spokesNspin

Today for Friday Foto Fiesta I am going to do a shameless plug for my son Tommy.  Tommy is my second son and third fourth child.  I am not sure how old he is. Remember I have six.  But he is in his early twenties and has a birthday in September.

Tommy is a self taught artist and naturalist.  From the time he could walk he was exploring the bugs and floral and fauna of where ever he was allowed to venture.

He taught himself to sculpt with fimo clay and at a very young age was sculpting things like tree frogs so realistic you expected them to hop any minute.  Much to the chagrin of his sisters and mother he taught himself taxidermy and collected road kill to work on. 

Once he found  a dead bird in the yard.  It had been dead for months and was basically a skeleton with feathers.  He cleaned it up.  He then went to the Internet to figure out how all the parts went back together.  He painstakingly mounted the bird skeleton.

In high school he took up pottery.  Check out his recent work:

You can click on the picture and see more photos of his work.  He does all of this himself.  He has a wheel and throws the pots.  He does the painting and all of it.

So heeeeere’s the pitch!  What do you think of his work?  Would you buy it?  How would you suggest he go about pursuing this as a possible career? 

He wants to be a starving artist.

In addition to the Southwestern Native American motif he has also done some very attractive three dimensional art work on pitchers and other pottery.

I will forewarn family members before they read further to be prepared to be shocked.  To my sisters, if you don’t want to hear a story about your father that might surprise you stop reading now.  To those who don’t want to read something about their grandfather that they might have preferred not to even think about stop reading now.

If you are of a prudish mindset don’t read this.

When I was a teenager my father would take me and my brother on an extended camping/fishing trip between the first and second cutting of hay.  We looked forward to it all summer.  The annual trip was what kept us motivated to keep hauling hay and moving sprinkler pipe.

The trip normally evolved into a sort of young men’s/boy scout trip with several fathers and sons from our farming community.  We had two places we would go.  We would either pack into the Beckler River in Yellowstone National Park or we would go to the Wind River country of Wyoming.

One year we had been at our base camp for a day in Yellowstone.  On the next day we took the horses and rode a few more miles into the the country and fished along the way.  Eventually we came to some warm natural springs.

My father suggested that we take a dip.  We were proper young men having been raised in the confines  Christian homes with regular instruction on moral behavior.   We explained that we hadn’t brought our swimming attire.

My father and the rest of the adults looked at us like “what’s with these kids”.  They shrugged their shoulders and the next thing we knew there were half a dozen adult men in their birthday suits gaily jumping off rocks into the pool.

“The water’s fine boys come on in!”

Remember these were hard working farmers who spent most of their waking hours in the sun.  They wore jeans, long sleeved Big Mac work shirts and straw hats.  They looked like plucked chickens running around having the time of their life.  After 40 years I still can’t get that vision out of my mind and I have really tried.

We were eventually pursuaded.  We sheepishly removed our clothing while constantly looking over our shoulders.  I swear I saw the devil himself pushing me on.

What this means is that the first time in my life I went skinny dippin’ it was with my father and in Yellowstone National Park!

So what is the point of this post?

Recently I was with a group of people who were commenting on the attire, or lack thereof, of some people engaged in exercise and lamenting the end of society to the ways of Soddom and Gamorrah.   

I have read that in colonial times preachers were much more graphic in describing sin when preaching against it than they are now.

Yes it is true that in many ways people reveal more skin in public now than they did a few years ago.  But in many other ways we are also more prudish.  What would happen in this day and age if a group of adults led young men in an adventure of skinny dippin?

I can’t remember if I have ever been skinny dippin’ since the experience in Yellowstone. I know I am certainly not going to participate in any of those save the world naked bike rides. Ouch! Imagine the chaffing.

Times change and I think we get worked up over stuff that really doesn’t matter.

A short time ago somebody sent me a news article about a discussion in the mommy blog world about when or if someone should add a third child to the mix. I guess more couples are opting to have three children nowadays. My friend wondered what I thought given that I have six children. Today for Carrie’s Foto Fiesta I want to share my wisdom gained through hard earned experience along with a favorite pic of my children.

This is my fav because it accurately depicts my children. When they are together they often look like a basket of puppies sitting and lying all over each other. I think this pic was taken in 2004 or 2005. I have trouble with dates including birthdates of my children. I am certain that each of them has a birthday and it comes around once a year.

Back to the original theme. Here is what I tell people about adding children.

Number 1-This is an exciting and life changing experience. One day there is just the two of you and the next you are three and your life will never be the same again. There is a lot of learning and anxiety in taking care of this first baby.

You faithfully complete the baby book with lots of pictures and each new milestone.

Number 2-This is exciting but you have one under your belt so you can be more relaxed and enjoy it more. The baby book gets most of the blanks filled in.

Number 3- This is a major leap. You know why? Because now the parents are outnumbered by children! Any time you go anywhere it becomes problematic about who is taking care of which child. In our case number 3 was born at home in a freak May snowstorm. The midwife didn’t make it and Nancy delivered on her own with me frantically telling her to relax and her telling me that she was relaxed and would I please take a chill pill for hell sakes.

The baby book has the child’s birth date and a few comments about the birth recorded.

Number 4- You have now reached the point where things are again difficult. All the hand me down baby clothing is competely worn out. You have out grown most normal cars. You figured out a long time ago that a daily bath for a baby and each child isn’t necessary. They get one once a week whether they need it or not.

You bought a baby book but damned if you can find it.

Number 5-Who is counting at this point? The oldest children now have friends coming and going. You are not even sure if all the children in the house belong to you. You just discipline who ever needs it and feed who ever shows up.

You keep telling yourself you should go pick up a baby book.

Number 6-Four of our six children were born at home including number six. It was a crazy night. When Andrew arrived and everything was cleaned up and he was wrapped and in my wife’s arm I looked at her and said, “I don’t know about you but I can’t go through another labor and delivery”.

And the baby book? What’s a baby book?

Here is something  from a recent Miss Manners column.

Dear Miss Manners,
I have been told that a gentleman should always have six things on him — a cigarette lighter, small flashlight, handkerchief, pocket knife, and in changing weather conditions, an umbrella, hat and overcoat. These days should the cell phone be added to this list? What else should a polite man carry?

Gentle Reader,
If he would just carry the handkerchief, Miss Manners would be satisfied. The cigarette lighter is unnecessary, the pocket knife will be confiscated by some security officer, the cell phone will cause trouble if it is not put on vibrate, the hat requires him to remember when to remove it, and we presume he checks the weather report and dresses accordingly. But in the absence of a handkerchief, he is not a gentleman.

My grandparents lived about a mile from my house and between my house and highway.  I would often stop to say hi when I drove past their house.  If during my stop I was on my way to a date with a young woman my grandmother would always ask.  “Do you have a hanky.  A gentlemen never goes anywhere without a hanky”.

She would explain that the hanky was necessary so I would be able to offer it to the young lady if the need arose.  If I didn’t have one she would retrieve one from one of her drawers and give it to me.  

I learned her lesson.  Due to her emphasizing that I always carry a hanky.  And I have had a chance to offer it on many an occasion to a woman or child.  

I have always been happy to do it.  Though not always so happy to get it back.  But I often I think about grandma when I put my hanky in my pocket.

There have been a few posts floating around in the blogosphere about grouchy gramps and funny things grandparents have said. 

Some are pretty funny and I appreciate the humor.  And I am not making fun of being old when I say that.  I am approaching my “curmudgeonhood” faster than I like.  Some of my family accuse me of having already reached it.  But I don’t take it on their word.  Aches and pains and getting dropped by bike riders who shouldn’t drop me  communicate it loud and clear.

I do genuinely love old  people and enjoy talking with them.  Even the grouches.  When I was visiting my mother in an assisted living center a few years ago I stopped in the TV room and struck up a conversation with one.

Me: How are you today?

Lady: Not very good.

Me: I am sorry.  What is bothering you?

Lady: I’m tired.  Go find somebody else to cheer up.

They sometimes can say funny and even rude stuff.   If anyone can earn that right, I  guess they have.

There is also a ton of good advice and tid bits of inspiration that grandparents have given.  I am talking about the wisdom they shared that has stuck with you.  I am sure there are thousands of stories.  I would also love to hear those.

I was fortunate to have lived within walking distance of my maternal grandparents when I was a child.  They both survived into my adulthood.  After finishing graduate school and working for awhile, I decided to take my young family and move back to the family farm while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.  I moved there just before Christmas.

Grandma had died just a few months earlier.  Grandpa had pretty much gone downhill after that.  He had dementia or his prescriptions were causing him to see things that weren’t there.  I don’t know all the reasons but he would at times believe things were going on around his house that just weren’t happening.  His mind was not always working coherently.

Springtime came and he continued to decline. My mother and her sisters took care of him but he refused to leave his home.  He needed foot care.  His daughters would daily bathe his feet and put some type of dressing on them.  My mother and her sisters had to be gone for some reason so his care fell to me for a few days.

One day Grandpa was sitting in is his rocking chair and I was on the floor working on his feet.  I don’t remember much of what we talked about or if we even talked much at all.  Grandma was generally the story teller and talker.

I was caring for his feet and at one point we looked at each other and he said, “Once a man twice a child”.

One short statement given at the right teaching moment  gave a young man more perspective on life and growing old than a thousand lectures would have ever done.

That has been 25 or more years ago.  I have never forgotten that experience.