The Fox and the Hound

One of the things that appealed to me the most about the apartment complex I eventually chose to move to was its location. Shortening my commute to and from work was critically important to me, but there are tons of apartment complexes that meet that criteria ... in fact, there are a whole bunch of them not far from where I live. What I instantly loved about the complex I chose, however, wasn't the fact that it's much closer to work ... though I'm totally digging my seven-minute commute to and from work ... what I instantly loved was that it felt like I was out in the woods rather than in the middle of the city.

I thought for sure the maintenance guy was just pulling my leg when he told me the week after I moved in that humans and their domesticated pets weren't the only creatures living in the woodsy-feeling apartment complex. He had a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he talked about the "raccoon subway," and a wide grin spread across his face as he rattled off the names he had bestowed upon the resident family of deer. But when I asked him if there was a walking trail through the woods, he reached out to pet Ollie's furry head and said, "Yes maam, there is, but you shouldn't take this little guy out in the woods. I've seen bobcats and foxes out there, and then there's the snakes, too." The minute he said the "s" word, I decided right then and there that my little wiener dog and I would be sticking to the pavement on our walks ... snakes scare the living poop out of me.

It only took a few weeks for my skepticism regarding the validity of the kind, older gentleman's description of the animal kingdom I had unknowingly moved into to disappear. It was during the holidays, and I was stretched out on my couch reading a book when I noticed what I first thought was a dog trotting down the street in front of my apartment. I quickly realized that the furry reddish creature that was loping down the street was not a dog but a fox. He was a good-sized fellow, and the white at the end of his long slender tail stood in stark contrast to the cinnamon red of his coat. I quietly opened the sliding glass door and walked onto my deck so that I could see where the sly old fox was heading. I watched quietly as he glided down the street and into the woods, and I wondered if he was cold when I saw him burrow down into a pile of leaves. Within a matter of seconds, however, I realized that Mr. Fox was not cold at all ... he was hungry. I'll spare you the details, but a few minutes later, Mr. Fox headed back up the street with a lifeless squirrel dangling from his mouth.

The mind is such a funny thing ... it's been weeks since I stood on my deck and watched old Mr. Fox score his dinner, but it was only last night that he decided to make an appearance in my dreams. I'm not sure why, but I had one of those super intense "I really miss my big dog Julie" days yesterday. I miss that old girl a lot, but yesterday I missed her an extra lot. My sweet Jules was hands-down one of the happiest dogs I've ever known ... she was always ready and willing to play or snuggle on my lap or wrestle with Ollie. For people who say that dogs can't smile ... well ... those people never met my Julie girl. I dream about her every now and then, and most often those dreams are happy ones. But last night, I dreamed that Julie was in the woods with Mr. Fox, and it was not a happy dream at all. Again, I'll spare you the details, but I woke up in a cold sweat because Mr. Fox had done to my beautiful hound what he had done to the squirrel.

The terrifying dream has marched through my mind countless times today even though I tried my best to keep it at bay. It struck me this evening that maybe I can't get the dream out of my head because there's something I'm supposed to learn from it ... some wisdom or lesson or truth I'm meant to understand, though if that's the case, I haven't figured out what it is yet. Unless ... maybe ... maybe my dream was to make me search my heart and think about whether I'm the fox or the hound in the way I treat others. Do I lie in wait for the opportunity to attack or do I smile, wag my tail and try to make others happy? When others are wounded and bleeding, do I go in for the kill or do I do everything I can to care for them and help them to heal?

Fox or hound ... which one are you, friend ... which one are you? 

The Only Yardstick That Matters

If my sweet dad ever grew weary of me sticking to him like glue when I was a little kid, he certainly never let it show. Not only did he let me follow him around, he never once got upset with me for being right up in the middle of whatever project he happened to be working on at the time. I enjoyed every minute I spent tagging along with Daddy as he worked, but I really, really, really loved it when his project of the day called for the use of the mystical, magical, majestic chalk line. I remember it like it was yesterday ... Daddy would get this extra-special twinkle in his eye as he looked at me and said, "Alright, Sam, go ahead and make us a good line." Seriously, I remember it like it was yesterday ... the sound of the old line snapping ... the sparkling blue of the chalk ... the pride in Daddy's voice when he said, "Now that there's one fine line ... that there's a line you can measure by, Sam ... that there's a line that's straight and true ... that there's one fine line, Sam."

A few days ago, I posted the photo below on my Facebook page ...

... and a good friend of mine left the following comment on that post ...

"It's the only yardstick that matters."

I haven't been able to get my friend's words out of my brain since the moment I read them, and I know why ... his words won't leave my mind because they are so very profound and so very true.

If we were to get gut honest with each other, my guess is that I'm not the only one who worries about measuring up to the standards or expectations of others. Let's just be real with each other and admit it ... here, I'll say it first ... I spend a boatload of time worrying about how other people feel about me or how they see me or what kind of yardstick they're using to determine if I'm worthy to have a place in their lives. And I spend even more time worrying that no matter which yardstick they choose to use ... intelligence or wealth or beauty or power or social status or job title ... I'll never be able to measure up. Now go back and read that list of yardsticks again ... sad, isn't it? So very sad that the yardsticks so many of us use to measure one another really have nothing at all to do with who we are on the inside. So many of the yardsticks we use have absolutely nothing to do with who we are as people ... nothing to do with the goodness, or evilness as the case may be, of our hearts ... nothing to do with respect or compassion or kindness or mercy or patience or grace or love. So many of the yardsticks we use don't even begin to come anywhere close to measuring what is most important ... the way we treat one another.
"It's the only yardstick that matters."

He's right, you know ... my friend is right ... how we treat one another really is the only yardstick that matters ... it really and truly is.

Watching My Pocket

Back in the late 1800s, there was a string of train collisions that were caused in part by the inaccuracy of the timekeeping pieces of engineers and conductors. When one of those collisions took the lives of several people, a commission was appointed and tasked with developing a universal set of timekeeping standards for all railroads. It took two years, but in 1893 the General Railroad Timepiece Standards went into effect and railroad officials scurried to place their orders with William Bond & Sons, the American agent for Barroud & Lund of London. And that, friends, was the birth of one of the most valued and treasured watches in all of history ... the railroad pocket watch.

I remember my dad saying that once the love of trains and railroading got in your blood, it was there forever. That statement was certainly true for Daddy ... he worked for the Southern Railway for 50 years. I never understood what a big deal that was until now, you know ... working at the same place for 50 years ... that kind of loyalty and commitment to a company is pretty rare in many workplaces today. While I would never claim to love all things trains as much as Daddy did, I think he's probably smiling in heaven as I type these words ... I really, really, really love pocket watches, especially the railroad pocket watches of days gone by.

Several people have given me pocket watches down through the years, and I treasure every one of them just as I do the people who gave them to me. Though I love all of my pocket watches, there's one in particular that is extra special to me. It's not a railroad watch, and it's not a fancy, expensive, made by a Swiss watchmaker watch. It's the one that most often resides within my pocket, however, and it is without question one of my most-loved possessions. I don't know why, but there's something about the watch that's calming to me. When I'm afraid or anxious about the future or feeling all alone, having the watch in my pocket helps me to remember that, in time, whatever is troubling me at that moment will indeed pass.

There's something else that my beloved pocket watch helps me to remember ... something that, as weird as it may sound, may well be the reason I've always been so infatuated with the old-fashioned timepieces. See, here's the thing ... no matter what I'm doing, I have to take time out every day to wind my watch or it doesn't work. If I don't do my part ... if I don't wind my watch so that the gears continue to move ... if I don't put in the effort required to keep my watch going, it dies. And every time I wind my old watch, friends, I can't help but think about people ... people I love and care about. I can't help but think about how important it is that I do my part ... that I keep the gears of my relationships with others moving ... that if I don't put in the effort required to keep those relationships going, they will most surely die.

Think about it, friends ... are you winding your watch?

The Road to Home

A little more than a month ago, I walked through my little house with the Goldilocks deck for the last time. My daughter walked with me from room to room that evening ... bless her sweet heart, she drew the short straw on being the one of my three children to live close enough to me to be the designated "help Mom get through moving day because we all know she's going to lose it" kiddo. I must say, however, that my children's assessment as to what my emotional state would be on moving weekend wasn't entirely accurate ... I barely cried at all on Saturday. I sobbed my heart out pretty much all day on Sunday, though, and I do mean sobbed. I knew it would be hard when the time finally arrived for me to leave my little house, but I had no idea it would be as difficult as it was.

When I began writing my post this evening, I intended to write about things I miss a lot about my house ... like my garage, my fenced-in back yard and my beloved walking trail ... and things I don't miss even a little bit ... like worrying about repairs that needed to made and not having the money to make them or the long commute to and from work. I intended to write about how the road to home now is so very different than the road to home was before. I intended to write something that would inspire you ... something that would cause you to search your heart and think about which road you're traveling.

That's what I intended to write, but then I watched and listened as President Obama gave his farewell address to the nation. If you've been reading along with me for a while, you know that I have a fairly strict code when it comes to not writing about political issues ... should you go away tonight thinking this post is about politics, then it's time for me to hang up my pen and never write another word. This post isn't about political parties or societal issues or any of the plethora of other hotbeds of disagreement that threaten to consume our country. This post is about the respect, humility, grace, honor, appreciation and dignity demonstrated by the President of the United States in his farewell speech this evening to the American people ... his speech to all Americans ... let me say that again, friends ... his speech to all Americans.

"Show up, dive in, stay at it. Sometimes you'll win, sometimes you'll lose."

"My fellow Americans, it has been the honor of my life to serve you. I won't stop; in fact, I will be right there with you, as a citizen, for all my remaining days."

"We're all in this together. We rise or fall as one." --- President Barack Obama

Great Expectations

I've really never been a big fan of making New Year's resolutions ... or revolutions as my daughter used to call them when she was a little girl. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for setting goals or getting rid of harmful habits or striving to be a better person. I'm absolutely in favor of participating in some good old-fashioned introspection from time to time. And speaking of introspection, here's an interesting little tidbit for you to mull over ... consider it a freebie for this evening's post or it could be fodder for my beloved head doctor's unending questions as she seeks to dig her way into the recesses of my ever-challenging mind. But back to the tidbit that is perhaps worthy of a certain amount of mulling ... I generally come away from those times of personal reflection and reevaluation even more convinced that resolving to eat healthier foods or exercise harder or devote more time and attention to the people I love and care about shouldn't be made at the beginning of a new year, but rather every single day of my life.

Even if you only check in on your social media accounts once a week, I'd bet you've still seen more posts than you ever wanted to see that were lamenting what a bad year 2016 was ... I know I sure have. I have to agree that 2016 wasn't the greatest year I've ever had, both for me personally and for my extended family as well, but I also have to say that it wasn't the worst one I've ever experienced either. I had a lot of major life changes that took place last year, some good and some not, and sometimes they were a mixture of both good and bad. Take selling my house and moving into an apartment, for example ... there are way too many goods and not goods and mixtures involved in that major life event to even attempt to share with you. But I will tell you this ... I expected it would be that way even before I actually made the decision to put my house on the market. And I'll tell you this, too ... I think the fact that I expected there to be good, not good and a mixture of both helped me get through the process with far less trauma than most people thought I would.

I've been thinking a great deal over the last couple of months about expectations ... about what I expect from myself, what I expect from others and what others expect from me. And in the course of all that thinking, I realized something that I consider to be rather profound. Expectations, whether self-imposed or instituted by another, can serve as a catalyst that spurs me on to tremendous personal growth or they can be a mechanism that delivers defeat and despair. And sometimes ... well ... sometimes they can be, whether self-imposed or instituted by another, a murky mixture of both.

Even though some of you won't agree with me, I'm not going to wish you a happy new year and I don't want you to wish me one either. It's not because I don't want you to be happy and it's most definitely not because I don't want to be happy myself. It's because wishing you to have a year filled with complete happiness is not only an unrealistic wish, it's one that's impossible for anyone to attain. So instead, I wish you a year of the good, the not good and the mixture of both. I wish you a year that grows your heart and expands your compassion for others ... a year that teaches you to value people more than things ... a year that brings you understanding for who and what really and truly matter most in this life. 

So here's to the year ahead, friends ... here's to the good, the not good and the mixture of both. Here's to being open, honest, real and transparent. Here's to taking care of each other. Here's to being better people than we were before.