The Man My Dog Thinks I Am

     Sometimes I get tired of trying to meet everybody's expectations. I have to remind myself that I can't be everything to everybody. I am far from perfect. The only perfect person that I know of was nailed to a cross about 2000 years ago.
     I am my own worst enemy when it comes to 'expectations". I expect more from me than I can deliver at times. There is such a thing as "good enough", but I sometimes forget that. Especially when it comes to my artistic endeavors. I will destroy a painting or drawing rather than let what I think is a sub-par work be seen by others. Part of the "it has to be perfect" mind-set.
     Where it came from I am not sure. My parents certainly did not criticize me if I did not excel in sports or school. They did encourage and praise, or at least my mother did. My father didn't give a lot of praise, so maybe I pushed myself harder in order to gain his approval. I was really too small to play football, but I did, hoping he would come to the games and see me play. He made it to one game and I watched as he walked away after I got clobbered by the tackle on the opposing team.
     It wasn't until my junior year in high school that I finally realized that he did not have the same faith in me that he had in my older brother. Maybe that is why he told me one night after he came home from another late night of drinking, that he only had one son that was going to make anything of himself, and I was not that son.
     Thankfully I had some good teachers in school that helped me to realize that I was not "Bill's son" or "Keith's brother". I was John, and I had been blessed with talents and skills all my own. I learned to use those talents wisely.
     I am married to a wonderful woman, who despite my faults, claims she loves me, although I probably fall short of deserving that love at times.
    I have four sons of my own that are following their own paths, without worrying about being like the other ones.
    These days, when I find myself thinking that I can't do anything right, and I start feeling a little low, I am reminded that I don't need to be perfect, just being me is enough. That reminder most often comes from one of my dogs. The dog in the photo here is Mandy, and although she is my wife's dog, she will follow me back to my art studio and just lay there, listening to me type, sometimes looking up to see if I am still there, and when I leave, she leaves, walking in front of me, stopping to see if I am behind her.
    Another dog is Natty, who is a little more agressive when it comes to demanding attention. I can walk out on the front porch and when I come back in, she acts like I have been gone forever.
     Neither dog demands much more than a kind word or a touch every now and then. Which makes me wish that I could always be the man that my dogs think I am.
 

I Want My PhD

     The election year is upon us, and graduation is almost here for high school and college seniors. Many post-graduate students will receive their diplomas this spring, marking the completion of a journey that at times was very difficult.
     There are many other people that will receive "honorary" degrees along with the students. Every university has their own criteria for awarding these honors, although it seems that quite a few "degrees" are awarded because of contributions with a lot of zeros attached, or for political reasons. 

I want my PhD.  If major Universities award honorary doctorates to politicians and celebrities for their achievements (or donations), I feel that I deserve a PhD in Animal Husbandry for all my work with my fellow mammals over the last fifty years.  

There are people who know me that will testify that I am or have been bull headed, stubborn as a mule, blind as a bat, lazy as a sloth, crazy as a loon, happy as a lark, gentle as a lamb, pig headed, and proud as a peacock. They will also tell you I have played possum, barked up the wrong tree, cried wolf, had a cow, and even horsed around.

I feel that I have taken the bull by the horns, been strong as a horse, and have shown good horse sense.  I admit that I have on occasion looked a gift horse in the mouth, been on a wild goose chase, and even counted my chickens before they hatched.  But I managed to hold my horses even though I sometimes end up beating a dead horse. And don’t even ask me how many times I have put the cart before the horse.

There were times when I shot the bull, talked turkey, clammed up, and still ate crow. More than once I have ended up with egg on my face, a bug in my ear, frog in my throat or a feather in my cap. And now and then the cat got my tongue.     

I’ve also gone whole hog and pigged out.

            I’ve even worn a monkey suit and monkeyed around.   

          I can’t forget that I’ve winged it a time or two, ducked out once or twice, been watched like a hawk, chickened out, had goose flesh, been given the bird and ended up mad as a wet hen.      

            I was bitten by the love bug and even suffered from puppy love.  

I have worked with fat cats, let the cat out of the bag, made cat calls, taken catnaps, played cat and mouse, and looked like something the cat drug in.

            I’ve gone to the dogs, been in the dog house, been sick as a dog and dog tired. I’ve let sleeping dogs lie, worked for the big dogs, had a dog eat dog career, and tried to teach an old dog new tricks.

             So, Harvard, or WSU! Where’s my degree?

NO WAKE ZONE

      I am not a "boat person" by any stretch of the imagination. I can usually identify a boat, and can tell you which end goes through the water first, but beyond that, I am stretching it. 
      I have on occasion ventured out on the water as a passenger in a sea-going vessel (or river, lake, etc..) where I either fed the fish, or watched as others enjoyed the water by skiing or swimming. 
      My water displacement qualities come close to that of a rock or cement block, while my swimming ability matches that of a crowbar, so I don't leave the safety of the boat. 
      I have enjoyed being on the water at times, especially when we were joined by a small group of Dolphins in Tampa Bay, or when a member of our fishing group hooked a large tuna. I have also operated the boat while towing a skier and had fun doing that. 
      But no matter what the excitement or level of fun we had while out and about, as we get close to the docks, there is always a "no wake" zone. Although it seems that a person could swim faster than a boat operating in one of these zones, a responsible boat owner knows that these zones exist for three main reasons. 
     First and foremost, no wake zones exist to prevent injury, as a large wake could swamp a smaller vessel or push it into the dock or another boat, leading to possible injury of its occupants. No wake zones also prevent damage to other boats and the docks themselves, and finally, no wake zones prevent damage to fragile environments, protecting nesting areas. 
     After a fast-paced time on the water, slowing down to a crawl can take patience to maintain. That patience pays off. Perhaps we should extend no wake zones into our lives as well. 
     We can make our homes the no wake zones. After a hectic day at work, school, or on the freeways, we should slow down and throttle back, so our words and actions do not cause a "wake" that can injure somebody we love. We should take care that our words do not overpower another person, or that our actions do not dash their hopes or feelings. 
      Does your entry into your home cause a large wave, causing your family to hang on until it passes? Or is your entry a pleasant ripple that gets you noticed, but not feared. 
      Think about it, and throttle back.. 

Oh What I Have Seen

   When you can't think of anything new, I guess it's alright to think of something old. Today I thought I would reach back in my mind and pull out some old memories, dust them off, and see if anybody else would like to take a shuffle down memory lane. 

I remember giving my father-in-law a bad time because he was born before television. In his lifetime he saw cars go from an oddity to a necessity. He saw phones go from the wall to the pocket, and he saw this nation go through three major wars. He's gone now, but thinking of what he saw makes me think of the changes I have seen in my lifetime.

            I was born in 1957; there were only 48 States in the Union and the Korean War was a very real memory to my father and others of his generation. Ike was in the White House and we had a small number of advisors in a small country in Southeast Asia called Vietnam. We had troops in Little Rock, enforcing Civil Rights, and the Russians had Sputnik up in space. In 1957 cars had big tail-fins, white-wall tires, A.M. radios, and compared to today, small price tags. The Giants moved to San Francisco and the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles.
            When I was one-year old, the integrated circuit was invented and a computer language called FORTRAN was developed. The Hula Hoop and laser also came along, followed by the microchip and Barbie. The United States put its first satellite into orbit.
            By the time I was sitting in Mrs. Baker's first-grade class, Valium, and non-dairy creamer were part of our lives. The fiber-tipped pen was here, as was the audio-cassette, although it would be a few more years before they would become main-stream. Dow Corporation invented silicone breast implants and Hollywood stood in line, so the actresses could look more like Barbie. Space Wars became the first computer game, although there were no home computers. 1963 saw the invention of the video-disk, but again there were no home players. The next year was a good year for housewives because permanent press material was invented. The computer world saw the BASIC language invented and acrylic paint was invented, making clean up a lot easier for home handymen.
            The remainder of the sixties gave us AstroTurf, soft contact lenses, and NutraSweet. Kevlar was created for the military, but soon became a necessity for policemen as well. Our fingers and toes got a break in 1967 when the first hand-held calculator was invented. The ATM was invented in 1969 followed immediately by the first upset bank customer. The sixties also gave us the artificial heart before they faded away and the seventies came on strong.
            The computer world took a giant leap forward during the first half of the seventies with the invention of the daisy-wheel printer, dot matrix printer, and laser printer. The LCD and microprocessor, along with the first word processor moved computers closer to our living rooms, while the Vietnam War was moving out of our living rooms. Our time in Vietnam drew to a close. BIC gave us disposable lighters and Uncle Sam gave us disposable troops. We still have too many MIA/POWs unaccounted for.
            The Artificial Heart and Magnetic Resonance Imaging were breakthroughs in the medical world at the end of the seventies. The Walkman, Cell-phone, and Cray super-computer came into use in 1979, and along with the roller-blades invented that year, helped transition into the eighties.
            In the early eighties, MS-DOS, the IBM PC, Apple Macintosh, and the CD-ROM were all invented. Virtual Reality and the Cabbage Patch Kids were part of our lives as was a former actor who became President of the United States.
            In the last half of the eighties, Microsoft gave us Windows, Fuji gave us the disposable camera, and Eli Lilly gave us Prozac. Digital Cell phones and HDTC were invented before we moved into the nineties.
            The nineties gave us the digital answering machine, DVDs, Pentium processor, and Viagra. And that was the end of my century. The next century is shaping up to be even better in terms of inventions and accomplishments. What a ride it has been so far.

THE MUSIC DOESN'T PLAY ANYMORE.....

     What happens when the ideas don't come anymore? When the colors all look dull? When all edges are lost and there are no highlights? What happens when the words don't come to mind? What happens when the music doesn't play anymore?
     As an artist, photographer, and writer, this is perhaps my biggest concern, that one day I will not find the inspiration, and there will be no more creativity. My greatest joy is to see somebody enjoy something I have created. My second greatest joy is to pass along what I know to somebody, such as teaching a song on the guitar, writing a short story, or painting a picture. To watch as that person has the "aha" moment and realizes that there are no great mysteries surrounding the arts, that it all comes from inside a person.
      I find comfort in the thought that Heavenly Father gives us each talents that we are to use to glorify Him and bring comfort to our fellow beings.  That talent won't go to waste if we learn to recognize the opportunities that He places in front of us. And what is that talent you may ask? What if you are not an artist, a writer, or a musician? What then?
     Some people don't paint, don't sing, and like me, can't dance. Or at least they don't think they can do any of those things. The saddest are the ones that don't because they have been told that they can't or shouldn't. How many unwritten songs remain in their thoughts, how many blank canvases remain on the easel, and how many unfinished books remain locked away, simply because there is nobody to encourage them to finish.
     We are all teachers in a way, even if that is not our chosen vocation in life. I can promise you that somebody is watching you to see what you do, and if we are lucky, we get to share what we know.
      I am confident that the inspiration will come, even as my glasses get stronger, my hearing aids get turned up higher, and my hands feel the effects of tremors. I take comfort knowing that if I can't do it, I can teach it to somebody who wants to learn.
      The best teachers remain with you long after you leave the classroom, or leave home. I still think of life lessons taught by teachers when I grew up in Lordsburg, New Mexico. I will never forget the lessons taught to me by my mom, and grandma, as well as my Uncle John. They struck the match that lit the candle on my creativity, and the candle still burns because of their memory.
      Share what you know and what you feel. You will feel the blessing when you do.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS

        Lost edges and highlight! It's all about light and shadow. Any artist knows that a good work of art makes good use of light and shadow. Thomas Kincaid is known as the "painter of light" and anyone who has seen his great paintings knows that he uses light and highlights to bring attention to certain parts of his works.
       The appearance of a piece of sculpture can change just by adjusting the lights that shine on it and in the case of a bust, it can look sinister or friendly, just by placement of the lights.
      People are also viewed differently depending on the light, or attention, that is directed at them. The light can shine on them for many reasons from wealth to fame or from fame to infamy. We all have some kind of light that shines on us at one time or another, even if only from friends and family.
     Christ talked a lot about light and it's importance. In Matthew, Chapter 5, verse 15, he tells us that men do not light a candle and then hide it under a bushel, they put it on a candle stick so it can light up the whole house. In the next verse, he tells us that we are to let our lights shine before men so they can see our good works and glorify our Father in Heaven.
     Later, in Luke, Chapter 11, verse 36, he tells us that if we are full of light, having no darkness, then we shall be like a bright shining candle.
     We all have a light within us. Perhaps it doesn't shine as bright in some people as it does in others, or perhaps we need to help others take the bushel away that is covering their light, so they may shine before men.

THAT WAS THEN

        Lost edges are not just people who are forgotten or pushed to the background, and they are not always sad or depressing. Our memories are full of lost edges, the ones that we have not thought of in a long time, that are brought back for whatever reason. The best ones are the ones that make you smile.
        When an artist is working on a painting and he or she wants to make something stand out, they put a brighter or contrasting color of paint on a brush and make a simple stroke that draws the eye to that edge.
        Sometimes all it takes is a simple brushstroke to bring a memory back where we can enjoy the thoughts that make us smile. The brushstrokes in our minds are sounds, smells, sights, and even touch. Perhaps it is a certain song that takes you back to a special time and place. Or a smell of baked goods that remind you of a mom or grandmother and their special treats she would give to you. It could even be the scent of a perfume or cologne that transports you back to when you met the love of your life. There are many sparks that can rekindle our older, pleasant memories. We may not even be aware that we are creating memories whenever we take the time to talk to, or even better, listen to a child or young adult.
       In a recent writing class at college, we were asked to write about a special place in our childhood and describe the way we remember it. The we were to describe it as we might see it now.  The following is what I wrote.

That was then…..

        I am sitting underneath a concrete bridge that crosses a sand wash near my home in New Mexico.  It is a hot summer day and I just had a fight with one of my brothers or sisters. Underneath the bridge it is cool, quiet, and shaded.  My back is against the concrete side and I feel the coolness of the cement through my shirt.

        As I look north, I see the sand wash stretching for about a quarter mile.  It is smooth from all the flash floods that have passed through over the years.  The sand is very hot, especially in the summer, making shoes a necessity. Farther to the north, I see thunderstorms building over the mountains. I know that if I see the rain starting up there that I must leave my place of solitude and move to higher ground. But for now, the peace and quiet is very nice.

This is now….

         The place where I spent so much time as a child, dreaming, thinking, and escaping, looks so different now that I am an adult. The bridge has more cracks and the steel is rusted.  The chips in the concrete remind me of the scars that I carry on my body, and I feel connected to the bridge.The sand wash has been changed by the water that has changed course several times over the years. 

        My shady spot is still there, although it seems somewhat smaller. Getting down the side of the ravine is harder now due to my knees, but the concrete is still cool on my back as I lean back and enjoy the peace and quiet.

Her Man Earl Died Rich !

I first met Bud (he didn't like to be called Herman) when Kathy and I got married in 1997. By then he was well into the last stages of Alzheimer's. He came to live with us after Kathy's mom died. Living with and taking care of somebody who has Alzheimer's is an eye-opening experience, as you do not know what is going to happen, what mood they will be in, or what to expect.

It is truly a 36-hour a day experience. Bud was a jack of all trades when he was younger and although he could not recall what he ate five minutes ago, he could remember the past very well.

We took care of him for 18 months until the day that he figured out how to fix his car that I had disabled. He took off while I was at work and Kathy had gone into the bathroom. In a matter of seconds, he was out the door and off in his car. A friend found him, parked near a home that he had lived in years past. He was scared and did not know where he was. Sadly, because the police had become involved, and because Kathy's sisters protested, Bud was placed into a long-term care facility (nursing home), where he spent his last couple of years.

When we would go visit him, I could not help but notice some of the other patients and wonder what they did when they were younger. One, a few years older than Bud, had been an Aeronautical Engineer, working with the U.S. Government on classified projects. Now he spent his days sitting near the front door, waiting for a son to come for a visit, an event that according to the staff, occurred once a year, around his birthday.

Bud's inability to remember recent events was probably merciful, as he did not know he was in a nursing home most of the time. He thought he was the manager and maintenance man of an apartment complex. We received many calls telling us that Bud had removed all the doorknobs, or had taken all the screens off the windows.

Bud was for the most part, a "lost edge" as far as his other daughters were concerned. They did make it impossible for Kathy to visit her dad, except for late night visits when certain staff members were on duty. Like most of the other patients in the care facility, Bud was there because society likes to keep people with complex problems out of the way.

To Kathy, Bud was and always will be one of the highlights of her life. She never gave up, and although the rest of her family prevented her from attending her own father's memorial service, she did get a visit from him on the night he died, in the form of a bright light, at the foot of her bed, joining with another light that had come to take him home.

As for me, I had some good talks with Bud, in the rare times that he had full recognition and recall. He was a very strong man, who worked hard to provide for his family.

Herman Earl Diedrich, or as he liked to say "Her man Earl died rich.", was a good friend as well as a father in law.

Grandma

She was born on April 26, 1910 in Russellville, in Pope County, Arkansas. Her mother died when she was very young, leaving her and her sisters to raise and care for the family, doing all the cooking and cleaning as well as helping out in the fields. She married my grandfather when she was just 16, and she soon had her own family to take care of. This was not an easy task during the Depression era of this country.
     Her name was Lucille Kathryn Coffman until she married my grandfather, John Thomas Morris. They spent 38 years together before he passed on in 1964 and she joined him in the celestial kingdom 23 years later.
 I never heard her complain about "hard times", and she didn't talk much about it unless you asked her. She would, however, be quick to tell you a funny story about herself. She was kind of quiet, and to some people she went unnoticed, a "lost edge" blending into the background. But to me she was always a highlight and I felt her presence and I still feel it today.
     My earliest memory of her is of me sitting at the kitchen table at the old mining claims with my grandfather, while "maw" made breakfast by the light of the kerosene lamps. "Paw" would pound the table, look at me and wink, and say "Old woman, this baby is hungry!" Then I would pound the table and yell, "Old woman, hungry!"

     I remember seeing the love in her eyes when I saw her. And I remember one time seeing tears and hurt in her eyes that I caused. It was about five years after my grandfather passed that I asked her what was in a trunk in the closet of her bedroom. She told me it was "just some old things", but I kept asking. Finally, with tears rolling down her cheek, she opened the trunk and took out a pair of my grandfather's shoes and showed them to me. To this day I still feel the pain of causing a wonderful woman some hurt. 
      I remember the smile on her face and the way her eyes lit up when she would give me a sketch-book. On the first of the month, when she got her Social Security check, she would buy me a red "Acadamie" sketch-book and ask me to show her my drawings. 

     As time passed, I eventually went into the Air Force and I would see her only when I came home on leave. Each time I came home, she would tell me how proud she was of me, and ask me when I was going to get a wife. Sometimes she would just sit next to me and put her hand on top of mine. 
      My last memory of her was the night I went to see her before I left for Germany. She was living with my aunt Arbie and uncle Marvin. We had all sat around and talked, or at least tried to. She sat next to me at the kitchen table and laid her hand on top of mine and said "I won't see you again!" She started to say something else, when Marvin (in his charming way) told her to not be so silly. She stopped talking and just smiled at me, with a tear in her eye. I don't know what else Marvin said because I no longer cared. My focus was on this gentle lady sitting next to me and the realization that she was correct. It would be the last time I saw her on this side of the veil. As I hugged her and said goodbye, my heart felt very heavy, and a few minutes later, on the road, I had to stop my motorcycle because I could not see through the tears.
      While I was in Germany, I received word that she had died, and although I felt sad, I did not feel a loss, because as long as I have her memory, she lives on. 

     When I see a senior citizen now, especially a lady, and I see them being treated like they are unable to understand what is going on, I remember my "maw". Although a lot of people ignore them or want to keep seniors in the shadows, they are not "lost edges" to everyone. Certainly not to those of us that love them, cherish them, and owe our very lives to them. To us, they are the highlighted edges of life. 

Make a Difference

     I originally intended to start this blog to highlight my art and photography, but while I was reading an article in a photography magazine, I realized that I needed to make this blog about the people in this world that are the "lost edges".
     In the article, the author, who was also a professional portrait photographer, shared an experience that made me realize that what he saw was not at all uncommon. He wrote about a family that came into his studio to have a family portrait taken, except one member of the family was not "allowed" to sit in with the rest of the group. The 10-year old son was made to wait in the lobby while his parents and siblings had their group portrait taken. The reason given for not including the son was that the parents were concerned that he might somehow cause an embarrassing scene because of his autism. That moved the photographer so deeply that he and his wife started a project where they only focused on children with autism, and they have since published a very good book on the subject.
     I have to admit that my knowledge of autism is on a very basic level. What I knew, or thought I knew, about autism was limited to a few movies or talk shows that I had seen and those seemed to portray the caregivers, usually parents, as being saddled with a monster, or a problem that could not be overcome. I know that I am not alone, as there are many who share my lack of education when it comes to autism. But that is changing, due to now having a member of my family who is autistic.
     Autistic people are just one example of members of society that the mainstream would rather just stay in the shadows and remain a lost edge, whose details only come out upon closer examination. Our nation was founded on the belief that "all" men (people) are created equal and have certain basic rights. Yet too many times, we act like the proverbial ostrich and stick our head in the sand, hoping a problem will go away. Or, like the child that covers his head when frightened by a sound in the dark, we think that if we cannot see a problem, then it does not exist.
     We can put our spare change in the container near the cash register, or during the holidays, we can drop some money in the red kettle and pat ourselves on the back and feel good for a while that we did something good. There is absolutely nothing wrong with either one of those and God bless those of you that do give of your spare change. But sometimes it takes more than money to bring the lost edges into the light.
     From time to time we need to look into the shadows, take notice of the homeless, the handicapped, the veterans, the children, the elderly, and many more that go unnoticed or ignored because of age, physical condition, mental capacity, gender, or even social status. It doesn't have to take all your time, and I am not suggesting that you give up everything and set out on a crusade to do good. But you can make a difference, sometimes with just a word, or kind gesture.
     Even in today's complex society, a touch on the shoulder from another person can lift spirits. Listening, as a veteran talks about times we cannot imagine lets them know they are heard. Reading to a child in a hospital can take their minds off of what they must face, if even for a little while. We all have something we can give, even if it is just a smile.
     My grandmother once told me that we are not responsible for the actions of others, but we are responsible for our reactions to them. I sincerely hope that we can find some way to look for the lost edges in our lives and make a difference.