Word.

I'm not much for promises.  Far too many have been broken.

This one, I believe:

Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen.  Matthew 28:20

The Day the Music Died.

So that may be overly dramatic.  But that is exactly how I feel right now.  My daughter and son are coming home from church camp and I have to tell them that they are losing their beloved band director.  He has taken a job in a neighboring town.  A big gain for him, a big loss for the kids.  What's the big deal, you may ask.  It is a big deal.  From my perspective at least. And from the perspective of many other parents.  To me, Penns Valleys' Mr. L is reminiscent of Titusville's marching band director, Mr. A, from way back in the 70's.  A true director, a lover of music, a role model for kids. 

This is both of my kids' first year in marching band.  And I suppose, since we are newbies at the game, it doesn't really matter who leads the band.  But Mr. L is legendary.  I and my kids, knew of Mr. L early on.  He was the guy who always had a smile, always made a kid feel as if s/he had the potential of Louis Armstrong, always made a fledgling feel as if marching band was the place to be when one entered high school.  That's what I've heard anyway.  From my few interactions, I believe it is true. 

And losing Mr. L has brought up some other concerns about the value that is placed on the music department.  It is no secret that the arts are often the first areas to be cut.  Even before sports.  But to paraphrase a line from one of my favorite films, Mr. Holland's Opus, ''if we get rid of the Arts, what will the kids have to write about" or something like that.

I'm sad. And by the volume of emails being sent back and forth, I know that I am not the only parent feeling this way.  We felt safe with Mr. L and now, right before the start of the marching band season, we are unsure of what is going to happen.  We have some excellent music teachers in our district and I really hope that one of them is given the opportunity (if they so desire) to step into place.  But if not, I hope that the district is allowed to hire a qualified person from outside. 

We need our band, our directors, our choruses, our sports - they are every bit as important as reading, writing, arithmetic, and world languages.  School is not just about being able to perform proficiently on a standardized test.  Schools are where we build character, develop new hobbies, test new interests.  Marching band has been given a bad rap in many schools, but the Penns Valley marching band has seemed to me a band in which its members have pride. 

I hope there is another director out there who can join the ranks of the Mr. Ls and the Mr. As of the schools.  Someone who believes in the kids - the ones who enthusiastically jump into a new interest as well as the ones who are a little more reticent about playing an instrument. He or she has some pretty big shoes to fill.  But it can be done. 

Birthday Boy.

This is my guy (well, one of them)- Sebastian.  It is birthday.  He is seven years old and in canine years, he is the same age as me.  He is my pal, my running buddy, my protector.  I remember when we first met.  He is the pup of my brother's yellow Labrador Retriever, Punxatawney Phil.  My youngest daughter and I drove to Pleasantville one Saturday morning to pick our pup.  My brother offered him to me since he supplied the doggy stud for breeding.

It was love at first sight. 

I've always had dogs and have grown up with dogs.  My family had a succession of Spring Spaniels, wired-haired terriers, and labs.  Regardless, in preparation for my pup's arrival, I read everything I could find on the proper way to raise and train Labrador Retrievers.

For his first year, I carried Sebastian up and down all the stairs to allow his hips to develop strongly.  I knew that labs were suseptible to hip dysplasia and I wanted Sebastian to be strong and healthly for a very long time. 

The first few nights were spent rubbing Sebastian's back so that he could sleep through the night.......which he did......which I did not.  After about 3 sleepless nights, I put Sebastian in his kennel to sleep.

I'm lucky.  Sebastian is an intuitive dog - naturally well-mannered. I'm not a good dog trainer. I lack consistency, harshness, and the ability to follow through.  I am so fortunate that Sebastian is a laidback soul.  If he was a human, he would wear tie-dyed shirts and have peace sign hung on a cord around his neck.  He would probably be a vegetarian.  He looks as if he should be wearing a beret and smoking dope. 

Sebastian's dad was a world class duck dog - well, a county class duck dog. He was really really good and lived to hunt ducks.  Sebastian is afraid of ducks.  And chickens.  Not so sure about rabbits. 

Sebastian is my good big dog and would be my favorite running buddy if he didn't stop to pee on every rock on the path. Sebastian is the best, the most tolerant, the gentlest friend I could have. 

So Happy 7th Birthday Sebastian, and more to come.

Trouble.

This is the face of a devil.  This dog has nearly burned my kitchen. Has eaten most everything valuable to me. Has climbed up on my piano. Has taken me on many merry chases through the woods. Has filled the house with the rotten stench of dog stinkers. 

But I love him.

Welcome Summer!

 So glad to be able to welcome summer in a summery way! 
I am so glad that I had this week to welcome Summer with my grandson and with my youngest three kids - this has been a new opportunity for me.  It may very well become a tradition.  As usual, spending time with a four-year-old takes me to that level.  Much fun was had picking sweet green peas, feeding the animals, swimming, singing . . . just being alive.  I think that I just may be the luckiest person in the world!

Who could possibly resist this face?



Hello to summer - away from the traffic and the sounds of the world;

Only the sounds of other children enjoying the coolness of the water;

Siblings getting along - gathered in their shared love of their nephew;

and is this face of Uncle Ryan? I believe it is.

Dad.

I love my dad.  Simple as that.  It has always been that way although I must admit, my love for my dad has changed a bit over the years. When I was very young, my dad seemed very mystical to me.  He was a spirit who came in the night leaving all sorts of gifts for my brothers and me: a beret from Bermuda, a rug from Indonesia.  He was a Major in the Air Force and during this time, he flitted in and out of our lives on a breeze.

When I was a teenager ( the nightmare of all teenagers), my dad was a statue.  A rock.  And I thank God everyday that he didn't smash my head against that rock for all of the stupid, stupid stunts I pulled.  My dad, during this time, was dealing with his own challenges and sometimes that caused a rift between us. 

When I was a young parent, my dad was. . . well, my dad.  And my kids' grandpa.  My dad blossomed into this guy who didn't mind having his toenails painted or having make up applied or playing with Barbie dolls.  All of my kids have loved him from the moment they met him.

When I was a older parent, my dad was my standard of living.  To me, he has been the forest - as strong as an oak tree, as reliable as the sap of a maple.  To this day, my dad is all things natural and woodsy and strong.  I think my dad has become more mellow through the years.  It breaks my heart to hear him tell me that he is sorry that he doesn't talk much.  Because that is so wrong.  He talks very little but he tells me a lot.  He doesn't understand that I get him.  I don't talk much either but that doesn't take away from the time we spend together. 

My dad.  He is, hands-down, the best kind of dad.  I see him in my son's chin, my daughter's nose.  I see him in the way my oldest son deals with bad news and in the way my oldest daughter deals with good news.  I see my dad in the hollyhocks growing along my fence and in the mighty oaks that are thriving behind my house. 

I see my dad in everything.  And I love him.  And I thank God everyday that I have him with me still.  

Smiles.

My grandson with a fist full of peas feeding them to his new friends, Max and scraggly kitty;

this smile makes my heart sing;

and this little wow-wow face.  A great day at One Old Goat Farm!

Progress.

The good news is that the deck is secured, the skidloader has been removed.  The sofa is still there which is probably a good thing because it makes it more likely that it will be taken to the transfer station immediately. 

Other good news is that Dolly Llama and new horse, Buddy, have become pals as is evidenced by their nuzzling and sharing of secrets. 

Buddy enjoyed his stroll through the field this afternoon although his newfound llama llove missed him terribly and stood by the fence looking very forlorn until he returned.

But Dolly llama wasn't the only animal pouting this afternoon.  Bunny-chaser Sebastian and Firestarter Casper stared out the window watching Buddy and Haley ride away.  Neither Sebastian or Casper felt particularly sad that Buddy left the farm for a bit but they were both quite miffed that they couldn't follow along.

But other than two disgruntled dogs and a lonely llama, things were good here at One Old Goat farm.  Nothing fell, nothing broke, nothing burned, no fights, no tears: quite the opposite.  Today was full of smiles and laughter and much happiness.  The outlook for tomorrow is the same.

Is we redneck? Or is we hick?

Yes, that is a skidloader holding up our deck.  And yes, that is a sofa setting on the deck.  And yes, that is a hot tub (someone's project from last summer)partially hidden behind the deck.

Sometimes I really dread the phonecalls I receive at work.  This time last year, the call was that our boxer, Casper, had nearly burned down the kitchen.  This year, it was that the deck had collapsed.  I am a very good spouse because not once did I mention that the old sofa - the one into which that fire-starting dog had dug a hole the size of a bowling ball - was way too heavy to be set on this part of the deck.  Not once during the day did I mention how many years I've reminded someone that we really needed to add supports to that portion of the deck.  Because I am a very tolerant person.  And I won't complain to anyone as long as the deck is fixed by the end of the weekend.

Play nice.

Play nice.  I remember my mom saying this to me and my little brother.  Just play nice.  My mom is easily one of the nicest people I know.  I am sure she would disagree.  Seriously though, my mom is the nicest person you could meet and if you don't already know her, you should try to meet her.   She is the one who has taught me that is better to be nice, that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.  Don't get me wrong - she knows how to express an opinion better than anyone I know but still, she is nice to people.  And that is something that is sorely lacking in the society I've encountered throughout the years.

I wish the world would listen to my mom.  She knows what she is talking about.    Or, rather, what she is smiling about.  I remember when I was young, we would drive to Erie to visit my aunt.  And my mom would wave.  To everyone.  I don't know why but embarrassing as it was to a teenage, I thought that was a pretty nice thing to do.  When we are out, she smiles at everyone.  Sometimes a chuckle to go with that smile.  Especially at little kids.  I love that.  Now honestly sometimes, a remark mumbled under her breath makes me laugh even more, but my mom always has a smile for little kids.

So today on campus, at the grocery store, on the road, I got to thinking that there are a whole lot of people who need to spend some time with my mom.  The crabbier that people seem to be, the friendlier I become.  Which makes me think (since I am so much like my mom) that that is the purpose behind her own friendliness. 

This afternoon - in the frame of about a half hour - I think that there may just be a happier bank teller, a happier cashier at the grocery store, and maybe one or two happier people behind the wheel.  I was thinking of my mom as I left the office at lunchtime and I decided to share a little of her today. 

So I hope you enjoy her.  Thanks mom!  I love you!!!!

Remembering.

Yesterday at church, the sermon was about the birth of Memorial Day.  It was an excellent sermon (as most of Pastor Jeff's sermons are).  It really made me think.  Despite having several veterans from several different wars in my immediate family, to me Memorial Day has largely stood for the beginning of summer.  Once Memorial Day had passed, school would soon be over and the hot days of summer would begin.  I remember putting flowers on the grave sites of relatives and attending Memorial Day services but really, the day has also served as simply the starting point for summer.

For the first year since I moved here, there was no service held at the little cemetery across the road from us.  As far as I remember, the local American Legion stopped at most of the little cemeterys in the area to honor the veterans.  I really missed that today and I wonder what I can do to ensure that they come back next year.  Because even though the event only lasted for five minutes, tops.  It was special.  And many years, my kids and I were the only people attending and it was a great way for us to remember who we have to thank for our many freedoms.

 And we have so many freedoms for which to be thankful.  We are so lucky to be able to worship any way we please.  We are lucky to be able to own the land on which we reside.  We are lucky to be able to express our opinion concerning all things.  We have the right to disagree or to agree or to be apathetic. We have the right to all of things because we have had people like our veterans willing to sacrifice their lives to fight for our freedom.

I really do think of all I have.  And the choices I have the luxury of making everyday.  And I am humbled - not only be those who did make the ultimate sacrifice - but by those who signed up for the job knowing full well that the cost may very likely be their lives.  They've done this for me and my family.  And they don't even know us. 

So thank you to Kristen and all of the soldiers in her unit, thanks to my dad and my uncle, thanks to all of those kids I read about every day in the newspaper who have either left for their duty or who have been injured or died while serving our country.