Going to a Wedding

Are you ever surprised by someone you meet but in a great way? Let me introduce you to one of my Uncles, Uncle H. My discussion of my Uncle H might take more than one post because I have a lot to say about him. If you have read my blog much, you might remember I come from a large extended family. I have certain aunts and uncles that when I see them, I have to say to myself, ‘now think Grayquill, what’s her/his name?’ Uncle H almost fit into that category because I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen him in my life. The biggest reason my Uncle H does not fall into the group of ‘what’s his name’ is because of what you will read next. This experience printed an indelible impression in my brain of him. Another reason I can remember his name, I was named after him and my Grandpa. So, to protect Grayquill, my Uncle’s name for these posts will remain Uncle H. Relax, I am not telling you my real name. Some might say, shouldn’t you be concerned for your uncle’s anonymity? The folks that have such thoughts just don’t know me well enough. If they did know me, they would have already accepted, that Grayquill cares mostly about himself.

My first memory of Uncle H, was when I was two years old. My Aunt Ruth, Uncle H, my mother, and myself were traveling to somewhere. If another person was along I cannot confirm yay or nay because I was only two years old and I don’t really remember. My mother tells me we were traveling to Uncle H’s wedding in Kansas, which may or not be true because I was only two years old and I don’t really remember a wedding.


But, I do have one memory. Apparently after traveling all day, we stopped at a hotel or maybe it was a motel, I was only two years old, so I don’t really remember. In the room or rooms there were only two beds. I should add this one other tid bit of information. It is possible that my Uncle H’s fiancée was also with us but I have been unable to confirm this because I was only two years old and I don’t really remember. But, I do remember my mother wanted me to sleep in the same bed as my Uncle H. I hear the reason was they needed the space for the women. I would have nothing to do with that craziness. She says, I screamed and threw a fit that equaled and possible exceeded any two year old’s fit that has ever been thrown. I doubt this to be true because even though I was only two and I don’t really remember, that would be so unlike me to throw a fit. In defense of my mother’s version of the story, I hear two year olds can throw significant fits.


After much bribery, adult manipulation and possible threats of personal bodily harm, my mother was unsuccessful in convincing this two year old to sleep with Uncle H. I end up sleeping in the bed with my mother and my Aunt Ruth. I was only two years old and I can’t remember everything but I can remember looking out from under the covers to see if Uncle H was going to come get me. I stayed awake for a long time just to be sure that I was safe.


Some say, because of my angry two year old fit, Uncle H and his fiancée ended up that night sleeping in the same bed. But I am sure that is not true because even a two year old knew conservative Mennonites would never do that. I am sure Uncle H slept in the car, or on the floor, or some other appropriate place but I was only two years old and I don’t really remember.


So, if my memory is wrong and church rules were broken that night and great sins were committed – it’s not my fault, after all I was only two years old.


I am sorry, Uncle H if I told any secrets but that is exactly how I remember it.

Those Creepy Spiders

Yesterday I did some pressure washing on my house.  I hate painting so years ago I had vinyl siding installed. What I did not know, vinyl siding builds up static electricity much like when a person who still has hair runs a comb through his nest. As a result dust is attracted to the vinyl. I don’t have to paint but I do have to wash.

While washing it seemed spiders were everywhere. Mostly those big brown ones with giant hairy legs – that tells you a lot – I suppose all spiders seem big, brown and hairy. It doesn’t really matter for the story, so let’s forget I even brought up the whole spider type thing.  As I was pressure washing, I was blasting spiders off the wall left and right, wiping spider webs off my face and it seemed I was continually flicking the creep creatures off my shirt, neck and arms.

The whole spider invasion thing was creeping me out. Have you ever felt that light scampering of spider legs clicking across your skin? It is almost a tickle but not really, it is a one of a kind sensation. Well, I had now moved well past itching and now was firmly planted in the world of feeling real and imaginary creepy skitterers dashing across body parts. The trouble with spiders, they are everywhere. You know they are there but you can’t always see them. You just can’t be sure if one is hiding in some crease or fold of your clothing just waiting to bite you.

Here is the problem, itching and swatting at imaginary hair legged spiders at the top of an economy brand extension ladder is a bad idea. I was constantly fighting the urge to itch. I had to let the real and imaginary critters run up and down my arms, across my neck, and over my ears. I guess the fear of a twenty foot fall was for the most part a sufficient hindrance to keep from itching and swatting because I made it off the ladder safely.

By the time I was finished I was totally soaked. Still itching, I headed straight for the shower. As the water began coursing over my head – take a guess how many spiders I saw take a ride down the drain?

Did you guess three? Two? Four? Well I am here to tell you, you are way wrong. Not a single spider came off me. I just wondered if that question would creep you out. One spider did go flying off me when I peeled off my wet shirt in the wash room but let’s not tell Mrs. Grayquill. She is not like me who doesn’t mind spiders and is never really bothered by the hair creatures. You see, she is afraid of the little monsters. I wouldn’t want her to know that hairy creature are somewhere in her laundry room, alive, lurking, and waiting to pounce.

Are you beginning to itch? Don’t worry they only bite a little.

Rock in my Backpack

“Grrr….Who put this rock in my pack? Dad, did you do it?” B began stomping around mad as a hornet trying to find out who put the 4-5 pound rock in her backpack.
After a three mile hike to the ocean and another two miles up the beach, my twelve year old daughter B was unloading her pack and discovered the extra weight. The last two miles particularly had been a bit hard trudging through the deep sand. Carrying that extra weight had bent B's disposition into the red zone. The rain had drizzled on and off for most of the way. All of us were a bit heavier from the damp clothing, and I couldn’t blame B for being mad. I was a bit ticked myself.
As soon as we hit the sand my five year old son refused to go any further, so to keep him walking, his backpack was hoisted on top of mine. A half mile latter I inherited my eight year old daughter’s backpack. My friend Buck had also inherited his youngest daughters backpack and these extra loads were now bungee corded to the top of our packs. As we slogged down the beach, Buck commented, “Do you feel a bit like a mule? Yip that’s all we are, mule dads.” The view must have been similar to two high rise buildings waddling up the beach. I dared not stoop or bend to far forward because the balance was askew and my core was doing everything to keep my top heavy pack from toppling me over.
It seemed longer than it was but we finally arrived at our campsite. We soon had all the tents pitched. Buck laughed at me for bringing my huge family dome tent. I reminded him I had brought me family. I found a nice log to rest a minute which was awesome.
The remainder of the trip was uneventful and this is where I should probably consider making up some lies to keep the story interesting. I read once that when the author feels his story begins to lag, it is a good idea to kill off one of the main characters. Well I have not introduced any characters in this story yet that I would be willing to kill. Maybe if B was writing the story she might feel differently.
That first night brought out a hoard of raccoons which of course forced me to accept the mission to kill at least two. Sadly, I was unable to kill even one. Is the story getting more interesting now? Not? Hmmmm…. I know raccoons just do what raccoons do and they can’t help it. I know it’s not really their fault God created them the way He did, but I really wanted them to go somewhere else and to do their raccoon’in behavior. Some would argue that I was the one invading their space. Now don’t get all new age’y on me. Remember I’m the guy who thought it was a good idea to shoot a rooster because I wanted a taxidermy subject. Scavengers during the night are what raccoons do but doesn’t that simply translate into being just lazy. Who respects that?
Sure the little bush balls are as cute as scaditch but who can see them at night? It’s dark out! Let’s think about this a minute. I know it is wrong to question God because I am just a mere human and being created myself but why would he make a cute animal and then make it nocturnal. If I was god I would keep all the ugly animals as the nocturnal ones. Maybe I shouldn’t be too hard on God after all He did get it right when he made the rat, the bat and the possum nocturnal. Gee, I wonder if God feels better that I at least partially approve.
The rain stopped and the sun came out but it never warmed enough for bathing suits or water play. I did abscond a few muscles from a rock formation at low tide. They made a nice treat for dinner one night. One more highlight was the pictographs up at the north end of the trail. I suppose they were made by the Makah Indian Tribe in times past. I found them a little less wonderful than the advertisement described.
Upon repacking to head home B was in for justice but it just did not seem possible. Buck kept repacking his pack and each time finding a huge rock hidden amongst his stuff. The sun was out and with our packs a little lighter, leaving a food offering for the night scavengers, we headed back up the trail. Everyone was in great spirits and laughing could be heard up and down the trial amongst the children. It took us a couple hours coming out to make it back to our vehicles. We had driven separate vehicles so we caravanned down highway 101 out of Forks. Being in the jovial all around good mood I made the decision to use an area designated for slower vehicles to zoom past Buck and wave bye bye. He of course within the next 10 miles did the same thing to me. B informed me that she didn’t think Jesus would have done such an illegal thing.
Pulling into Sequim I needed a quick stop at a mini-mart and being a rule breaker, YES! there were lots of open parking spaces but I pulled into the lone Handicapped space right up front. B informed me once again she didn’t think Jesus would do such a thing.
No other events worth mentioning happened on our return trip. The next day I talked with Buck and he laughed at that little B’ster because somewhere somehow when he unpacked his backpack, way down at the bottom was a huge 5 pound rock. I of course asked B if she thought Jesus would have done such a thing - - - no I didn’t - - - but I am pretty sure He would have.

Guardian Angels

“So what do you think? Is he up to it?”
“Of course he’s not up to it, that’s why we are here. What I don’t understand is why one of your rank was given guardianship of a little baby? Don’t you normally take on higher profile duties?”
“I don’t question the Father’s wisdom and neither should you. Before taking this assignment, the Father opened the book and let me see a glimpse of what’s to come. They are both really going to need our help. You have been with him for 26 years now, isn’t that right?”
“That’s pretty close, a bit longer. Isn't that a little unusual getting to see what’s to come? Why would the Father do that?”
“Who can understand the Fathers reasons but I can tell you we have our job cut out for us. Listen, you better get your game face on and stay focused because what’s coming Grayquill is going to need every ounce of help you and I can give him. Granted my primary responsibility is B but Grayquill from what I have seen is not ready! I will help you out when I can but I better not catch you slacking off. This little one is just too important.”
“Well you can tell me about that latter but right now look at them. I haven’t seen him this relaxed in a long time and she seems very content.
”Listen, don’t get all sentimental on me, if you drop the ball here, there will be hell to pay.”
“Hey, that’s not funny, don’t use that threat on me, I don’t appreciate it.”
Oh my goodness, I am in more trouble than I thought, “Listen, It was a figure of speech you dim wit. Calm down. I just wanted you to know I will be expecting your best and I am not taking this assignment lightly. I will not put up with any nonsense from you. I have heard the stories down through the ages of your less than stellar past performances.
“This little one, B, the Father has great plans for and the evil one is already plotting against her. So tell me, this Grayquill where are the holes, what’s he lacking?”
“Gee...where to start, we don't have time for a complete list but I will highlight a few. Grayquill is how should I say it? My best description is… he’s of the common type. He lacks courage. He is prone to not face trouble head on but skirt around it sizing it up for hours or even days before taking action. He’s a messy. Some think he is pretty funny but honestly, he has never made me laugh, except for some of the bone head choices he makes.”
“Hmmm….that doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not! He often sticks his foot in his mouth. He regularly speaks before thinking and that has caused him a goodly amount of pain. His strengths are, he has a good strong conscious but he will rationalize it away whenever it serves him. He is a hard worker but his weakness is, when a duty gets boring or mundane, he will begin to falter, then, his best slips to the side. During these times he will be prone to day dreaming and in his school years he had more than one teacher totally exasperated with his lack of focus and I had to come to the rescue on more than one occasion. He is creative which helps him in problem solving. He is both good and horrible with people but that speaking without thinking is a real weakness. He will hurt another’s feelings without really intending to and I have had to help him repair more than one misspeak. But enough about him, tell me about the little lady. What is she going to be like?”
The older wiser angel smiles, “Where to start? Some of whom and what she is to become will remain to be seen by her choices. But, the strengths the Father gave her in the beginning are quite astounding. B has been gifted to see right and wrong at a high level. This will probably develop her into a no nonsense person. She is creative and her passion for life is strong. Her mind is already inquisitive and she loves learning. You will see as she grows if something is unjust she will work hard to make it just. She will have no trouble telling a person who needs to be set straight what is the straight way. She has been gifted with loyalty to those in her inner circle. She is courageous beyond what one would expect and her compassion for those less fortunate will be demonstrated though out her life. Her expectation of herself and others will probably cause her some pain down the road. My task is to keep drawing her toward the Father and his perfect plan for her. I am looking forward to this assignment.”
“Well we got our work cut out for us, I am glad you are here, maybe you can give me some pointers in helping to direct this sleeper. I am a bit worried about him. I still don’t get why the father would entrust such a highly valuable child to one such as this.”
“Trust…love triumphs over all, he does love her.’’
“What else can I do?”

Cleaning Fish

"Daddy is that the one I caught? No, that one is not mine. Mine had more red on the sides and I think mine was bigger. Why are you cutting off the head? Does it hurt the fish?”
“No, B the fish is dead, it doesn’t have any feelings.”
“It’s kind of gross, cleaning fish.”
“Yes it is but it has to be done. Why don’t you go wash the fish off in that bucket of water?”
No, I think I will just watch you. Are we going to eat these fish for dinner?”
No, these will be smoked.”
“Oh……. What’s smoked?
“It is a way of making the fish good to eat and a lot of smoke is used in the process.”
“Oh….Why is the fishes eye open? Is the fish looking at us?”
“No, B the fish is dead, fish don’t have eye lids. They can’t close their eyes.”
“You mean their eyes are open all the time? How do they sleep?”
“Yip their eyes are open all the time. Hmmm….I don’t know how they sleep but they do.”
“Daddy, I think you are just making that up.”
"Well, B I might be. Well that is the last one. Are you going to help me wash them off?”
“Sure Daddy, but I think I will let you do the washing.”

My Heart Belongs to My Daddy

The little girl’s face doesn’t seem happy, just doing. Because I know where, when and who is in the picture. There is little doubt that is influencing my projecting of the little girl’s feelings.
Where, when and who: Twin lakes, Colville Indian Reservation, a weeklong fishing trip Grayquill, Mrs. Grayquill, and daughter B. Also along are GQ's brother M and wife D, GQ's sister W and husband T. Neither couple had children. It is about 1983, my daughter B is either three or four years old and she was the only child on the trip.
The picture sends a small ring of sadness my way. If the picture could talk I wonder what it might say? The expression seems to say,”I am playing by myself and there is nothing I can do about it. Lunch is over and I have been told to go play. This is a vacation but it is for my parents not me. I have been brought along only because I live in this family. My feelings were not important. I am bored and I wish I had a friend to play with. The adults are enjoying their precious talk time. I am being ignored. I have no idea a picture is being taken of me. I am putting my egg container in my wheelbarrow. There isn’t even a sand box here. I am a little tired as we were in the boat fishing all morning and I still feel that wavy feeling from the boat. I suppose, Daddy is out fishing with Uncle T and has decided to leave me here. When dad is around Uncle T he seems to love fishing way more than me. I guess my sweat shirt says, My Heart Belongs to my Daddy, which is true, but I don’t feel right now like my daddy is thinking too much about me. I am only a little girl and I can’t do anything about my loneliness, so I will play with the few toys that they brought for me and wait.”

Long Ride Wishes

It is 8:30 am, I have been up for about three hours. I dropped off my son two hours ago and he should now be about two hours into the first leg of a 205 mile bike ride. Today is the annual STP (Seattle to Portland) bike ride. 10,000 riders from all around the world, show up each year to take part in this event. Most riders will make the ride in two days but there are those few who will do the ride in one day.
Two years ago I also made the drive to the starting line but then it was my son and I heading out. This was not an event that I would have undertaken on my own without encouragement. The motivating factor came on Father’s Day when my son presented me with a ticket to make this ride with him.
Yikes! Fear? Yes! Excitement? Yes!
I quickly started counting on my fingers. Six, four, seven, three, two, five…’Swear words!!!!’ I only had 27 days before the event. My mind told me in a minute there was no way. My heart said, ‘You have to.’ My son informed me, that even though traditional wisdom recommended a seven month preparation period for this ride, he was confident 27 days would be sufficient for me. Now that is serious manipulation.
I had not been on my bike in almost a year and besides I didn’t even have a road bike. My bike was a commuter bike with wide friction laden tires and a heavy metal frame. Even though it was comfortable to ride it was not suited to take a 55 year old, out of shape, 30-40 pound overweight guy 200 miles.
That afternoon, my old commuter bike and I went for a 10 mile ride. My legs felt like rubber by the time I finished. The next day I rode to work, 11 miles each way. I skipped the next day. By the next Saturday I had four rides behind me, all about 10 miles in length. I had decided my next ride would be a minimum of 25 miles. My chosen route was all very flat, an exceptional easy ride. Getting a 25 mile ride the first week of training was an important psychological hurdle. That day I made it 30 miles and I felt exhausted and dizzy when I finished.
By day 25 I had found a used road bike. It was an older bike, from the late eighties or early nineties. The aluminum frame was sturdy and even though the bike was under geared, with only 12 speeds, it was a huge improvement over my commuter bike. I had taken it on one 50 plus mile ride which at the end I felt surprisingly confident with the knowledge I could have gone further.
The last two days before the event I did not touch the bike except to lube it. On day 28 I finished the 200 mile trek, 10 hours the first day and 12 hours the second day. The only hard part was the last 20 miles the first day and the last 50 miles the second day. My son a fully trained fireman stayed right with me the last day allowing me many rests during the 95 degree afternoon heat. We crossed the finish line fifteen minutes after the deadline. But, by the insistence from my wife, a kind official gave me and my son our completion packets. My son was proud of me but I was just glad to be finished.
As I sit here writing this I have a few slight feelings of sadness. I wish I was once again, headed down the road with that cool morning breeze hitting my face along with hundreds of other riders all headed toward a common goal. But, the memory I am missing most is riding side by side next to my son heading south and not feeling almost old.