Milk Those Cows

In the following story, I have taken a degree of writer’s privilege, adding specific details that may or may not be true. In fact, I am pretty sure they are not true, seeing how I was only 5 or 6 years old. Who can really remember specific details from that age? So, please, just go with it… Thanks.
The early morning Idaho cold bit hard at my tender face as my oldest brother, RC and I made that walk to the barn. Two more hours before sunup, but the yard light from a high pole illuminated the way. Once inside the barn, there came some relief from the cold; at least there was no wind. I was young maybe 6 years old, and I remember that walk seemed to so long.
This morning we had 12 cows to milk, and 4 would be milked at a time. My body shivered and teeth chattered from the cold. I could see my hand shack as it poured a coffee can of oats into the trough for each of the first four cows. No sooner was the oats in the trough and RC let in the first group. “Grayquill get those udders wipe down.”
I worked my way from cow to cow doing my best to break off the dried cow dung from the teats while RC started the milking.
This memory I am sure would be long forgotten except for what was soon to happen. A memory is interesting that way. The regular mundane elements of life slip seamlessly out of the memory banks. Does it not take something out of the ordinary, something painful or shocking to keep a memory attached to those crooked lines within our brains?
Most farms have their fair share of barn cats, and when the milking begins they start showing up. If this did not actually happen on this particular morning it certainly did several other mornings, and it was a sheer delight for a six year old boy to watch. One gray cat began her begging mew. And my brother while doing a cleaning of Nancy’s utters, squirted that cat right in the face with milk straight from the teat. That cat could lick milk off her face mighty fast. In seconds there were one or two other cats at the ready to step in and help with the cleaning. When my brother stopped the milk bath the cat’s expression seemed to say, more, more.
With the game over, Nancy was soon milked and I needed to be quick because it was Horrible Sally who would be coming to take her place. Even as a youngster I was amazed how those cows knew which stall was theirs. A coffee can of grain for each, my brother yelling at me to hurry up. No sooner had I dumped the grain in the trough, and here came Sally. I jumped out of her way real quick like, saving my own life. You think I’m exaggerating? Just wait you will see Sally was just plain mean. Wiping the sweat from my upper lip before it froze; I now had the task of cleaning off Horrible S A L L Y ‘ S utters – Yikes! First off why would a six year old be expected to clean a cows utters? Think about it, how good of a job can a six year old do? Well, maybe I was in training.
Right off, Horrible Sally tried to kick me when I went to touch her utters. I was expecting it, and to my credtt I was quick as a gun fighter getting out of her way. Hah! That gun fighter business I had practiced often, so I am sure the learned quickness is what saved me. Horrible Sally did not give up easily and she was determined to not be denied her evil way. She must have known my toes were already totally numb from that cold winter morning and decided to do something a youngster would not really be expecting. Horrible Sally placed her right rear foot square on top of my small size 1 foot. Okay I don’t know if it was a size 1 – do you really care? I needed a size for the story – stop bugging me! And, yes it hurt. I let out a holler that seemed to make old Sally smile. She looked back at my tear filled eyes and said to herself, I wonder how the little brat would like my full weight, and she gave it to me full out.
My brother soon determined my anguish and pushed, then pulled and eventually grabbed stubborn Sally’s tail and threw his full 120 pound force against her 1400 pounds. Finally he freed me and Sally looked over and smiled – I win you lose. Well, my little foot hurt while I half hopped and half crawled looking for my revenge. I saw it in the corner, there was with four nice sharp prongs. RC caught me before I could impale the beast. Sally smiled – I win you lose.
I know this story is a little anti-climatic but seriously what did you expect. It came from the life of a six year old – Duuuuuhhhh!!! Thank you very muuuch!
Is there a lesson here? Absolutely! Why wouldn’t there be? The lesson is obvious - do not ever name your daughter Sally.

Mow Your Own Grass

One of the chief disappointments a man has to face when his kids grow up and leave home – he once again has to mow his own grass.
What can be said about this? Can’t think of much, except, get up off that chair and go mow the grass. D’OH! There are a few benefits,such as when I sharpen my lawn mower blade it stays pretty sharp all season, and my lawnmower gets the oil checked with each use – I guess that is a bonus.
My old lawn mower, I bought five or eight years ago at a garage sale for $25.00. The outside cage is now beginning to rust through, the right rear wheel is about to fall off, but the little rascal starts always on the first pull. In fact all my gas powered implements start easily. I discovered the secret a few years back. You would like me to share this secret with you, wouldn’t you? I might, we will have to see how charitable I am feeling toward the end of this writing.
If my nephew had known this secret, I might not have read on his Facebook page how he had three lawn mowers in his shed that did not run. He is a pastor – hasn’t he read the scripture verse, “For the lack of knowledge the lawnmowers perish?” Well, I think he should memorize that bit of scripture.
Enough about nephews – let’s talk garage sales. Spring is here and that means garage sales are beginning to bloom. I bet in a few weeks, I will be able to find two or three good used lawn mowers for sale within a five mile radius. Considering inflation I guess I should expect to pay $35.00, regardless my limit is $50.00, and I won’t pay a penny more. So, if you have a good used lawn mower for sale and you think it is worth more than $50.00 - don’t call me, I know there is a good one just around the corner.
Garage sales have rewarded me greatly in the past. All my present vehicles have been purchased at garage sales – well my wife’s car I bought at an auction – doesn’t that almost count? My little truck showed up at a garage sale a few years ago. Some scoff at me for driving such a truck. It doesn’t have a bumper, the AM on the radio no longer works but the FM does. The windshield wipers work great, as long as you know where the added toggle switch is to bypasses the broken factory switch. I have installed a secret anti-theft device. I guess I can share this secret since you seem to be the trustworthy type. This little truck will be 25 years old this year and so things break now and then. I figured when my emergency brake cable broke it was an excellent opportunity to improve on the original design and also install a anti-theft device. Hanging a bit off to the left is a bright green nylon cord. Pull the cord and chazam the parking brake is released and you can steal my truck. Please don’t I only have liability insurance. Another great thing about my truck; when I finish fishing and need to dry out my flies, the cloth along the roof inside the cab is a great place to hook these little beauties. I think it is getting quite attractive if I do say so myself; an array of Wolly Buggers, Grayquills, and Zugbugs. I could go on about my truck but I think I might be boring you.
For my lady readers check this out.
Nice right? $35.00 at an Estate Sale. This piece hangs 24 x 36 inches. It was hand crocheted by an African American Grandma whose family thought $35.00 was more important than a family heirloom. This might be my favorite find. When this article appeared in the house, my wife immediately thought I bought it for her –Hah! I let her think that.
I guess I could tell you about some of my other garage sale finds but that would just be bragging.
So, is there is a lesson in this? Of course there is. If my nephew is reading this it is time to pay attention. Always add fuel stabilizer to your small gas engines. I know, I know….You are welcome.

Tell Me Everything

What is it about a song that has the power to take one back in time….
Tonight a song began its melodious dance, the scores banged out from a strong baritone voice full and strong. The lyrics rushed me back to a time years ago when I sat writing a good bye letter to a friend, mentor, and spiritual leader of sixteen years.
I remember writing, “You didn’t have many answers, and at times I was extremely angry about that, but you were there – Thank you!” - Pretty powerful words if I do say so myself.
Week in and week out this man was faithfully there in his pulpit declaring God’s word to any who would listen. This man was there at the hospital when each of my three children were born. He always had time to be there I when needed a little extra life living wisdom. He was there the day my house burned and he was a great help.
Then one day, a tragedy struck my family that made a house burning seem trivial and I was shook to my core - he was there. I can still see the restaurant and the very booth we sat in and still here the words he spoke to me, “Tell me everything,” - I did, and he listened and he prayed for me and my family. He didn’t have any words of magic but he listened and after listening he didn’t leave me alone.
During the following months in one way or another he would say again, “Tell me everything,” and I did… and he listened. Often I was angry at him that he didn’t have those magic words that would fix me and my family but he continued to listen and he was there.
For the most part I took this man for granite, then one day I sat and listened as he told his congregation he would no longer be our pastor and that scared me. I had come to depend on him and his steady balance in my life.
He did leave and I have often wondered if he ever really grasped the extent he helped me and my family. So, here I sit once again much like I did so many years ago writing, blowing my nose, writing, wiping my eyes and writing some more. With the passing of time I now have the ability to reflect back on this man and I can see that listening and being there was just about right.
Thanks Pastor D.

Midlife Crisis

The Midlife Crisis… Is there really such a mystical condition? I think there must be, isn’t the fact the term exists proof enough that the condition is real?
If the condition does exist; I would argue that others might sink to such a demoralizing state, but not your favored Grayquill. Surely, he is above such nonsense.
Yes, I did buy a motorcycle when I was in my fifties but heck I bought it at a garage sale – does that really count? It shouldn’t because I paid cash and isn’t going into debt one of the requirements of a midlife crisis? It seems to me that since I did not go into debt, then the motorcycle shouldn’t count. That certainly seems reasonable and rational to me.
Mrs. GQ might argue that a short time later when I took my garage sale find off road, and I came to a place on the ride where it became necessary to bail off the bike into a ravine onto hard river rock breaking my arm, resulting in a three day hospital stay; was the result of a mid-life crisis. Well, she is just plain wrong. That was a simple accident, after all vehicle accidents have been quite a common place in my life. Therefore that would just be a stupid argument with no merit or validity. I would have to say once again, “Not my problem.”
Later I was accused of being in a mid-life crisis when weeks before my dog died and the crows were eating his untouched dog food. I spent meticulous effort planning and setting up surprise moments when I could slay the thieving pests. Surely, this cannot be counted as part of a mid-life crisis. Sure it might have been a bit boyish but it was an all important and necessary step in keeping nature in balance. The laser scope, at-top a balanced 1,500 ft per second chrome plated pellet gun was required just to make it fair – Crows are smart. The gun is not part of the problem, thank you very much.
Now, I will give into one argument that there might be a slight indicator of this malady in myself. A couple of years back I began hiding my cookies. Just because they were not stored in the public, take what you want pantry, does not mean I have a problem. To break all myths of me hiding food I will tell all right here and right now - I keep my cookies in the bottom drawer of my night stand - No hiding! It is now all out in the open therefore that proves I don’t have a problem.
Some of you negative thinkers might be thinking, ‘Nope, Grayquill has a real problem.’ So, to assure the most critical reader there is no problem – the drawer is empty at this moment. Hah! That might mean I moved the cookies to a new hiding spot in the chance Mrs. Grayquill, my niece, or one of my adult children could read this post and go searching for my goodies. But, I want to assure all of you Grayquill does not have a problem. If you think I do, it is in your mind only, and therefore you are the one with the problem – are we clear?
So now that is all settled, is there a lesson here? Of course there is – this little discussion as hard as it was, was healthy and should now end all rumors that Grayquill is in or ever was in a mid-life crisis. I hope you all have learned your lesson.

When the Path is Dark

I wrote this shortly after the Haiti earthquake.
When the path is dark and the trail is crooked it is hard to walk straight without tripping. Many times trials have come, and dragged me along with his companions’ grief, sadness, and despair…. Here again I am at one of those times. The TV screen flashes images that scream accusing me again, that God deserted his creation and more personally me. Feelings, emotions fill the room strangling a faith that only a few days earlier was secure.
From my early youth I was taught the traditional Christian message. That God is just, completely righteous, perfect in every way, everlasting in his love, all powerful, and who is completely faithful. It was never a debate in my mind that I was a sinner, as I demonstrated regularly the opposite of God’s traits. I had no trouble with the teaching that my sin separated me from this righteous God. The Christian teaching that taught, God provided a way to remove my sin, and this I accepted. Intellectually, I understood He took upon himself the penalty for my sin, but an intellectual understanding is hollow, and in that hollow place, dance the demons that major in fear. It took some time before I could believe that it all applied to me and accept that the Father was rather warmhearted toward me.
I came to a place where the taught tradition became my personal faith; where I depend on the creator to be all that the scriptures say He is. On more than one occasion it has been necessary to choose faith in God and his goodness even though my feelings were telling me the complete opposite. Here we are, one more time where feelings are just not reliable.
These are times where old messages, old convictions, come and steer me along this bumpy path called faith. Memories of past struggles help pick me up and put me back on the straight path.
At times I get a bit peeved at our creator by His way of faith but I am thankful that he is fond of me.

Toe Nails, Piercings, and Man Purses

Normal everyday things now and then strike me as downright curious. You know those little things on the end of our feet? They are certainly peculiar, and almost funny. Have you ever been to the beach and walked around looking at people’s toes? They are all so different there are long toes, fat toes, short nailed toes, pretty painted toes, ugly man toes, and toes with giant corns sticking out of them.
Regular things done in excess can also be weird. Have you ever had someone say to you, “What are you looking at?” That happened to me the other day. I said, “Oh, sorry, nothing, nothing.” What I wanted to say was, “I was starring in awe and wonder, trying to figure out why someone would take a perfectly good set of lips and let someone poke holes in them.”
I am pretty sure people do this mostly because they want to be looked at. So, it kind of bugs me when I stare and they react with “What are you starring at?” I have recently concluded they like being starred at, just not by me.
My friend Abe, you all remember him? He first gave me the idea that people who do such things want attention. When Abe and I are in the vicinity of someone that has gone over the edge in their weirdness; he will start talking to them about their weirdness. He might say something like, “Hey, when you are eating rice, do you have any trouble keeping from spitting rice across the room with that barbell in you lip? One time I listened to Abe have a 10 minute conversation about hair dyes, techniques to apply, and the best hair dye brands with a kid who had bright green hair. Abe says to me, these people who do these behaviors have a need to be significant. So, when I talk to them I am giving them a small piece of significance. Well, I figured Abe’s words made pretty good sense.
The above principle does not always apply to people acting and looking weird. One day I was in line at the pizza place and a giant of a man was standing next to me holding a purse. Now I should probably say, when this occurred, I might not have fully understood the principle: “When you don’t understand something you might be miles ahead to just keep quite.” But, of course I thought I understood this poor man’s position exactly. I figured this man was whipped and his girl friend or wife was in the bathroom and had told him to hold her purse.
So, in an effort to show mercy and kindness to him, I casually open a dialogue. “Don’t you hate it when your woman wants you to hold her purse? I refused to do that a long time ago. You might think about taking a similar tact. I am just trying to help, next time you might end up in a more embarrassing situation than a pizza place holding who knows what.”
“Mr. this is not a purse it is a _ _ _ _ _. It is a man’s bag. “
I think the word he used to describe the bag was French. I don’t care what name he gave it. That did not change the fact it looked like a woman’s purse to me.
“Oh, I didn’t know there was such a thing. Sorry!” I meekly turned and walked to the other side of the waiting area hoping he would not follow me. I checked to see if the huge man was self controlled and apparently he was. I didn’t get the stuffing kicked out of me that night. Whew!
Just being friendly has brought trouble my way on more than one occasion. In those times I surprise myself with what comes tumbling across my lips. I will think, ‘Grayquill did you actually say that?”
“Of, course you did, if you would listen to me now and then instead of just willy-nilly saying everything that pops into your head maybe you would be in less trouble.”
“Oh, so you think you can do better? Why don’t you do the talking from now on? “
“Hey, I try to. But, when I know it is better just to be quiet, the silence seems to kill you and you just take over with blah, blah, blah, blah… and then we are both in trouble. I would appreciate it if you would just take a nap when we are in the company of a person. I’ll tell you what - you talk all you want when we are in the car alone or in the shower, or alone fishing, but when we are in the presence of people why don’t you just let me do the talking?”
“You know you are real a pain sometimes. Are you done now? Have you sufficiently shamed me? Or do you need to continue?”
“I am done.”
Is there a lesson here? Yip! Why wouldn’t there be…”If you talk to yourself, try not to answer yourself in public. People will just think you are weird.”
Well that certainly was a big mess…crazy people talking to themselves, feet and toes, man purses, piercings, and blah, blah, blah….. Sorry for wasting your time.
But seriously, people are very odd sometimes. There is an area in our city called Capital Hill, it is known for its weirdness. A full day of entertainment can happen, just sitting at a sidewalk café watching the sea of humanity stroll by. That statement drips of judgments and biases – “I am better than them.” - Does that pretty much cover it?
I am as sick about that as you are.
Growing up, two dominate messages followed me into adulthood. One was: Anyone different, had something wrong with them and I needed to be afraid of them. The second was: Anyone different was probably a heathen, not nice, and probably out to get me.
Even though I am still a little afraid of anyone different I have found underneath the tattoos, the piercings is a person who sometimes feels lonely just like I do, is afraid just like I am sometimes, talks to himself just like I do on my blog, and probably is trying to figure out this thing called life much the same as I am.
A quote from Steve Brown might serve well for our lesson - “I am just a beggar telling another beggar where he can find bread” That might be a good starting point.

This and that

This morning the sun is out and there is not a cloud in sight. It was a bit chilly, so I built a fire in the wood stove. I think sometimes that old stove is my best friend. It never argues, never complains, makes almost no demands of me, and always keeps me warm - although sometimes it is a bit high maintenance; every hour or so it wants to be fed. But I only need to clean out its litter box once a year, okay, maybe more than once a year but it is still a whole lot better than a cat.
It is an amazing thing (at least to me) a few winters back I was out of firewood and a big hemlock had blown down through my garage, across my yard and a good distance into my neighbor’s yard. When I cut it up, the diameter of the last two rounds were too large for my chain saw and its 20 inch bar, and that was cutting from both sides. I did finally get it cut through and it measured 42 inches across. It was a big tree, at least by my estimation. Are you still reading? Are you still there? I thought maybe those last few line may have put you to sleep.
All that next winter I burned that tree in my old wood stove. When spring finally came I emptied the stoves litter box of ash, can you believe it that whole tree fit into a single 5 gallon bucket. Pretty amazing - don't you think?
Yesterday, my friend, Abe and I went on a short hike up near Snoqualmie Pass. Abe has two yellow labs – you have met them before Max Aswell and Buster. Well of course they had to go along. I like his dogs okay but Abe insists they ride in the cab with us. He does have an extended cab but those dogs are still entirely to close. I know they are to close because upon exiting the truck the black sweat shirt I was wearing had dried dog slobber on my shoulder and left arm and although I couldn’t see it I am pretty sure my left ear was also covered in Buster slobber. Eight month old Buster felt it was necessary to lick my ear about every 10 to 15 miles along the way. Grrr…
I think Abe must actually be a better friend than that wood stove, for me to put up with that. The dog slobber is not a new experience for me - it is just something that is required if I want to be Abe's friend. The sweat shirt has already been washed so I guess a little dog slobber is a small price to pay for having a great friend.

Is there a lesson here? Of course there is: Always wash the slobbered up clothes before showering then no slobber will be tracked into the house.
We can talk about dog hair another time. Thanks for stopping by and reading to the end.