Wisdom of our Fathers

Wisdom of our Fathers, a new book out by Tim Russert. I haven’t read it and I don’t thing I will. It will be a book like his last one, bragging about his father. He was one of the lucky kids, I guess. I’m not sure if I could say wether my dad was wise or not. I just don’t know.

My dad left when I was a baby. And I met him for the first time when I was 13 years old.

It was a cold wintery North Dakota day. I walked into an old hotel lobby and there he stood. He was the tallest man I’d ever seen. He wore a dark hat like those I’d seen on the tv show, "The Untouchables." A weekly show about gangsters. My father had on a long dress coat on like Leave to Beaver’s dad wore home from work. He was very thin and I noticed big hands and large feet. I don’t remember what he said to me, and I believe I was probably to shy to say anything to him.

I didn’t see him again until I was in my 20's. By then cancer and the medication for it had destroyed his mind.
He died when I was 26. I had visited him on occasion, bringing him a carton of cigarettes (with no filters of course). I don’t believe he ever did quit smoking (the terrible cause of his cancer).

I have smoked a cigarette a time or two in my life, but I always remember the suffering my father went threw because of it. -His mouth was raw at times, his teeth could fall out when chewing food, his tobacco stained fingers, and his loss of memory. He couldn’t remember me, or my siblings, or what day it was.

In retrospect maybe my father did give me something after all. -My life long dislike for smoking. I have preached of the down side of smoking, to my husband (he quit smoking some 15 years ago), and to my children. I don’t think any of them smoke and I hope they don’t ever start.

Medium

The other night I watched the season finally of Medium the other night. In her dreams she had a handsome attentive husband and she left her dream husband for another man (her real life movie husband) whom she lusted over and kissed romantically in the down pouring rain. She wakes up to find herself in bed with her real life movie husband. After taking a moment to realize where she was at she says "I love my life and I wouldn’t change a thing."

M-M-M where do we go from there? We can sulk over our "not at all like tv life" or we can be grateful for what we have. Me, I’m not going to sulk at all. I’m the luckiest woman alive! I have a husband who lets me lead my own life. I can work if I want to, I can travel if I want to, I can live my life to my own perfection. I wouldn’t change a thing - well maybe next time it rains I’ll ask my husband to kiss me a "tv kiss" out in the rain, while our greying hair gets wet. I’m going to go now and check the weather channel for the forecast (and see if there is rains in my future.)

Coffee Tea or NH3

An estimated 12 hours a day every spring I fill Anhydrous Ammonia (NH3)nurse tanks for our local Farmers Union Co-op. It’s one of my junky part time jobs that I’ve had since I retired from the Phone Company.

So every spring I catch up on my reading. So far this year I’ve read the last two books from the Left Behind series, The Red Tent, and the Divinci Code. All are really good books.

There is a lot of waiting time here. Waiting for farmers to hurry and use their last tank so I can fill it and send them off again. I visit with the farmers while their NH3 is filling. I catch up with their ever-changing families. One lost his brother in a car accident last year and he’s helping his sisters-in-law’s calf out the new calf crop. Another lost his last living brother. He seems very lonely. He says hauling NH3 tanks for his son keeps him busy. Another says his two sons have come back to farm the family farm with him. A pretty farm lady tells me she thinks her apple trees got frost, as she looks downward I sense that this means there’s no apple pie for the Thanksgiving table this year.

Even when the days can be long waiting for customers I just love this job, one big extended family. And my favorite customer, the elderly farmer with his bib coveralls, who brought me a rock last year for my rock garden that sparkled in the sun light. This year we are comparing legs. Mine hurt in the car accident, his hurt by an angry cow. I’ve thought I wouldn’t be doing this next year, but I guess I’ll have to rethink that, I would surely miss the farmers who have become my friends.

My Grandpa

My Grandpa Johnson was a one of a kind. He was born John Arthur Johnson everybody called him Art, I called him Grandpa. He was quick to smile. He had a mischievous look out the corner of his eye that I see in my Uncle Vern and my own grandchildren. He was tall, well taller than me. A giant in my mind. He had snow white hair that laid smoothly on his head. On Sunday’s he was often told "go comb your hair" at which time he would promptly revert to his bedroom and apply some Brilcreme. I guess to keep his hair off his forehead.

During the week he wore blue jean bib coveralls "gosh b’gosh" was tagged on the front. Grandpa would wear 2 shirts, summer and winter. You could see the ribbing from his T-shirt sticking out the sleeves of his work shirt. He would say "what keeps you warm in the winter keeps you cool in the summer."

Grandpa’s hands were his most memorable trait. Large, tanned, weathered hands, strong and muscular. He’d sometimes hold my hand as we would walk. They felt like leather as he’d grip my fingers. He had work gloves, I guess, just to keep his hands some what clean while doing farm work along side his eldest son. His hands could dry the most delicate dishes with ease. They could fold and wrap lefse to perfection. And they could make leather harnesses for his homemade horses to pull his crafted wagons. And one hand could hold his half of the hymnal. Even tho he never sang along. He said he did, with that mischievous look in his eyes, but I couldn’t hear him.

He smoked a pipe, watched boxing on tv on Saturday nights and drank butter milk in small glasses that I latter found out were jelly jars. He drove a blue 2 toned Edsel car and never drank liquor or cursed. A few days after Grandma died Grandpa told me she had come to him as an angel. I miss Grandpa everyday since he left, but I’m sure he’s with his angel. Yup, my Grandpa was a one of a kind.