Conflicting Emotions

A couple of weekends ago, I experienced conflicting emotions that I had not endured since puberty.

On the Thursday of this week, I noticed that some of our cutting knives just weren't (well) cutting it. As I tried to pop one of the old Kroger balloons and really had to dig into the rubber to make it pop, I sturdied my stand that to be safer: "Knives should be sharp."

I spent about ten minutes sharpening each of our black-handled, wooden sheathed knives.

Cut to Saturday evening. Romantic. The kids are at a friend's house (yes all four of them, but that is another story in miracles). We are away from Cincinnati for the weekend in a rustic, but posh cabin. The kind of place where a couple cannot go on a first date as the bedroom is the living room, is the shower, and is the fireplace area. All rooms are intimate. All places are romantic.

I have done some homework here and have packed some crackers, three varieties of cheese, some wine . . . and have even obtained some taste-contrasting apples.

The fire is warm. The evening is still. The iPod plays some background music.

It is good.

I am using the knives. I am cutting the apples. I am slicing the cheese. . .

The knife slips.

Kim's sits up quickly, eyes open wide, looking at me and my thumb.

"Right now, I am in a conflicted emotion . . . I don't know whether to be happy about the time wasted sharpening the knives or to be happy that I did such a poor job sharpening them."

10-digit Dave's evening continued . . .

Fly -- No Matter What

This post rambles -- I've re-read it twice, changed it around a little bit. It still rambles, but right now, I still can't fix it.

In time, I'll be able to. . .

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Everyone remembers where they were on September 11, 2001 -- I was in a Construction Meeting at the Greater Cincinnati Airport. My wife called twice and I picked up the cell-phone on her second attempt -- our code for "it's important".

She told me that a plane had just struck the World Trade Center. She said, "Dave. It's important. Tell everyone in the meeting what just happened." From the first minute, she understood better than anyone I know what was going on. No, she did not know if it was a terrorist plot or an accident, but she knew that today was a day that we'd remember. She knew that it was important for me to tell everyone in the meeting that something big and terrible was happening.

When she called the second time about twenty minutes later -- we ended the meeting.

That afternoon, I returned from our field office at the Airport to our Main Office. That day I did not want anyone to take anything from me -- I continued to work for several hours as I did not want to give into anyone trying to terrorize me -- I was not going to be bullied.

The Unger Report posted a piece today on comedy and how 9/11 has impacted laughing. If you have a couple of minutes, listen to it -- especially the last 40 seconds. It is the voice of someone that gets it -- and ironically he gets it, because he admits that he just doesn't understand it. David Letterman went back to work six days after the 11th. I recall him stating that he was going back to work because Mayor Giuliani asked that people try to return to their normal ways.

In 2001, our family was only four in number -- now it is six. As I was driving today, I realized that none of our kids will really remember September 11 -- just as I don't remember November 22, 1963 (I wasn't alive yet) or July 20, 1969. They'll learn of it and remember it, but they won't know right where they were when it happened. Is that a good thing -- I don't know -- part of me thinks yes and part no.

A couple of years ago, my daughter started learning about 9/11 while listening to the words of Alan Jackson's song. She listened to enough of the words to wonder why "the world stopped turning."

It was sometime in 2003 and even though it wasn't September or an 11th or 2001 -- just some random day -- I remember where I was -- driving up Hunley explaining to her what had happened a couple of years before . . . and having to stop talking a few times from being choked-up.

I wonder if that is what she'll remember?

365 x 2 plus time

Each year, I (literally) take thousands of photos.

I took the attached photo two years ago tomorrow. The quality stinks, the cropping is poor, the reason I took it is not quite known (even to me), but its importance is paramount.

8 seconds before this photo was taken, my wife had walked from the garage down to near where I was and advised me that my Dad had died.

She bore the news and before she got to me, our then-four-year-old son got it and got to her. He went to her with all available hugs and comprehension.

I still don't know exactly why I took this picture - my camera was close and something told me that I would want this years later -- and painfully sweet, I know that I was right. Picturing (literally, again) the hurt on my wife's face, the comfort to her from my son, and knowing the situation reminds me again and again what a phase life is.

I don't like interrupting a story-line, but two years ago as I was driving back to Indianapolis, I was listening to a CD that I had compiled just a few days before. Being in the state that I was, I was imagining that each song really meant something that my Dad wanted to say to either me or to someone else. In each song, I was able to apply meaning -- except one.

The one song that I could not give any justification was a Jimmy Buffett song -- "Permanent Reminder of a Temporary Feeling". The whole drive up, I could not figure out any of the lyrics that made sense. Each and every other song had a least one line that I was able to fit into something that he would want to say to either me or to Mom -- but not this one. Nothing would fit.

Years ago, knowing my affection and admiration for my Dad, I asked that should he die before me, would he mind giving me his wedding ring. I admired his love and givingness to my Mom and thought that I'd like a little of that passed on to me.

Driving back to Cincinnati the next day while wearing my now-given-to-me-from-my-Mom Dad's wedding band, I was again listening to the same CD in the truck when Track 6 came on. I got it when I heard Mr. Buffett sing, "What's this ring on my finger, what is its meaning?"

Contact from my dear old Dad. Dad 1, Dave 0.

Tomorrow, it will be two years later, time will have moved on. My mom still aches, I still miss my biggest fan, and this picture reminds it all to me.

A Difference

Earlier today, my family found a squirrel's nest fallen from a tree above. My family also found two squirrels in the nest that previously were 30 feet above the ground.

Our initial thoughts were to leave them alone (and keep our scents off of them) in hopes that their parents would get them hoisted back up to their (new) nest.

As the morning rolled into the afternoon, the kids reported that apparently one of the squirrels was rescued by its parents. But the other was not.

Here is where the difference kicks in: My wife and my daughter then begin to think of ways to help the baby squirrel (and they end of getting info from a local wildlife person. "Put the baby squirrel in a clean butter tub and nail it high off of the ground. Put some paper towel over it so it doesn't get burned by the sun."

Here is where the difference continues: As the hours faded into evening, my wife went to the store to buy kitten formula. And now she and our daughter are feeding the squirrel.

Here is the other side of the difference: When it was first found and throughout the day, I have said (once) and thought frequently, "It is nature. It is what happens. It is the circle of (ironically) life."