Norman Rockwell

Norman Rockwell came to our little corner of Arkansas last Saturday. Not the guy, of course, seeing as how he died in 1978, but the idea of small town American life. Our little neighborhood, at the foot of heavily wooded Horseshoe Mountain, surrounded by cows and horses grazing the open fields, held our first annual fall festival. It sounds way too sugary sweet for my taste, but I have to admit, I rather enjoyed it.

Every house except one (there's always one in every neighborhood) had some kind of activity for the kids. Since each home sits on at least 3 acres of land, the best way of getting from house to house was, of course, a hayride.

After meeting up at the designated house, the kids took their seats and were ferried (with several neighborhood dogs chasing after) from activity to activity. There was Haloween mucsical chairs, target shooting (against a metal wall with rubber suction cup "bullets"), football toss, relay games, a corn maze, bobbing for apples, face painting, crazy hair color spraying, cookie and cupcake decorating, and pumpkin toss just to name a few.

The parents mostly visited with each other, talking about work, the weather, the kids, new trucks, and football. But when we got to the "pumpkin toss," once each child had their turn and we still had a sack full of baby pumpkins, the adults took over that game. It wasn't just throwing a little pumpkin by hand to see who's went farther. This was a big-boy toy! A heavy-duty slingshot had been set up with metal poles anchored in the ground and several targets were set up about 75 yards away. Now what guy could resist this? The kids wanted to do it again, but we gave them candy and said, "Sorry, but the only pumpkins left are the adult's pumpkins. Why don't you kids go play out there in the field for a while? Yeah, out there by the targets would be good."  Unfortunately, it seems our kids are a little too smart to fall for that, but the grownups, including most of the moms, had a lot of fun anyway. Amazing how far and high you can shoot a little pumpkin with the right equipment!

By the time we arrived back at the starting point several hours later for the weinie roast and S'mores, the kids were definitely on a sugar high and the parents were ready to relax around the campfire for a while.

Mr. Rockwell would have been proud.





Alone

Sometimes I need to get away. By myself. Alone.

Its not that I don't love my family. My friends.

I just need to get away from the world.

Away from stress. From pressure. From the weight.

To sit in my church. To think. To be.

No people. Just nature. Beauty. Peace.

The world the way it should be.

So I can come back to the world the way it is.

Baby Girl

Youngest-daughter is growing up. She's reached the age where, at least in public in front of her friends, she's a bit embarrassed for her dad to give her a hug and kiss. It makes me sad. It wasn't long ago she didn't care who saw her give her old man a hug. She said I love you all of the time. When I came home, her eyes would smile and she would come running to greet me, wrapping her arms around my knees and, as she grew taller, around my waist. I miss those days.

It won't be long until she starts wanting to date some nasty little pig of a boy. My nightmare coming true. I know I'm over-protective, but don't really care. When she was young, we had a tree swing and her mom would push her higher and higher. I couldn't watch. All I could see was my baby girl falling and breaking an arm or hitting her head. A couple of times when her mom couldn't do it, I've had to take her to the dentist for teeth cleaning and it was ridiculously hard on me. I can't watch. And with every little squirm or slight moan of uncomfortableness, I wanted to shout, "That's enough!" and get her out of there. A doctor giving her a shot? Forget about it. Years ago, after it took everything I had to keep from bopping a nurse when a shot made my baby cry, the wife has always had the doctor duty.

I plan to keep my baby girl as safe as possible when it comes to little piggy boys. I know what is on their minds - I was a little piggy boy myself. So when they come to pick her up, I have no hesitation in greeting them with a big knife in my hand, slowly sharpening it while I tell them they are going out with my baby girl and how much I cherish her and they best not get any little piggy ideas in their head. And I'll be waiting up for her return, watching what happens on the front porch and turning on the light at the wrong time (in my opinion the right time!). And if it embarrasses her, oh well. She can tell it to her therapist on down the line.

She may be getting older, but to me, no matter how old she is, I will always see her as my sweet, loving, innocent, gapped-tooth baby girl.