Working to Live or Living to Work

So there I was...tearing all the flooring out of the living room this past week.  Our 1940's home had plank sub-flooring and a very narrow top nailed oak flooring that was tired looking and had outlived its ability to be restored.  Along with this, serious squeaking would accompany every step that was made anywhere in the room.  Being one to be bothered easily by such things and not being one to sit still for very long, a plan was hatched to rip the entire floor out, down to the joists, effectively giving us a full view of the basement from the living room.  Now replaced with new glued and screwed sub-flooring panels, I await the carpet installers to finish the job and the chiropractor to put my back together again.  Kim has been asking (hinting) when I'd be ready to go live on the boat again and my son, while talking to my wife this past weekend, wondered if she should keep a tranquilizer gun around for the next time I think demolition sounds like a good idea.  I have been known to have difficulty slowing down and resting.  Projects and work always seem to be percolating in my head.  What should be there is, "who am I going to go meet for coffee" or "where should I go fishing today?"  Retirement should be more than having more time to do jobs around the house.  A card I received from some of my coworkers when I retired said that my week would now consist of six Saturdays and a Sunday.  My efforts need to start reflecting that.  May the projects become smaller and the fish stories become bigger. 

Grace Under Fire

So there I was...going through my e-mails a couple days ago and saw where the guy who bought our house in Connecticut was asking me where we bought the wide plank oak flooring found in the dining room.  While trying to remember this for him, the memory of why were picking out oak flooring came flashing back.  It started on a Friday evening about twenty summers ago when Kim, Josh and I headed down to our boat to spend the weekend on the ocean as was our habit.  That evening a teenager, who lived in the neighborhood, burglarized our home and for whatever reason set fire to it before he left.  The house was a total loss.  My son's cat died in the fire and was buried by the firemen in the backyard.  We couldn't be found until late on Sunday so we were oblivious to the whole thing for almost two days.  The fire marshall who met us at the house that Sunday evening was so kind to us while we tried to figure out what happened.  Finally realizing it was arson, the State Police got involved.  The boy was caught a week later and there is a whole other story about how we became close to his family and the healing that God did in their lives.  Miracles do happen.  Our insurance company was wonderful and with their help we started rebuilding our lives and eventually our house.  I especially remember needing to go back to work so the night before I went to Eddie Bauer and told the sales associate I needed five shirts, five t-shirts, five pairs of pants, five pairs of socks, etc.  All of the incidentals we have and take for granted had to be purchased right away for our family to function.  When the rebuilding of the house started there were so many decisions to be made quickly, including what flooring to put in the new dining room, making the next year a bit overwhelming.  Neighbors in our little town, our church and so many friends went above and beyond with their acts of kindness, leaving us with a myriad of positive memories during a stressful period in our lives.  When it was time to sell the house and leave Connecticut we chose a real estate agent we felt to be competent and trustworthy only to find out that she was the daughter of the fire marshall that helped us through that initial realization, so many years ago, that all that we owned was gone.  Through God's grace, so much more was gained.

Dirt Bikes

So there I was...coming out of one of my favorite burger places a few days ago on the shores of Lake Ontario when I heard the high pitch whine of 2 cycle engines coming from a connecting bay.  Going to investigate, I found a long curvy circular track made on the ice of the bay from the shoveled snow and orange cones set at strategic corners.  Motorized dirt bikes with studded tires, made to grip the ice, were circumnavigating the track at high speeds pushing the limits of gravity and centrifugal force.  As Kim and I sat and watched these risk-takers, I thought back to the days when I owned a Yamaha 250 Enduro dirt bike while living in Missouri.  We lived out in the country and I remember a blizzard coming through that made all the rural roads impassible.  The daughter of a friend, that lived nearby, was very sick and needed medication from a pharmacy about 10 miles away.  So he and I jumped on our dirt bikes and took off into the deep snow, crossing farms and wooded land cutting our own path to town.  Many slips, falls and challenges later we made it and returned with what his daughter needed.  I also remember the time I was navigating the bike through a wooded area that was extremely inhospitable with steep hills and dangerous drop offs.  Heavy rains had created muddy puddles everywhere and as I approached one at a good speed I guessed it to be six inches to a foot deep.  I was wrong.  As I hit the four foot deep mini pond the bike went under water as I flew off into the mud.  It took over an hour to get all the water out of the engine and carburetor but it eventually started and the only thing hurt was my pride.  The time I can picture most about owning the bike is when I would take my 18 month old son with me.  With this mammoth helmet on his head, he would sit in front of me hanging onto the handlebars as we motored out of the driveway, up the dirt roads  and into the woods with him laughing and squealing all the way.  Returning home we'd find Kim standing out front wringing her hands with nervous anticipation relieved to see that I brought her baby back in one piece.  Good times.  

Granny and Paw-Paw

So there I was...having lunch with the pastor of my church the other day and we were sharing how we found one of the greatest treasures in this life, our wives.  I was telling him that I was set up on my first and last blind date by a well meaning coworker.  Having very little money at the time and basically subsisting on macaroni & cheese,  we began our courtship with conversation over nothing more than coffee and tea.  By our next date my financial situation had not improved in the least so going hiking seemed a good idea.  She suggested hiking her families land of many acres down near the Arkansas border in southern Missouri.  When we arrived at our destination she wanted to stop by her grandparents place who owned a farm close by to introduce me.  Coming from Connecticut, I had become acclimated to the very different mid-western way of life while living in Springfield, MO but had not had much exposure to the rural farming communities.  As we approached the farm house a large man with even larger hands got up from his chair on the front porch and shook my hand with a smile and one of the heaviest southern accents I had heard.  This was Kim's Paw-Paw and she was quite proud of him.  Then it happened.  Granny walked around the corner of the house.  She was a small woman dressed in cowboy boots, cotton dress and a bonnet on her head.  She was the epitome of what I had thought a southern farmers wife would look like in story books or on TV.  As I was taking this all in, my eyes were drawn to the holster strapped around her waist holding a revolver neatly by her side.  At first I thought she must be messing with this Yankee who was so far from home, but she went on to explain how she had been shooting the snakes that were eating the eggs in the chicken coop.  Over the next several months I got quite an education from Granny and Paw-Paw as we got to know each other and they found a very special place in my heart.  Kim reminds me of Granny with her giving and upbeat spirit, playful nature and a giggle that brightens a room.  How can you not fall in love with that?