Family Time

Posted on June 2, 2010 by Doc Arnett

My brother, Paul, and his wife, Debee, pulled into the Saint Joe truck stop somewhere around five o’clock Monday morning. I gave them a couple of hours to sleep in the truck before going over to bring them to our place. They got here from Ohio in time to meet Jay and his kids, who headed back to South Dakota mid-afternoon.

I got my payback Tuesday morning; Paul and Debee had to be back out to the truck stop by five-thirty. They headed on up I-35 to deliver their load and I headed back home to rest mine for a little while longer. I texted Paul in between my bouts of working on the house and running errands and found out they’d had to wait for a few hours before they could unload and had missed getting to the next place in time to get loaded out that afternoon.

He called from a hotel in Shenandoah, Iowa, to see if we were having any storms. It was cloudy and threatening looking but we had no active storms at the moment. While I was talking to him, I turned on the TV just in time to see a long line of red radar blotches stretching across Nebraska and Iowa. I think he and Debee were pretty much smack dab in the middle of the system.

Apparently, they had a head start on the hail and heavy rain but we did some catching up later. The second or third session of hail here not only woke me up but also sufficiently motivated me to turn on the TV and check for a possible tornado warning. There wasn’t one. I turned off the television and went back to sleep, at least until the next little hail cell arrived. The sound of ice balls pounding against gutters and metal flashing has a relatively pronounced capacity for sleep disturbance.

Sharing the storms even we aren’t together is a part of being family, part of loving one another. At our house, so are waffle breakfasts and twenty-minute tours of Saint Joseph architecture. Although my preference is for the latter, adding the other builds the better bonds.

H. Arnett
6/2/10

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Arrivals and Departures

Posted on June 1, 2010 by Doc Arnett

Morning air, cool, light, clean.
Children’s voices, soft in their early rising.
Orange juice, chilled and sweet.
A spring day, quiet in its beginning.

The sound of coffee making in the kitchen.
The smell of sausage in the skillet
and batter steaming from the waffle iron.
Butter and jelly opened on the counter.

Footsteps slow down the stairs.
“Good mornings” in the hallway
and prayer at breakfast.
The light clinking of forks against plates.

Bags at the door,
hugs on the porch,
trunk stuffed,
doors closing.

Hours later,
that comforting call,
“We made it home OK.”
We will all rest easy one day.

H. Arnett
6/1/10

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Sunday Cookin’

Posted on May 31, 2010 by Doc Arnett

I like my cheap little charcoal grill, just a black metal box on a rusty stand. For the past several years, it has worked well enough for the grilling that I’ve done: hamburgers, hotdogs, corn on the cob and, rarely, cedar plank salmon. It easily handles the cooking for four or five people and with a little advance work, six or seven. Yesterday’s get-together, though, was more in the range of twenty people.

So, without her even knowing about it or having to bother going to Lowes, Randa bought me a new grill for Father’s Day.

This isn’t a little box on sticks, throw a few shrimp on the barbie, hurry quick before it rusts kind of a deal, either. This is a big black, thirty-five gallon barrel on its side, get your buddy to help you carry it kind of a cooker with a smokestack and cast iron grates kind of a deal. This is a cook enough meat for twelve adults and six kids at one time kind of a grill. In fairness, though, I did use the old, smaller grill to cook the corn.

After we offered thanks, I shucked hot corn while my nephew, Jeremy, stood by the big new grill and served the meat. After everyone else had gotten a steak or a burger, I fixed my own plate and sat down in one of the lawn chairs. While I ate, I looked around, watched my stepson and his kids, my in-laws, nephews and their kids sitting around the lawn, eating. Later, some of them played together, pitching washers, whirling ladder golf and tossing beanbags while the others watched and talked.

All in all, from the burgers to the birthday cake with thirty-five candles, it was a thoroughly pleasant gathering of family who genuinely like each other, who enjoy getting together and who appreciate one another. If the success of a family gathering is measured by smiles and hugs and deep, rolling laughter, this one was very successful.

I think the feeling I had watching all this and being a part of it might be a bit like the pleasure our Father takes when he sees his kids loving him by loving one another.

H. Arnett
5/31/10

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Sensing the Storm

Posted on May 28, 2010 by Doc Arnett

I’d watched the storm tracking across southern Nebraska and northern Kansas for a while via online radar. What I didn’t realize at the time was that the radar was not live; it was on a fifteen-minute delay.

But boy howdy, did I know it when the storm got there anyway! There was a darkness that seemed too sudden to be natural just before the rain began. Tree branches bent wildly as a tremendous gust shook the windows and swirled brackets of rain around the building. In the midst of all that fury and motion, my ears popped. You know, like when you’re riding in a plane that gains altitude at a fairly quick pace. Just as I opened my mouth and relieved the pressure, I realized the significance of that tiny response.

The reason your ears pop during altitude changes, which you already know, is because of the change in air pressure. Perhaps uncomfortable but not alarming when you’re in an airplane. Quite another matter when you’re sitting in your office and remember that a tornado creates a sudden and drastic drop in localized air pressure. I bolted down the stairs, a bit wide-eyed according to witnesses at the scene and asked them if their ears had popped.

In retrospect, I can see that it’s a rather odd question, especially when asked those who do not have the shared experience and context of interpretation. Their answers were uniformly negative and their facial expressions indicated a high level of consensus that they thought I’d lost it.

The next day, while getting my hair cut at the local hair-cutting place, I talked to Megan about the storm. “Yeah,” she said, “a guy that lives right at the edge of town said he saw a funnel cloud over Highland.” Then she added a detail that I already knew, “It didn’t touch down.”

I suspect I would have been among the first to know it if it had touched down. Not so sure I’d have told anyone about it but I’m pretty sure I would have known. I knew when my ears popped like that that something serious was going on nearby.

Our natural bodies have ways of letting us know a lot of things we may not heed, think about or even realize at the time. Our spirits have a similar ability to tilt us toward things of a spiritual nature but many are so used to ignoring it that the capacity is not developed. Rather, we have a vague sense that something is missing, something isn’t right. Ignored or perverted, that sense leads us into a myriad of twisted efforts that compound our frustration, loneliness and emptiness. Heeded, that sense has the capacity to lead us into knowledge greater than the mind and love greater than the heart.

It has the capacity to draw us toward God.

H. Arnett
5/28/10

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Beyond Ordinary

Posted on May 27, 2010 by Doc Arnett

There’s something to be said for routines and rituals, little things that we do automatically, things that need to be done and the doing of them in a particular fashion brings a bit of comfort somehow. Even in our worship, having a certain way of doing things can be helpful, as long as the routine doesn’t become the purpose rather than a means of accomplishing the purpose.

Starting each day off in pretty much the same manner gets us underway without having to spend a lot of time or thought with such things as shaving, showering and brushing our teeth. Routine can be very helpful on the usual morning.

This morning was a little unusual. Nothing to take a picture of or write home about, just slightly different.

Having woken up just before five, I decided to use some of that extra time to start painting the little bathroom downstairs. During my preliminary preparations for said project, I noticed the windowpanes were dusty from the recent work. And maybe from the past couple of years of hiding behind the blinds but that’s beside the point. “It’d be a shame to have fresh paint and dirty windows,” I thought, so I grabbed the Glass Plus and a handful of newspapers. It didn’t take look to make the glass look a lot better.

Stepping back to admire my handiwork, I noticed a large bird streak on the outside of the window. “That won’t do,” I said to myself, grabbed some more papers and headed outside. Soon, that matter had been rectified as well. Of course, with things so pleasingly under way and the kitchen windows being so close by, I decided to do those as well. Then I went back in to do the inside. I’d just finished the cleaning when Randa came downstairs and caught me putting the decor back on the windowsill inside the kitchen.

Now folks, I’ve gotten up early in the morning to milk cows. I’ve gotten up before daybreak to go fishing and I’ve gotten up in the darkness before the dawn to start a long trip. But never in my life have I gotten up at five o’clock to wash windows and I knew that Randa knew that. Standing there in the kitchen with crumpled wads of wet newspaper sitting on the counter beside the glass cleaner, I realized, “There’s no way in the world I’m going to keep her from thinking this is just plain weird.”

And so, I just smiled and asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee, Lovey?”

H. Arnett
5/27/10

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The Life Aquatic

Posted on May 26, 2010 by Doc Arnett

The upper end of the neighbor’s driveway stands about four feet higher than our side door entry. When we first bought this house four years ago, our yard sloped all the way from their driveway to our house, rather effectively channeling rainwater directly to the basement walls. At that point, various indirect routes brought the water into the basement. In spite of a marked slope inside the basement that led to a floor drain, we could tell when we bought the house that at some point in time, a few inches of water stood in the basement. This was not a condition that we wished to maintain.

Almost as soon as the last load of our stuff was moved into the house, we had a guy come do some leveling work with a Bobcat. That looked like so much fun, I rented one myself and played with it for a few hours. That was entertaining. My lack of expertise was so pronounced, the street was soon jammed with cars. Drivers and passengers laughed and pointed, sharing jokes with one another. “Do you think he knows which end the bucket’s on? He sure don’t know which handle controls it!” Vendors sold hotdogs and took side bets on which corner of the house or what part of the sidewalk I would first ruin. Whoever bet on the east side of the north walk won the wager.

But, it was a very small nick and not at all too high a price to pay. After placing a few ton of rock using several hundred pounds of mortar, we had ourselves a level yard and a retaining wall. Now, unless I forget that I was watering the plants on the west side of the house, we have both a dry basement and a great place to play croquet. I’m guessing that whoever coined that old saw about lighting a candle instead of cursing the darkness never saw how a skid loader could change a place. Somehow, though, “It’s better to rent a Bobcat than grumble about the sewer” just doesn’t have the same ring to it. And that thing about the candle does assume we know which end to light.

We cannot control the rain or gravity. We can grade dirt and build walls, though, and we choose the places we build or buy. When we funnel trouble into our lives through our own carelessness, indifference or ignorance, we better be ready to clean up a mess.

H. Arnett
5/25/10

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Morning Talks

Posted on May 26, 2010 by Doc Arnett

The roses are blooming, finally. A few days of sunshine and warm temperatures coaxed the buds into their pleasing burst. Randa and I relax in our lounge chairs, eating the scrambled eggs and toast she has prepared. I have gotten up earlier than usual this morning and so we have time for this privilege.

Just beyond the glass panels of the sun porch and along the curving rim of the retaining wall by the driveway, the pinks of blooms show bright against the dark green leaves. In the low light of dawn, their soft showing is pleasing and cheerful. Even this sitting in the cool morning somehow blends into the dew and flowers, stone planters and mulched beds.

There is something of peace and promise in unhurried conversation, in the slow bites of a light breakfast. I think this might be something like beginnings the Lord shared with his friends when the crowds of the previous day were gone. Alone in the mist of the morning beside the lake, their early stirring must have brought simple words of welcome to one another’s risings. I doubt that he was always first awake; sometimes, greater faith is the key to better rest. Whether first or last, I’m sure that he pleasured in those quiet conversations with those he loved.

It is a pleasure that I believe he still welcomes, whether early or late in the day.

H. Arnett
5/26/10

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Escaping the Heat

Posted on May 24, 2010 by Doc Arnett

“Aww, man; not again!” I thought when I read the text message from one of our renters, “My air conditioner isn’t working. It’s 85 degrees inside my apartment.” I’d had the unit repaired last summer and a couple of other times before that during the eight years we’ve owned the building. After a bit of muttering and mumbling to myself, I went upstairs and told Randa, “I’ve got to go over to the apartment; RJ’s air conditioner isn’t working.” Randa’s reaction was nearly as ecstatic as mine.

On the way over, I wondered whether this might be the time when Sharp’s Heating and Cooling told me that due to the heat, I needed a new cooling unit. “That’ll probably be a couple thousand bucks,” I mourned.

Then, I remembered that back in January my brother, Paul, and I had turned off all the power circuits in the basement during the electrical repairs following the fire in the other apartment. It seemed like a good idea given the number of wooly-looking wires running everywhere. Maybe we had never turned the breaker for the AC back to the on position. Maybe that was all it would take.

When I unlocked the basement door and opened the electrical panel, sure enough, the switch was off. I flipped the double pole breaker and heard the compressor kick on immediately. When I checked inside the apartment, cool air was blowing out of the vents. RJ was certainly happy for that bit of news but I think I can safely say that she wasn’t a bit more relieved than Randa and I were.

If temporary personal comfort and financial mercy produce such delight in us, how much more knowing that we have been spared from the debt of our sin and the price of our former disobedience?

H. Arnett
5/24/10

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Hoarders

Posted on May 21, 2010 by Doc Arnett

I used to wonder why on earth my parents kept so much junk. Their basement was full of stuff, the closets were full, the garage was full, the attic was full, even the sheds seemed so stuffed with stuff there wasn’t room for any more stuff. Mom kept sacks of old food containers stacked around the kitchen, plastic cups, Styrofoam plates, plastic cartons. Dad kept jars of old screws and other fasteners, boxes of parts and wood scraps. Mom had her areas of storing and stacking and Dad had his and then there were the areas of mutual collecting and storing. Their house was never the nightmare of hoarding that I have seen on TV shows but it was, nonetheless, full of stuff.

I helped my oldest brother, Richard, inventory one room in the basement after Dad’s funeral. After looking through a bunch of boxes, drawers and shelves and shaking my head again and again and wondering, “Why in the world didn’t he just throw this away?” I decided that my home was never going to be like that. When I got back to Saint Joe and looked around in my garage and then walked through the basement, I realized I was too late; it already was like that.

I have boxes filled with tools I might need some day, material that will come in handy some time, hardware items that would save a trip to Lowes, and other stuff that just “looks cool.” The walls of the garage are almost completely concealed by stuff I’ve stacked on shelves and half of the basement is in the same state. Then, there’s all the storage space over in the basement and garage at the rental property that is filled with all kinds of things!

It’s an interesting moment when we finally realize that the very thing we criticize about someone else is part and parcel of our own life, our own character. What is even more interesting and important is what we do once we’ve achieved that realization. Either we perceive that other people’s stuff is just as important to them as our stuff is to us or we decide that ours truly is more important than theirs. In rare cases, we might begin getting rid of the clutter.

And, in the most exquisite and precious moments, we realize that we are talking about our hearts and minds and lives, not the stuff in our closets.

H. Arnett
5/21/10

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Schedule Change

Posted on May 20, 2010 by Doc Arnett

Except for the second cutting of the season three or four weeks ago, and in spite of all the rain we’ve been having. I’ve managed to keep pace with the grass. That has meant mowing every four or five days which is the justice due for the foolishness of applying fertilizer to the yard. My newfound devotion and determination might have something to do with having had to spend an hour or more raking up the cuttings after the first mowing and realizing that increasing the frequency of said practice might just about eliminate the need for the raking.

This is a bit of a change for me, actually.

I was raised and for a few decades adhered to the dogma of mowing the yard once a week. If that meant the grass was knee-high to a dwarf giraffe, mow slow and rake well. If that meant that I could barely tell where I’d just cut, pay attention to the wheel tracks and cut anyway. At least the neighbors would hear the noise of the motor and know that I was dutifully giving my yard its weekly trim. Whether it needed it or not.

But now, it seems, I have at least temporarily abandoned that long ago instilled practice and am trying to just mow the yard whenever it needs mowing.

It is probably a good thing, no matter how delayed, to learn to attend to things according to their need rather than to my desires. It might be that there are other areas of my life that could benefit from that same insight but for now, I’m focused on the grass.

H. Arnett
5/20/10

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