Think Ahead. Don't be a Rum-Dum.

Saturday was the annual Northern Duck Hunting Season Opener in Wisconsin. Every SUV, duck boat towing vehicle on the road was heading to my secret spot in the flooded rice of my mind. In hours of driving I exchanged friendly, resent filled smiles to the dozens of guys who jockeyed the highway with me Friday afternoon. Special disdain is reserved with a nod to the fellas from Illinois with their CUBBY 1 and CUBS WYN license plates. Of course the 30 +/- counties of Northern Wisconsin have a bizzillion acres of public land open to waterfowl hunting so the chances of anyone going to the same lake as me, much less the same 3000 square feet of marsh, is a statistical improbability but an attitude of scarcity drives a guy to get up at 3:30 AM on a perfectly good fall morning.

Come December I'll hunt 5 minutes from my house with a half a dozen decoys, and a handful of shells, but opening day is for the boat motors and gadgets. The truck and boat are loaded. Doc is too fat and happy in his kennel in the back. O.A.R. from Aaron and assorted CD's from Patrick keep me company in the truck. Wisconsin Public Radio is on almost every two digits of the radio dial from 80 something to 94 "up north". I caught an interview with a Rabbi which drew my attention from "It's a Wonderful Day" and the guy with the Go Devil rig racing me to sunrise. The Rabbi was talking about the economy.

I liked the Rabbi. He simplified the solution to the economic crises and he wasn't likely a duck hunter. This is what I heard: Until we each look at our parts, we are not going to resolve the mess. We can continue to point fingers and discover blame, that's easy, but the road out is not found by hints of allegations and labeling incidents of accusations. The road out is for each citizen to look at themselves and ask the question, "What's my part in it? What did I do to add something to the problem." Sure Wall Street, corporate greed, government sell out, and the seven deadly sins played are the usual suspects, but the Rabbi asked me to look at me and ask, "what about me"?

OK, I heard him. The Rabbi had me thinking over my actions of the past 20 years. How many credit cards are reasonable? One for every additional 20% off of the items we bought at the mall? Just because someone said my house appreciated 100% in 15 years doesn't mean it did and even if it did, how much of that appreciation should be spent rewarding myself or reorganizing my debt every few years. I may have earned a reward, I didn't appreciate it or I wouldn't have squandered some of it. The more I owe the more I have to earn until the process consumes itself. Many of us are guilty of running our own little AIG. No bail-out will put a dent in recovery the way self evaluation, personal change, and humility will. Compassion, starting with compassion for others and humility for me is the answer. Time and blame will keep us mired. Compassion and humility over time have a lasting promise. A trillion dollar bail out may stop the pain, but is avoiding pain the way to healing change?

Our Dads--your's and mine, were good guys and wise. They thought they were smart. If you lost your Dad before you were old enough to know he was wise, you're not alone. My Dad died when I was a rebellious 16 year old. He was younger than I am today--a youth at 47. Just wondering, am I his elder? Simple advice he gave me over and over. I can hear it going back to middle school days. "Think ahead. Don't be a rum-dum." I know what "think ahead" means--consider the consequences or your actions, make a plan, be responsible. Don't be a rum-dum is a little more complex but, if my memory of the phrase connected to my actions in the 60's and early 70's is an indicator, a Rum-dum blames others, sherks responsibility, and makes excuses. I think the guy who fools around until things get broken, and then wonders how it happened, is a Rum-dum.

My weekend was superb. I hunted with my Dad, both of my sons, the Rabbi, my friends, my emotions, and Doc. It's a 14 ft boat but all fit comfortably. My waders leaked, I'll patch them not replace them. We left the ducks in the freezer at Timmy Bunkport. I came home with all my stuff and an old answer to an older problem. The Rabbi got me thinking, now what am I going to do about me? Starting last Friday I'm Thinking Ahead and I won't be a Rum-dum today. I'm not in line for a bail-out and that's good. I'll go through the pain and come out scarred with more humility and compassion. That's one of life's promises I believe.

Probably my Dad would say what Aaron once said to me, "Sounds good. Sounds like you're getting better." I'd say to him, "Diet and exercise will do more for your heart than any pill." My cardiologist told me so.

Clear Moon Morning

We live in a rural subdivision. There are no street lights. Most of the area was once corn and bean fields. The hill where our house sits was woods. Oak, Hickory, Elm, some Maples, Cherry, and assorted other hard wood trees. I counted 112 trees on our 1/2 acre. Two of them hold the hammock. All of them have a tenuous hold on a zillion leaves. I like the leaves right where they are today and not where they will be next month. The canopy is a thing of beauty in the spring, summer, and early fall. Leaves, like addicts, should not be enabled. Picking them up after they fall only encourages them to repeat the cycle.

At 4:30 AM I could not see how bright the moon was this morning and I'm on duck hunting time already so I was wide awake. Doc and I are a week and a half ahead of the season with our natural clocks. We took a walk. At the end of the driveway the moon lit us up. Not a morning for thiefs, but a morning not to be missed. This is the bright where you can see better without a light. Everything is lit, not just what you shine a light on.

I've been lost in the dark and I know better than to try to wander in the dark. In the woods a flashlight really only shines on where you are not where you need to go. The impressiveness of the woods in the day is a cluster of confusion in battery powered light. Light generated by Eveready is measured in candle power and a million candle power won't do what one moon can do for your vision. Artificial has nothing on nature.

Death is a natural experience. Maybe it is so hard to navigate in grief because of the unnatural light we shine on death. Nothing is more artificial in death than the funeral. We wore suits and ties when we wanted to curl up and cry. A feast was prepared when we couldn't swallow water. Plans were demanded and we wouldn't admit the truth. I remember the confusion clearly and the day barely. The hearse left in the dark. The red brake lights flashed as the white vehicle turned right and disappeared around the church. The driver could see where he was going. We stood and wondered. Wandering in the dark is dangerous.

Fall is crisp. Some days are clear others cloudy. Even the cloudy days of fall are not gloomy when I'm in nature and fall is the time I spend mostly where people don't go. I'm grateful for the fall. This is one I almost missed.

Pummeled

Memories are soap bubbles. You can look at them, watch them float on air, but try to touch them and they pop. Make the sound with your lips--poup. Gone. Bubbles leave a soapy wetness on your finger tips. Memories leave their trail in drips and splashes of salty tears. Many of these blog entries started with dry eyes and ended with sopping wet front of my shirt, tears splashed on the inside of my glasses, and tissues in and out of the trash can next to the desk. For my most heart wrenching sobs, a Kleenex was no where near and my shirt tail or sleeve worked just as well. Disgusting, but grief has no etiquette.

Good grief uses every ounce of energy. Pummeled by grief. Pummeled is a fine word. You know you've been pummeled by grief when you are on your hands, or forearms and knees, with snot running from your nose to the floor. Aware of the clear, watery mess, I've actually stopped crying to laugh at the spectacle. A grown man reduced to a quivering mass of flesh. Sad for sure. Funny, probably not. But when all emotions are getting their shot at you, laughter can take a turn too.

Bubbles, snow flakes, rain drops, memories, there's a limit to how many you can hold--the limit is zero. At first memories were more like apples, I thought I could hold a bushel of them in my arms, and a few in my pockets. I didn't need my arms or hands for anything. Sitting still I could hold them. I wear the same pants everyday. When I had to move, I lost small apples then another then another. They kept falling out of my arms. I squeeze my arms to close the gaps, but the apples on top fell over the sides. Eventually I was left with two in each hand, four in my pockets. It was hard to free my hands. I'd have to come back to these. Eventually opportunities required a change of clothes. The old pants were put away and all of the apples were left to be attended to another day.

It has been a long time since I've been pummeled by grief. That's OK. Small incidents of eye burning, temple throbbing, tear streaming, air gasping emotional bursts fill the void nicely. They don't make me laugh, but they do their job. They clear my head and center me. I wonder about the memories. Will they be there when I want them? Maybe. But they won't be as crisp.