I am away from home again. I think it become easier to be reflective when isolated from loved ones for two or more weeks at a time. I know that with the free time I find myself more aware of things that under other circumstances I might not "see". OK, literally I would see them, but would I be aware? Maybe not.
I was just transiting Equatorial Quinea. An airport called Malabo. On the airport, just next to the transcient line, there is a small stream. In years past I have witnessed young mothers doing laundry in that stream. From the ramp you can see enormous trees. This is a stretch of rain forest that has been cleared. The majority here are poor. The country has a great deal of new oil wealth, but whether that will ever "trickle down" is questionable. The airport has seen much improvement, but the poverty is still evident. Just across the creek, and still within the airport boundary is a garden. It is well tended, but the clothing of the persons doing the tending leads one to suspect that the garden is critical to their continued existance. Just beyond the garden are the rusting remains of old aircraft left to decompose. Sitting at weird angles, and body parts stacked atop one another, it looks like a junkyard for aircraft. Just past them, the roofs of what can best be described as shantys.
In the creek bed where I saw the youg mothers doing laundry, this day we watched as four young barefoot boys (not more than 8 years old and younger) came running across the end of the runway (makes one wonder about airport security) and approaching the creek stripped naked and ran down the embankment and launched themselves into the water. This was pure unabounded enthusiasm. They were no more concerned about anything (especially that an entire airport might see them naked) than most of us are about the possibility of us being invaded by martians. They were happy, and watching them made anyone with a heart happy.
It was then that I noticed our Operations and Maintenance representatives walking toward the boys. They had no responsibilities for this stop as we were not loading or unloading any cargo, and the airplane was performing perfectly. They had spent the last 15 or 20 minutes out in front of the airplane satisfying nicotine cravings. I wondered why they would be walking toward the boys. My initial responce was one where I hoped they were not in anyway going to scold them (as this would have somehow been somehow sinful). I should not have worried. They carried cans of soda from the airplane. In Africa, it is surprising what one can accomplish with what we take for granted in our cooler. The airplane is always stocked full of soft drinks. If it is required that we expidite loading or unloading, or fueling..... whatever, a simple offering of cold soft drinks almost always gets things done. There is always enough.
Watching the boys run from the water and accepting the offered drinks was a gift. They danced naked, holding up the cans. They celebrated their bounty. They shook their butts, they jumped for joy. They were joyful, and we who watched were blessed. A simple reminder that it is not that difficult to make a difference.
I do not remember the names of the representatives of my company that walked over and shared a little joy with those boys. I am not good at names. I did not tell them I had observed their actions, nor did I ever share the gift I got from seeing the joy they created. I will not remember much from that day, nor this months flying............. but I will always remember the simple and total joy they caused. I would wish them special Gods blessings........ but I suspect they are already aware.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Another Perfect Day Catfishing with Katelynn
Life is full of precious moments. Most such moments seem to slip by without remark till later, when reflection brings forth the deeper more profound nature of the treasured experience. I believe all moments are holy, that each moment is a gift. Maybe just some are more precious than others? I imagine we can all reflect on special moments in our lives. We all have lots of them, those memories we store in secure vaults in the Fort Knox of our minds. The ones that we use to define our very existence.
I wonder how often we take the time to relate them to others. I wrote once about "My Favorite Things." I like to revisit that thought often. It reminds me of the things for which I am most thankful. Since I started this on line version of a diary, I am thinking that when some new such treasure should come along I should write it down in hopes that some other might find some vicarious pleasure in the sharing. That is after all the purpose of this whole exercise.
I recently had another such day. Spring time in the Florida panhandle. A glorious day. Bright blue sky with just enough clouds to blunt the overwhelming blue. A light breeze out of the north that always kept you cool, even when the sun beating on your skin warmed you deep to the core of your being. In the shade you might get a chill, but in the sun was the perfect balance. The birds were singing, the trees past the initial flush of blooms were now just starting to leaf out. The smell of spring fresh in the air. Freshly plowed fields were everywhere, many with just the beginnings of this new crop just starting to become apparent in the fields. The panhandle is flat, and I am sure I was looking at clouds at least a state away. Simply put, a glorious day.
School was out, and we had promised to do something special with our granddaughter. It was going to be another attempt at making special memories. Sometimes it works, sometimes the events of the day conspire to make the day something out of a Steven King novel. Just like Forest Gump's box of chocolates, You just never know what you are going to get. Today we got chocolate covered truffles.
It was Jeni's idea to take Katelynn to a catfish farm she saw in an advertisement. This seemed a little silly to me as we have a pond in the front yard that I have stocked with catfish. We fish there often. Why go somewhere else to fish when you have your own pond? Still, this is forwarded as an adventure, and adventure means going someplace new. Lord above am I glad I kept my reservations to myself.
The owners of the place we were going to visit are Mennonites. Very friendly, and especially easy to identify from their dress. It was obvious early on that they had a special family, and a special connection with life and their place in it. Genuine. Sincere. These words come to mind on reflection with our contact with the owners of the catfish farms we were visiting. Before we ever made it out to the ponds, we were already feeling "connected". They provided everything. Poles, bait, and extra hooks and bobbers if we should break the line. Perfect. They sent us down the dirt road and off we went. They have three large ponds (the neighbors have another two). The ponds are roughly two acres in size (maybe a little larger), square, mud bottom, and are well stocked. The pond has several large aerators working at one end of the pond. Around the pond you could see other families involved in the same pursuit. Clearly visible, but not so close that you felt them as intrusions. You could here their laughter, but never make out exactly what it was they were saying. You could see and enjoy the excitement whenever anyone caught a fish. The perfect balance of seclusion and inclusion. The catfish were jumping all around the pond (especially out in the middle). There had to be some whoppers in there (the owner told me that just the week before a man had caught one close to thirty pounds). It was................. perfect.
We found an open area, got the fishing gear, cooler, and folding chairs out of the car. The smell, that fresh slightly fishy smell of water was like a drink of cool water after working all morning outside. Birds were dipping over the pond to get a drink, the sun was reflecting off of the water....... again, perfect. It took little to no time to get the poles baited and out into the water. My granddaughter has fished. She does not like to deal with worms (most little girls don't), and her casting skills needed a little practice. The bait was not worms so she could do her own bait. This was the perfect place. No trees to get caught in, lots of shoreline, and no one close to hit with a miscast bait. By the end of the day she was a pro. We had gone back and forth as to who would catch the first, and of course the biggest fish. I think sometimes it is in the simplest of moments we might find proof of a loving providence. Katelynn caught the first fish. The fact she did not pee herself is a minor miracle. She was something to behold. First, the fashion statement she was making had to be seen to be appreciated. She had on one of her grandmothers gardening hats, a bright tee shirt, shorts, and a pair of pink gator skinned cowboy boots (a prize she and her grandmother had acquired during one of their shared yard sale excursions). The boots used to be to big, now I think they might just fit. No matter, she got one hooked and rather than using the fishing reel to bring the fish to shore, she simply backed up till a beautiful catfish found itself on the clay bank instead of in the water.
If there is any sensation or satisfaction better than seeing joy in the face of someone you love, I wonder what it might be. Her small round face just beamed. I guess the question as to who would catch the first fish was answered. I can not tell you how thankful I am that she not only caught a fish, but that she caught the first fish. Maybe life is all about the small moments. She followed that one up with a relative monster. It was a little over 6 pounds. This one she tried to reel in, but resorted to her strategy of backing up and dragging. Who am I to argue with results? Especially since the next couple of fish caught were hers. Her grandmother (who is an avid fisherman) was not having any luck. Lots of hits, but no success at setting the hook. It was then that I noticed my granddaughter actively watching her grandmother, and the look of anguish at each missed attempt was obvious on her face. She was suffering in concern for someone she loves. Heaven knows, is there any more profound demonstration of ones love?
Eventually Jeni caught some fish. I am not sure who treasured the experience more, Jeni or Katelynn. With that burden off her chest, Katelynn relaxed and just enjoyed the day. We eventually caught over thirty pounds of fish. Everyone caught enough to relish the experience. The service cleaned and cut the fillets. Now I understood the real value of coming here. I did not have to clean the fish. Again........... perfect.
We had the fish for dinner, and they were excellent. One of the better meals I ever remember eating. It was especially satisfying to see my granddaughter present the dinner she had helped prepare. She even had a small burn from where the grease had splattered on her thumb. A sore I imagine she suffered with some measure of pride.
The picture of her standing on the shoreline in her boots will be another of those moments I will lay before my maker as humble thanks for the gift of my life.
Perfection.
I wonder how often we take the time to relate them to others. I wrote once about "My Favorite Things." I like to revisit that thought often. It reminds me of the things for which I am most thankful. Since I started this on line version of a diary, I am thinking that when some new such treasure should come along I should write it down in hopes that some other might find some vicarious pleasure in the sharing. That is after all the purpose of this whole exercise.
I recently had another such day. Spring time in the Florida panhandle. A glorious day. Bright blue sky with just enough clouds to blunt the overwhelming blue. A light breeze out of the north that always kept you cool, even when the sun beating on your skin warmed you deep to the core of your being. In the shade you might get a chill, but in the sun was the perfect balance. The birds were singing, the trees past the initial flush of blooms were now just starting to leaf out. The smell of spring fresh in the air. Freshly plowed fields were everywhere, many with just the beginnings of this new crop just starting to become apparent in the fields. The panhandle is flat, and I am sure I was looking at clouds at least a state away. Simply put, a glorious day.
School was out, and we had promised to do something special with our granddaughter. It was going to be another attempt at making special memories. Sometimes it works, sometimes the events of the day conspire to make the day something out of a Steven King novel. Just like Forest Gump's box of chocolates, You just never know what you are going to get. Today we got chocolate covered truffles.
It was Jeni's idea to take Katelynn to a catfish farm she saw in an advertisement. This seemed a little silly to me as we have a pond in the front yard that I have stocked with catfish. We fish there often. Why go somewhere else to fish when you have your own pond? Still, this is forwarded as an adventure, and adventure means going someplace new. Lord above am I glad I kept my reservations to myself.
The owners of the place we were going to visit are Mennonites. Very friendly, and especially easy to identify from their dress. It was obvious early on that they had a special family, and a special connection with life and their place in it. Genuine. Sincere. These words come to mind on reflection with our contact with the owners of the catfish farms we were visiting. Before we ever made it out to the ponds, we were already feeling "connected". They provided everything. Poles, bait, and extra hooks and bobbers if we should break the line. Perfect. They sent us down the dirt road and off we went. They have three large ponds (the neighbors have another two). The ponds are roughly two acres in size (maybe a little larger), square, mud bottom, and are well stocked. The pond has several large aerators working at one end of the pond. Around the pond you could see other families involved in the same pursuit. Clearly visible, but not so close that you felt them as intrusions. You could here their laughter, but never make out exactly what it was they were saying. You could see and enjoy the excitement whenever anyone caught a fish. The perfect balance of seclusion and inclusion. The catfish were jumping all around the pond (especially out in the middle). There had to be some whoppers in there (the owner told me that just the week before a man had caught one close to thirty pounds). It was................. perfect.
We found an open area, got the fishing gear, cooler, and folding chairs out of the car. The smell, that fresh slightly fishy smell of water was like a drink of cool water after working all morning outside. Birds were dipping over the pond to get a drink, the sun was reflecting off of the water....... again, perfect. It took little to no time to get the poles baited and out into the water. My granddaughter has fished. She does not like to deal with worms (most little girls don't), and her casting skills needed a little practice. The bait was not worms so she could do her own bait. This was the perfect place. No trees to get caught in, lots of shoreline, and no one close to hit with a miscast bait. By the end of the day she was a pro. We had gone back and forth as to who would catch the first, and of course the biggest fish. I think sometimes it is in the simplest of moments we might find proof of a loving providence. Katelynn caught the first fish. The fact she did not pee herself is a minor miracle. She was something to behold. First, the fashion statement she was making had to be seen to be appreciated. She had on one of her grandmothers gardening hats, a bright tee shirt, shorts, and a pair of pink gator skinned cowboy boots (a prize she and her grandmother had acquired during one of their shared yard sale excursions). The boots used to be to big, now I think they might just fit. No matter, she got one hooked and rather than using the fishing reel to bring the fish to shore, she simply backed up till a beautiful catfish found itself on the clay bank instead of in the water.
If there is any sensation or satisfaction better than seeing joy in the face of someone you love, I wonder what it might be. Her small round face just beamed. I guess the question as to who would catch the first fish was answered. I can not tell you how thankful I am that she not only caught a fish, but that she caught the first fish. Maybe life is all about the small moments. She followed that one up with a relative monster. It was a little over 6 pounds. This one she tried to reel in, but resorted to her strategy of backing up and dragging. Who am I to argue with results? Especially since the next couple of fish caught were hers. Her grandmother (who is an avid fisherman) was not having any luck. Lots of hits, but no success at setting the hook. It was then that I noticed my granddaughter actively watching her grandmother, and the look of anguish at each missed attempt was obvious on her face. She was suffering in concern for someone she loves. Heaven knows, is there any more profound demonstration of ones love?
Eventually Jeni caught some fish. I am not sure who treasured the experience more, Jeni or Katelynn. With that burden off her chest, Katelynn relaxed and just enjoyed the day. We eventually caught over thirty pounds of fish. Everyone caught enough to relish the experience. The service cleaned and cut the fillets. Now I understood the real value of coming here. I did not have to clean the fish. Again........... perfect.
We had the fish for dinner, and they were excellent. One of the better meals I ever remember eating. It was especially satisfying to see my granddaughter present the dinner she had helped prepare. She even had a small burn from where the grease had splattered on her thumb. A sore I imagine she suffered with some measure of pride.
The picture of her standing on the shoreline in her boots will be another of those moments I will lay before my maker as humble thanks for the gift of my life.
Perfection.
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