01 24 2012 Mother's Love

As I sit here, I try to think of something that compares to the love I feel towards my mother. There really isn’t anything that comes close, and although I still try to come up with a similarity, I can not. Not even the affection I have towards chocolate comes close in any way. There just isn’t anything in my life that in any way resembles the same feelings of affection that I feel for her. Oh yes, the love that I feel towards my father is just as strong, but it is nowhere near the same. I guess it wouldn’t be correct to say that the love I have for my father is less than that towards my mom, but it plainly isn’t the same. They are two completely different entities, and each of them sits apart from the other on its own plane.

I guess there are different kinds of love finite, and these are without a doubt, two of the most prominent ones. I have written how strong and proud the love for my father is in me. I have written how as I grow older, that the love towards my father continues to instill itself deeper, and has become more a part of me than ever. I am the man I have become because of the love and all that goes along with it that has been handed down from him, along with the love I feel towards him.

The love I feel for my mother? Well, that’s a story, complete within itself. It is the beginning, and the ending of a soothing lullaby, the warm ending of a gripping, soul stirring  novel, the catchy chorus of a  classic top 40 love song, and the ending to a perfect summer’s day.

It is a complete feeling of love that I wish upon wishes that every creature on the face of this big blue marble has the incredible chance to feel and experience one day. It is a match made in heaven. Along glorious walk down an endless road, full of familiar curves and twisting family tales that only a mother could tell. It reminds us of all that is good, and explains the entire unknown to our frightened worried souls. The comfort and caress of a mother’s love remains the greatest remedy and the cures that it is responsible for will always continue to amaze the innocence of man.

The bond that exists between a mother and her child is the strongest bond in the universe. It is unmatched and unsurpassed by any other force. It is a union of souls, a merging affection that will always stand the test of time, and withstand the trauma associated with time’s relentless unforgiving elements. It is a force to reckon with, and its strength will live on through the millennia to come.

There is nothing like it, nothing to compare it to, and nothing that will ever sway it from its always present path of the simple fabric of family.

The love between child and father is strong, but it is made stronger with the gentle soothing caress of a mother’s love. These separate points of the triangle of family and of life feed off each other, and at the same time, they supply each other with the essence of the complete meaning. Remove one, and they will still exist, although a single line, incomplete as a whole.

As I have watched our own son grow into a man, I have been made aware of these facts, as I have witnessed the special bond between him and his mother. The union that exists between them is unlike the bond that he and I have. I love my son more than I love life itself, and I can see in his heart that the affection exists between us two.

I can also see though, the impenetrable bond that exists between his mother and him. It is cut from the same fabric that wrapped around my own mother and I, and it warms my soul to know that it has been handed down through the next generation, without any planning or manipulating or external sway. It is part of the union of the ages, and I smile deep inside when I think that something as simple and pure as this will continue to live on through the tomorrows of time.

Knowing that I have the love of my mother leaves me with a sense of purpose that only she could begin to explain. Maybe she can’t though. Maybe the gifts that she holds within her are all knowing and bare no explanation. Maybe they can never be explained, but must be lived and breathed to fully understand their importance. Maybe one day all of the definitions will come to fruition, and the circle will be complete. I truly believe that it is as completely perfect as anything can be. It is purity in its simplest form, unmarked through the ages, and unchallenged through all eternity. It is good and simple and pure and holds all the answers to all the questions. God’s perfect plan if you will.

We must never fear of the disappearance of such a wonderfully enlightening existence. We must always realize that whomever the mother and child are, and wherever their love is found, that this bond, this everlasting union will remain forever scripted.

I love you my dear mother. I thank God every day for your smiles, your praises, your gentle kisses, and the warmth of your endless hugs. You are the main ingredients that make up the recipe that is me. You are the foundation of who I have become. You and you alone hold the keys to the inner most chambers of my heart.

Although I go through some days without showing it, or saying it, I always feel it and believe it. The soft goodness of this world shows itself to me through your eyes. The gentle caress of the years gone by, glide down from the heavens and slowly swirl around my comforted soul.

Whenever you blew on a fresh cut of mine, and looked me in the eyes while you whispered to me, There, It’s all better now.” I knew that it would be ok. You instilled that in me. I picture your smiling face, and everything’s going to be ok. No matter what, no matter where, no matter how, I just know.

I love you Mom, and I thank you for forever giving me your love.

Xoxo  dp

 

01 11 12 Now Where Was I?

I originally started this blog to talk about one of the things I hate the most, Cancer.

I have strayed away from that topic, and to tell you the truth, I think I only had maybe a couple of posts that talked about it.

Well, here it is several months later, and I am here to tell you that I still hate cancer. I still hate every thing about it. The way it sounds when it rolls off your tongue. The way it looks on the screen as I type it. “I am kind of glad I can’t see it.” I hate the way it sends chills down the spines of anyone that has to deal with it, and believe me, there is a ton of people that have to deal with this menacing monster.

Cancer took so much from me. It took one look at my life path, and said, “Hey, wait just a second there.”

Left turn.

I am who I am not because of cancer, but in spite of it. There have been many times in my life, like everyone else, when I could have just phoned it in, and mouthed the words the rest of the way. Fortunately, I was not brought up that way. I was not brought up to accept what is the obvious, but to strive for the unexpected.

I never really thought of myself as being handicapped when I was growing up. I could do what any other kid did, and most times better. I could run as fast, swim as far out, jump as high, hit as far, throw as far, or farther. There wasn’t too much that I couldn’t do. I just didn’t look like the other kids is all. No big deal, until I got old enough and girls came into the scene. Stupid girls. You all ruined it. Just kidding. I adore you all. Smile.

There is so much emphasis being put in those six letters now a days. C A N C E R has permanently made it’s mark on our society, and we will never be the same because of it. I hate to say it, but ever since all the work and time has been spent on finding a cure for this wicked beast, it seems as though the disease has become more prominent now than it has ever been. Every one I know has lost someone to this dastardly demon. Everyone I know has seen what havoc this wretched warlord can rein down on it’s unsuspecting prey. All the drugs, and all the pills, with all the money and all the cancer centers, and research centers, and drug developers, and scientists, and still this menace is free to roam around.

How can one disease be caused by so many different things? How can anyone escape the tentacles of this sea monster?

The same form of cancer that I was inflicted with as an infant, was also present in my son when he was born.

By the grace of God, his first born, Jack, was cancer free, and had no trace of the nasty corrupted chromosomes that cause the disease. Our grandson is free from this unwelcome bum, and he will not have to worry about passing it down to his children, as I did.

For the time being, this bubbling banshee has been beaten back. I am forever doing an internal Snoopy dance inside.

I will continue to pray for all those who have gone through the paces with this monster, and I will continue to pray for all those who are, or will have to go face to face with this heavyweight contender. May you all find peace and strength to keep up the fight. May you all always remember and never forget that you will never have to go through this difficult struggle alone. Please also always remember that asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but an awareness of the need for help. It is not a thing to be ashamed of, as I have struggled with in the past. A cry for help gives someone else the opportunity to do the helping, and there is no better feeling than to be able to offer help, or assistance to someone in need.

In the past year and a half, I have been in situations where it was absolutely necessary to ask someone for help, and every time I have been met with people ready and willing to lend a helping hand. It truly is a beautiful feeling to know that help is out there wherever you look. I always had a hard time with this. I always had the gnawing feeling that there would come the time when the person I asked help from would say, “No”, and I would be left out in the cold, alone and scared. That time has not come to pass as of yet, and I really don’t believe it ever will. People truly are kind by nature, and will lend a helping hand at the drop of a hat.

Boy has this entry jumped all over the place. Sorry for that.

I am still chugging along, and will continue to post entries as long as I can manage to find the keys. I really don’t care how many people read this blog. It gives me a good feeling to know that when I hit the “Post” button, my thoughts are etched in stone. It might get all mossy and covered in dust bunnies, but it is still a good feeling.

Thank you all, and have a wonderful day.

01 04 12 Leg Room

Well here we are, staring another brand new year right in the face. My oh my how 2011 flew by. Lest we ever forget her.

I just read another blog post from a friend of mine. She wrote about her family trips as a child. Reading her post and poem brought back a ton of memories from my own childhood as our family used to take trips up through the White Mountains every fall. Those were special times with special memories that I will have with me until my time on this big blue marble is up, and I am sure, even into the beyond.

Our family trips usually included our family Chevy station wagon, which a lot of the times had a usual passenger in the fold down seat way out back in the cargo area. This familiar passenger was most times, yours truly. I don’t know what it was about riding in the back seat, but I liked it, and would usually get the whole seat to myself. I really couldn’t understand why no one else craved the seat as I did, I mean it was spacious, comfortable, and had a great view. Who could have it any better?

I could choose from a variety of sitting positions, had three large windows to look out through, and had an acre and a half of the most beautiful leg room that a traveling young lad had hardly ever witnessed.

Those trips up through Kangamangus Highway, and down through the mountains were wonderful. We always stopped a couple of spots to run and jump around on the huge rocks of a river bed. I can honestly say that I think every year we went up through the mountains, the weather was perfect, except on the top of Mount Washington, where it was usually a hundred degrees cooler and the wind was usually blowing at like a thousand miles an hour. I don’t think my mom enjoyed the ride up the face of the mountains, nor the sheer cliffs that awaited any car not paying attention, for there were no guard rails. I remember her underneath the dash, screaming to get her off that stupid mountain. I think she screamed a few other things, but my kid mind went into automatic censor mode. Smile.

A few times we stopped at Wildcat Mountain and rode the gondola to the top of the mountain. Those rides up the face of the mountain were such a blast. We filmed one years trip, and as I watched the film thirty five years later, I found myself wondering who that skinny little geek was that walked out of the building on top of the mountain. It surely couldn’t have been me, although I could remember it as if it was yesterday.

We would usually stop at Clark’s Trading Post, and feed the bears that were perched atop of twenty five foot poles with a platform so that they could stand up there. There was a rope that went from the ground up to the top of the poles where the bears were. On the rope was a can that you could put some nuts and other treats in. The bears would then pull the cans up to them by means of pulleys on each end, like a clothes line. I would marvel at how smart these bears really were. Later on when I was a dad and was driving my son and wife through the same roads, we stopped at the Trading Post, but the bears weren’t on top of the poles any more. They were kept in an enclosed caged area. They must have picketed or joined the thousand bear protest march back a few years in Jellystone.

Our childhood trips usually ended up at Fryeburg Fair in the middle of the afternoon. I loved the Fryeburg Fair. It was just so busy.

WE would usually stop at the tractor and horse pulls first, and then make our way to the place where they rode motorcycles around the inside of a big barrel. I can’t remember what the attraction was called, but it was loud, frightful and wonderfully entertaining. These guys were seriously crazy. Daredevils extraordinaire.

Everything about the fair put a cherry on top of an already perfect day. The rocking cages that you tried to rock back and forth until you went over the top, absolutely defying gravity, or so it seemed.

The hot dogs, and the cold drinks, and the dough froggies, and the chili dogs, and the vinegar on the hot fries, and the cotton candy. I loved it all. We were usually given a few dollars to play some of the games. I usually rifled through my allowance in thirty seconds or so.

There was harness racing, and I could not understand what the big deal was. I mean it seemed that the number twenty five horse won all of the races that he was in. Every time. I told my father and I think he went and bet on the horse again. I can’t remember if he did win though. Some things stick in my mind, and some do not.

One thing that stuck in my mind though was my father riding a Ferris wheel ride with rotating cages on it that you could control and roll over from a control on the inside of each cage. He loved to torment us during the ride and would hold us upside down until we screamed, cried and pleaded for him to bring us back upright again. It was totally wonderful torture. Thanks Dad, I will never forget that.

Wit bellies full of wonderfully greasy food, and minds full of tilt a whirl excitement, we would pile into the station wagon right around dark and head for home. The ride home was usually quiet, but you could feel the electricity passing through us, as we reminisced over a glorious day.

One thing about riding in the back of the station wagon, it had its ups and downs. Although I hardly ever knew where we were going, I always knew where we had been. Watching the mountains wind away from behind us was my job, or so it seemed. I was the watcher of the “rear window’, the keeper of all that had been gone by, and the holder of the ‘back a spell’s’.

There were so many other amazing trips we took as a family. Down east, and through New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. The red sands of Prince Edward Island and the huge ferry that took us there, the reversing falls of St. Johns, or was it Fredericton? The bays of Campobello Island, and the rides to Old Orchard Beach, and Pine Point. So many wonderful memories, so much to look back on.

That was the life, as seen through the rear window of a Chevy station wagon. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I mean, how could I. I had it all, 3D panoramic viewing, and all the leg room in the world.