for your supper’ event, the theater would provide real world opportunities for the school of music and school of theater of the local university. The theater would also provide future sound and light designers opportunities to get real-world experience, and the back-stage scene shop would give makers of all sorts opportunities to make something big, as well as craft ‘show-specific’ mementos as one-of-a-kind keepsakes for whatever show being presented; these items  could be sold at Nate’s or as point-of-sale items at the bookstore.

The theater would become the primary destination, providing traffic to the bistro, and vice versa, giving exposure to the nifty little grocery, as well as an interesting brick-and-mortar bookstore for things you cannot get at the A-to-Z store online.

The nearby motels would benefit from the extra traffic, as would as the other businesses in the immediate area. As visualized, the convenience store would generally keep their clientele for the kinds of things the dollar store does best, the Gas & Go place would be the same. The in-coming Mickey Dee would not see the restaurant cut into the fast-food flow, or perhaps a little, as some would just want to sit down and take a load off their feet and dine comfortably instead of being in a rush.

All in all, making a destination dinner theater/bistro (with associated businesses) would be a good thing.

But, to achieve this, I need to have some financial resources to build on.

Hence, I need to get off the dime and be responsible. No Excuses!

Yes I Can!

So Can You!

The Devil is in the Details

Most of us want to do ‘better’, to be ‘better’, to be our ‘best’ at something. But ‘better’ is a vague notion. Most of us will not get better without help, without discipline, without a will and a drive to improve. Some of us, all we need is a direction to go, and we will march forever. Others need a schedule and a calendar, not to mention a map. Yet others need a drill instructor, driving us onward. And all of us need one more thing:

A yardstick.

In the wild, individual members of a species have a biological imperative to succeed; they have a goal hard-wired into their biology and structure that they cannot escape, and a method they can only adjust, not defeat. This programming may be ‘sufficient unto the day’ as the individual carries through its life, or it may not be. If it is, then it may pass along its successful programming to the next generation. Such is called Natural Selection.

If the species is Man, what is Nature selecting for now?

That may be a bit unfair, as we are causing changes to our world perhaps faster than we can keep up.
On the other hand, ours is a unique species, in that our biologic imperative to succeed is somewhat subject to that knob of gray matter in our skull. For good or ill, our major powers are subject to the decisions created in our frontal cortex. That, which can be programmed to direct our energies in particular directions or no useful directions at all, can make us. Or break us.

When I started writing Yes, you can!, I wrote with the idea of reprogramming that knob of matter. It is hard, harder than I thought. Patterns, once entrenched, do not easily admit change. The very act of writing the book, a story a week, became much stretched. I am one of those that needs regimentation, and I have trouble enforcing on myself. Perhaps, you, too.

I have yet a far way to go, the need to ignore distractions, and the desire to find that passion that would drive me onward of its accord. That last may never happen. Until it does, or until my story ends, I will fight onward to find the ‘it’ I’m supposed to do. Meanwhile, among other things, I will continue to write.

It ain’t necessarily a living. But it is a life. I am going to do my best to live it.

So can you.

Yes, you can!

A Day In June.

I'm writing this on a cold November morning. We've had snows, but like most first snows, even the ones that dump a foot-thick blanket of heavy, wet snow, they've largely disappeared in the Indian Summer days that followed.

This morning is cold, though. The sky is cloudy, but not ungraciously so; there's promise of the occasional beam of sunlight to break through. Still, my mind is not on today, with the prospect of tea or hot chocolate to cheer me. It is, instead, on a day in early June of this year.

"What is so rare as a day in June?" I don't know who first spoke that line, but if there was ever a June day that fit the description, it was that day.

I drove south by west, skipping the main roads to take the lesser-used roads. I was ahead of my time, and the more relaxed pace suited me. The sun was warm, with the window rolled down to catch the cooling breeze, it was altogether fine. Through the open window I heard the song of red-winged blackbird, and meadow lark. It was a fine day.

As I turned to head west on this back-road trip, I saw Long's Peak, still patched heavily with white spring snow, in front of me. If I hadn't an errand to fulfill, I would have given in to the temptation to just head to the hills and enjoy the day in frivolous recreation. It was certainly a day made for it. It was a perfect day for a June wedding.

I glanced at my coat sleeves, and my free hand rose the knot of my tie, to loosen it a bit. There would be an opportunity to straighten it when I got to my destination.

When I was a few blocks away, I turned up a different street and drove by the local marble orchard. If you are not familiar with the term, a 'marble orchard' is a cemetery, so-called because of all the marble monuments that sprout out of the ground. This one was well-kept, and had the occasional visitor, leaving flowers and respects. Some do this out of a sense of duty, I expect; most do so out of love.

After driving by, I found a place to turn around and resumed my journey. The end was in sight: the church steeple was just ahead.

I found that I was early, even with my little side trip, so I waited in the parking lot until I saw a familiar face or two on their way in. I got out, straightened my tie, and went in myself.

It was cool inside, and the group was subdued. I found a seat near the back, myself being only barely acquainted with this group.

I forget the hymns we sung; they were from a different songbook than the one I grew up with. All about the far distant land where everything was light and peace.

Certainly, the guest of honor had found peace of a sort. For we had come to sing his last praises, our last love song, in fact, to him. His family was strong in their witness of their love, and that he had been met by family members who had gone on before.

And, while I empathized with them, I couldn't help thinking, "What a waste." Not of the efforts of the people in that church, certainly not. But the waste of this young life, the young man all of three months away from celebrating his twentieth birthday. His life, taken by his own hand.

In many ways, he was a cipher to me. We were on different work schedules, though on the same team. I was always rushing to get my set-ups for my job done before I had to punch the clock; not a lot of time for socializing past the automatic 'Hello, how are you?", and those mostly to familiar faces. I keep thinking, if I'd known a little more about him, talked to him. Asked the follow up question: "No, really, how are you doing?", that young man might still be alive today.

I have no idea what his despair involved; I shall not speculate. I only know that I've been deep down lost in my own despair, to the point of walking away from life. Had I known him better, I might have been able to say to him, in some way, "You can rise above this."

Instead, I walked to the grave of a young man, in that cemetery I visited earlier, on a most rare, fine June day. A day that he should have been thinking, "Maybe I'll go fishing."

That is what life is about. Not going fishing, necessarily. But choosing. Choosing to continue, to fight the fight, to enjoy the living of life.

He could have done so much, so much more.

I could have done so much more to help.

"Is It Fun Being You?"

You know that the whole idea of this blog is to encourage you to be better at what you do, to achieve more, stretch more, learn more, be more. And I hope you accomplish all of that.

I hope you clear out the dead wood, winnow the wheat from the chaff, throw the dross on the slagpile and keep the precious metal of your personal art and craft.

But at the end of the day, after you've paid that bill, banked that dollar, put away your tools, and put up your feet to rest, ask yourself the question: "Is it fun being me?"

If you can answer "Yes," or "Yes, most of the time," then you are probably striking that balance that makes sure you aren't getting lost in the shuffle of your life. If it's "No," or "Not often," then do the reevaluation of your life, to see what you want out of life, and where you want to be in the one year, five years and ten years.

In other words, it's time once again to make sure the path you're on will get you where you want to go.

This is a small blip on your radar scope today, today being the day after the presidential election. Some of you are elated, while others are sad at the outcome. Still others of you (amazingly) couldn't care less about the outcome. Whatever camp you fall into, take it in stride, remember that ancient phrase: "This, too, shall pass."

Whatever else happens, I want to be earning enough that I am a net tax payer, instead of a tax receiver.

Whatever you need to do, within the limits of legality and ethics, do it. But, remember your core, the you that you are. Make others around you smile.

Have fun being you.

Yes, you can!

The First Day ...

... Of the rest of your life.

Yeah, another hackneyed phrase.

I just wanted you all (y'all) to remember, the last page in your book isn't written yet.

If you have regrets, if you're not proud of your life, you've lived down to expectations instead of up, you can still change your direction and actions, and start doing things you ARE proud of. You can do things that make people proud to know you, proud to call you their friend, and feel lucky to be called your friend.

Even if you feel you have let everyone around you down, you aren't done until your last page is written.

Make the change.

Write something good on today's (and then next, and the next...) page of your life.

Yes, You Can!

Balance

This is something of a follow up on my "Good Enough" essay (see below), and is to remind all of us that, whatever our work, whatever our passion, whatever our mission, we must find a balance.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." Trite, but true.

In my younger days, I liked to listen to the late Harry Chapin's music. All of us who heard Taxi for the first time knew that here was a story teller. When I got a cd collection of his greatest hits, one of my daughter's favorites was Cat's in the Cradle.

It took me some time to realize what she was trying to tell me.

She didn't realize that she was trying to tell me anything, of course. And by the time I got the message it was pretty much too late. But by picking that as one of her favorite songs she was saying "Pay attention to me!" Much of our heartache then, and problems now, might have been avoided had I done so. But like the Dad in the song, I was wrapped up in business, and had pretty much checked out of the family life.

As much as we would like them, we don't get "Do-Overs" in the game of life. We may get another chance to do better. That's one thing I'm working on now.

There's a poem that I'm learning the truth of, slowly:

"There was a man,
They called him mad:
The more he gave,
The more he had."

Balance is what makes us whole. Even more, it's what makes the people around us whole. We need to share ourselves with each other. When we give of ourselves, we get back more in return. But don't give expecting to get back. What you get will not come in the fashion you expect in any case.

But it will come.

Find the balance.

Yes, you can!

Expect Problems

In our class today we were detailing all of our fears of being able to do the job once we went out to the production floor. It wasn’t phrased like that, mostly. It was phrased in the ‘what if?’ mode. The biggest ‘what if’ being “What if I don’t know the answer?” Being new and just out of training, not having the answer at our fingertips will be a given. What our practice time will amount to is learning how to find the answers. Most of us have worked on the phones, so taking calls, per se, won’t be the main problem.

The problem is, we will have problems. Life is a series of bumps in our path. Sometimes they are very large obstacles, not just a ‘bump’. My main problem is not the lack of knowledge, the unfamiliarity with the systems or even not particularly liking to deal with people on the phone (hey, you do what you have to do). My biggest problem is when my brain seems to fog up. I personally get nervous and angry when I can’t seem to think straight. This gets me agitated, and when I’m agitated I can’t think straight (see earlier). This is not a positive feedback loop.

Having had this happen (more than) a few times, I have learned to anticipate and plan for the times I become agitated. I have my worry stone and by squeezy ball. I write encouraging sticky notes and post them on my monitor. I take my walk around the building at lunchtime to give my body some physical activity to release the pent up adrenaline. I focus on pine trees and mountain streams in the off moments. And I try to remember to breathe. Breathing is good. It gets rid of carbon dioxide and brings in the vital oxygen. The very act of breathing relaxes the body. And, in my case, helps get rid of the brain fog.

The ‘Question and Answer’ time was good. It got our fears out into the open. More to the point, it got the problems out into the open. When we knew about the problems we could help each other on finding solutions (and not just answering questions). The solution in this case was to ‘Rely on your resources’ to point us in the right direction. Particularly for me, it’s to drill myself on the systems until they are nearly automatic. The scripting comes naturally enough to me that it won’t be a problem (that word again) to pick up. And despite me not particularly liking to talk to people, I do that well enough to get me through.

It all comes down to the ‘how-to’s’. How to do this, how to do that. Once you know how-to, the job is easy. This is called ‘know-how’. Once we know how to do the job, the fear of not being able to goes away, and we’re better able to get the job done.

Our biggest problem, then, is fear. Fear cripples us by making us doubt our abilities. Fear also attacks us by causing us to focus on the consequences of the misstep. How many mountain climbers reached the summit by looking down? Yes, we need to be aware of the consequences of a misstep so we don’t trivialize the consequences. But we focus on the task at hand, looking toward the goal. When we focus on making each step the best step we can, the precipice tends to fade into the background. We never quite forget it’s there, it just doesn’t command our attention.

Again, it all comes down to our focus (see my earlier blog). If we focus on our problems that’s all we’ll see. If we focus on the solutions we will make better headway.

Much has been said about the Law of Attraction. I’m not sure I buy into the ‘create your own universe’ aspect. But I cannot deny the logic of focus: what you focus on, commands your attention, sometimes to the exclusion of everything else. What you focus on draws you to it, just like wanting to see more detail in that photograph or painting that catches your eye. Consequently, you tend to move away from other things.

What does this come down to?

Like the title says: expect problems, but don’t let them dominate your thinking.

Expect problems, expect to overcome them.

Yes, you can!