Category: Adventures with family

My son-in-law is a genius – well at least someone thinks so. He’s one of those IT guys – you know one of those guys who can stop you in your tracks and bring the whole room to complete silence without even trying.

Several years ago, when he was still in the trial period of boyfriend status for my daughter, he was invited to a party at our house. The occasion was a wildlife supper. He was quite impressed with all the different kinds of food we were having. There was mesquite smoked duck breasts, and smoked goose, venison roulades, grilled marinated venison roast, Swiss baked squirrel, baked rabbit and hasenpfeffer (hare mostly without the hair) served in a big bread bowl, wild turkey, roast of elk, and a few other delicious dishes. The elk turned out to be my favorite. I cooked it in 7-up with dried onion soup mix and was surprised to find the meat tender and tasty.

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As the aromas floated in the air and tickled the nostrils of my one-day-to-be son-in-law, the smell miraculously opened his mouth at the same time that his foot moved upward. He looked at my husband and these words floated out, “Wow! Did you get all this today?” The whole room got quiet as we looked in disbelief. In unison, we all had a good laugh at his expense while the poor guy chewed on his toes.

We accepted him as our son-in-law. After all, we needed some entertainment in the house. You never know when you’ll need a good laugh – and they last for years.

When my daughter was small, she was afraid of the dark. At bedtime, she said, “There’s a monster in my closet.” This is the same kid who was scared of her grandmother’s slippers because they had button eyes that watched her. Every night we went through the same ritual. I had to go to her room and reassure her there was nothing to harm her. Many nights I laid beside her until she dozed off, stuffed animals tucked in close to protect her from those imagined hairy beasts with sharp teeth and long claws.

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One night I held her hand as we went to her room. I turned on the light and we walked to the bed. We got down on the floor and pulled up the bedspread to make sure nothing was hiding under the bed.  Nothing there. I turned on a flashlight. Still nothing there. Then we went to the closet and slowly opened the door. No monsters there. When she was convinced she was safe, she hopped in the bed. I told her, “You see, there is nothing here in the dark that isn’t here in the light.” 

That is easier said than believed. I remember being afraid of the dark and running as fast as I could to my parents’ bedroom in the middle of the night. It seemed there was always a monster right on my heels. Somehow, I always managed to jump on the bed just before the creature pounced. I’m sure my dad used similar words on me to scare away the critters. 

Sometimes I still catch myself taking a quick glance behind me down a dark hallway. I walk a little bit faster just in case there’s a monster about to spring.

My mother’s self-esteem issues affected her thoughts of fat. She thought she was fat and quickly noticed that characteristic of others. When the parents returned from a trip to the store or a restaurant, Mama was always quick to give me a full report.

Daddy rarely made any remarks about people regardless of their looks, but one day after they had been out, he gave an account of a particular lady he saw. Mama would have just bluntly said they saw a fat lady. Daddy however said, “It’s a good thing that lady had skin on, or she would’ve been all over the place.”

As Daddy neared the end of his life, it was harder for him to distinguish between dreams and reality. After he awoke from a dream in the night or after a nap, he would often tell me the details. One morning after relaying his dream to me, he looked serious and asked, “That wasn’t real, was it? Did that really happen?” I confirmed his suspicions. He questioned his sanity and told me to always tell him if what he thought he saw was real. I assured him he wasn’t crazy. 

I have known people in their later years of life who seem to revert to their childhood. They see their mother or play some childhood game with siblings or friends in a time that brought them joy. Some people on their deathbed speak of seeing loved ones who have passed. My grandfather saw “his people” coming for him and within minutes was whisked away. Daddy saw several visions as his time approached and he gave intricate details of each. Somehow as his visions were so clear to him, yet he still retained sanity enough to accept whether it was true or not.

Maybe Daddy was closer to reality than I thought at the moment. Looking back, I believe his visions were premonitions to prepare him for the journey ahead. And just maybe, those who have dreams and visions are the ones who see things clearly because they are looking into another realm, one we can’t see. Maybe the rest of us are the ones who need a touch a reality. 

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My favorite comedian is Tim Conway. I love the skits where he played the old man. He always made a grand entrance – very s l o w l y – by shuffling through the door, his feet never leaving the floor, his disheveled hair atop his head that wore a dumfounded look on his face. While he maintained a straight face, the actors around him tried to hide their laughter by turning their heads or ducking behind a hat.

Well, let me tell you, Tim Conway had nothing on my dad! 

Several years ago, we took Daddy on a trip to Alaska, which was the fulfillment of a dream for us. After cruising along the coast and through the fjords, we headed inland to Denali. The scenery was gorgeous. Rivers dissected this unspoiled wilderness where wildlife rules and snow-covered mountain peaks cast shadows into the valleys. 

We stayed the night in a motel inside the park. It was more economical to share a room. That is a night I will forever remember. Daddy took off his slippers and slid into his bed. All was well. In the middle of the night, Daddy had to go to the bathroom. He crawled out of bed, fumbled around to get the slippers on his feet, and teetered a bit to get his balance. It was then the nightmare began.

As to why Daddy didn’t sleep on the other side of the bed, I don’t know. It would have been easier. But, no, he slept on the side of the bed furthest from the bathroom. Now, Tim Conway was funny when he portrayed the old man shuffling his feet across the room but, in reality, Daddy was not so funny, nor was he acting. The soles of his slippers annoyingly scraped the floor like fingernails on a chalkboard. A chill ran down my spine as the grating sound like that of grinding teeth was magnified. It took him at least ten minutes to get to the bathroom, and that was just one way! When he finally got settled back in bed for the night, I couldn’t sleep. I decided right then that if we went on another overnight trip, the little man would have his own room.  

Had I been able to gaze into a crystal ball, I would have seen many more nights like that in my future. In his last years, I heard his shuffling feet in the night as well as the day.

But you know what? I wouldn’t change it for anything! Sometimes I miss the sound of the little man dragging his feet across the floor. 

The time came when Daddy needed hearing aids. He was fitted for his new ears but had quite a time with all the little buttons on his remote. In no time at all, he had them all messed up. As his hearing declined, we made occasional visits to get his aids adjusted. 

Daddy had plenty of hearing loss, but he also had an ample supply of ear wax. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he just couldn’t hear or if his hearing aids were clogged. One night Daddy asked me if I had a pin handy. Nope. He studied me pretty hard as he took out one of his hearing aids. Then I realized he was looking at my earring. Uh-oh. That look was pretty serious, and I knew what it meant. 

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I cringed as I complied and handed him my earring. He proceeded to stick the post of it into his hearing aid to dig out the thick brown wax that had set up like concrete. When he handed the earring back to me, I reluctantly held it in my hand as if gangrene had already set in and my hand would rot off. 

I stood there a few moments and tried not to appear overly anxious to make my escape. In no time at all I had that earring post soaking in alcohol. 

The next time Daddy eyed my earring suspiciously, I had a pin handy.

Big wooden boxes filled with all kinds of pumpkins and gourds lined the parking lot. Some were green, some orange, some white, some flesh colored, some big, some small, some shaped like gnome hats, some with big hideous warts, some squishy looking, some fat, some for cooking, some for decoration. When I walked through the opened door of apple house, a waft of sweet-smelling fried pies, pastries and breads tickled my nose. From the long line of customers, it seems they must have been enticed by the pleasing aromas too, as they waited somewhat patiently to make their purchases.

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I made our selection of apples to be made into applesauce, pies and other tasty treats, and let my husband pay for them while I went outside to wait. As I sat on a bench people watching, I saw an elderly gentleman come my way. He pushed one of those small half carts, with his cane riding inside the little buggy. Carefully, he sat down on another bench. He had a slight smile on his face that looked like it could be permanent fixture. He looked toward another gentleman and said, “It sure is a pretty day, isn’t it?” There was no response. I watched him closely, then his eyes met mine and I smiled and nodded in agreement. When I got up to leave, I told him to enjoy this pretty day. His whole face lit up.

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Little did the elderly man realize that seeing him stirred many memories for me. For several years in the fall of the year, another elderly gentleman, my father, and I took a trip to the Apple Capital of Georgia to get apples. We would make a day of it visiting one of the many orchards in the area and going out for lunch. Our adventures always included a scenic drive while Daddy told tales of his childhood and family history. 

Autumn memories somehow make an already pretty day with family even sweeter.

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I know a guy who doesn’t get out much other than for work and an occasional visit to a family member. He might be just a little bit hermitish (though I don’t think that’s a word). 

One day he and another fellow went to a neighboring town to get items for work. They decided to stop and get some lunch at a Chinese restaurant. After eating their meal, the guy opened his funny little cookie. He thought it was nice that they gave him a cookie, and quickly put the whole thing in his mouth. As he chewed, he knew something wasn’t quite right. He pulled a narrow piece of paper out of his mouth and was surprised to see a prophetic message that read, “You will get a surprise!” 

Wow! That was quick. I guess fortune cookies really do work!

(The guy really needs to get out more)

A strange thing happened.

Having been on my own journey, I was returning to the home I have known for many years. I flew on wings of blue and white as the eagle soars through the sky.

As the day faded, I pulled a book from a bag and began to read. It was the story of a boy who grew to be a revered Indian Chief – the chief of the Crows.

My eyes became heavy. I set the book aside and drifted off to sleep, wandering in another land and place. Somehow the words I had read were played out before my eyes. Indian boys clothed in wolf skins stepped into manhood , approaching a buffalo ready to charge. One young boy began his own journey to find the path of his destiny as leader of his people. I saw a glimpse into the life of a great warrior and chief.

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As quickly as my eyes closed into slumber, my mind was roused back to reality. The dream, though brief, faded into the darkness.      

And yet, the thought came to mind in an inaudible whisper, “Your father would be proud.” Of where the thought came, I did not know. Was the voice because of my own journey? Was it the cry of the voices of a people in search of a land? Of that, I cannot tell.

The plane landed and we made our way to the baggage claim area. As we waited, I looked, and above the baggage carousel was a sign, “There are road trips. And then there are pilgrimages.” 

Maybe the vision wasn’t a dream after all.

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