Saturday, January 29, 2011

Eyerocks, by Cheri

We all want to leave something behind. 

We desperately want to have mattered.

We want to believe that our lives were not coincidental and that somebody, a few years after we're gone, might be grateful that we passed this way.

Most of us can leave our footprints in the sands of time just by leading good lives and enriching the lives of those who love us. Surely, that's enough. We don't crave fame.

And yet, it would be nice to be remembered for doing one small, unique thing that touches others; to leave something of a legacy, a personal thank you for the life we lived and loved and wanted to share.

Please meet my friend, Cheri Fuller.

Cheri is a passionate 60-ish wife, mother, grandma, friend and artist. The world is full of Cheris, of course, but this one is ours. She's as uniquely gifted and personally delightful as nearly everybody whose name you'll never learn nor remember, except for one difference:

Cheri paints Eyerocks and leaves them scattered about in the spirit of Johnny Appleseed.

If you occasionally wander the rivers, streams and the ocean beaches of Northern California, if you're really lucky, you may stumble upon an original Eyerock by Cheri. They are individually simple and yet magnificently striking works of art found lying about, here and there.

Eyerocks by Cheri are nothing more than a human endorsement of the fragile beauty of nature and a statement, that we humans are also part of Mother Nature's landscape.

We belong here and we matter in the grand scheme of things.

If you find one, turn it over carefully so as not to disrupt its canvas. You'll see this signature.

Take a picture. Take two or three.  You've discovered a treasure that is, as far as I can figure, a unique gift to the world.

But, please put it back where and how you found it.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Early morning mental gymnastics

I slept until almost 7 a.m. this morning.

That's two hours later than usual. When I do that my body feels a bit lighter and less achy but it takes awhile for my brain to engage. I feel a little foggy-headed. But I've done this long enough to proceed with my early morning routine on cruise control.

I took the dogs outside and waited for them to finish their morning ablutions. Upon my return, my 8-year-old grandson presented me with my morning mental calisthenics:

"Grandpa, do you have a crane?"

My brain does a quick search through my mental file cabinet: "crane"...

"Crane" – noun:

1. any large wading bird of the family Gruidae, characterized by long legs, bill, and neck and an elevated hind toe.
2. a device for lifting and moving heavy weights in suspension.

I know the word, don't understand the question.

"A what?" I ask, blowing out the cobwebs as quickly as I can.

"A crane," he repeats patiently, "You know, to hold up your leg."

I know Isaiah very well and I know that when this conversation ends I will be slapping my face with Oliver Hardy-like consternation.

"I don't know what you mean," I tell him, perfect straight man that I am.

"You know," he explains again patiently, but with a growing sense of exasperation, "A crane to lean on so you don't have to put your weight down on your leg."


"You mean a CANE??" I ask, like the idiot I clearly am.
"YES!" he says, the exasperation arriving. "My leg hurts."

May God forgive me, I pulled rank on him. "Your leg is fine, go get ready for school!"

It never ends.

Copyright © 2011, Dave Williams. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

These dogs...

I’m watching our girls as they sleep off their stress.

I picked them up an hour ago from the groomer. They cried when I left them and they cried even louder when I returned.

They were thrilled that I had come back for them.

Home again, I let them out of their carriers and they smothered me with frantic, tail-wagging kisses even though I’m the guy who had left them in cages with a stranger.
Cricket and me.

I really don’t think they even remember that. I can't know for sure, of course.

These girls need Carolann and me for their very existence. We know that, but they don’t. They don’t think about how they would find food or warmth or safety if Carolann and I weren’t around.

They just snuggle between us in bed. 

They lick us their good-night kisses and go straight into a deep stress-free sleep, believing that they are in Heaven. It's enough for them. It's everything.

I think God gives us dogs to tell us how completely, selflessly and unconditionally He loves us.

Copyright © 2011 by David L. Williams all rights reserved
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