Taking 'care' of the ones we love

Well into my second cup of Joe and farm dog distracts me. He wants out.

I’ve been keeping a closer eye on farm dog since I realize (many weeks too late, if he could post a comment) that pooch is suffering from allergies. It came to me yesterday, after he rubbed his head bloody. Today, farm dog is off of kibble, Milk Bones, and the parts of hubby’s meal that usually fly through the air in pooch’s direction. For the near term, farm dog will exist on an extraction diet of rice and venison. Fortunately, the deer hunters in the house had a good season so the freezer is full of ground venison.

The hunters aren’t especially happy to learn their prized kills are going to help farm dog clear his head and they hint that they’d be happy to “take care” of the dog’s allergies their own way. Tough talk. I remember there’s a new rifle sitting in the kitchen.

“Are you telling me you could shoot our pet?” I ask – a direct challenge to their machismo.

I count the seconds of silence while they deliberate. A semi-comforting admission from one: “Well, I’d feel bad.”

Hmm. A hint of conscience buried beneath muscle and body hair. I decide to keep farm dog close.

He loves his new diet, by the way. He licks the inside of the bowl clean. He licks the outside of the bowl clean. And, after I pick up the empty bowl, he licks the floor underneath the bowl clean.

I ponder the possibility of buying my own deer tag next fall.

It's just a little congestion, guys. Don't panic!

Cataloging cracks

The holiday season – and fantasy football – caused us to temporarily set aside sorely needed household repairs. But the holiday season is coming to a close; the Christmas tree along with the all the gift boxes and wrapping have been burnt in the fire pit out back, and my brother just emailed to boast that he repeated as league champion in fantasy football. (Congrats, muffinmonster! Now get over it.)

Jim and I have started to plan our winter indoor project schedule, which includes ceiling work, step repair and modernizing the bathroom. Yesterday, as I was wandering the house examining the scope of our challenge, my focus fell on several cracks cutting through walls, the ceiling, and where the wall and ceiling converge just outside my bedroom. At each crack I paused to call the crack to Jim’s attention.

“Is this a new crack?” I asked him, over and over again. “Because I think our house is falling down.”

Being the stoic German that he is, Jim quietly reassured me, “The house has been standing for 120 years. It’s not falling down.”

“Yeah, but, is this a new crack?” I repeated as I thought back to last winter when we’d painted the upstairs bedrooms, trying to recall if I’d painted over the large crack in Marc’s room.

Of course, the cold weather outside causes all kinds of cracking and popping sounds to emerge from the walls and attic. Expansion and contraction, it happens in new houses too. And, there isn’t a level floor or square wall in the place; to date, these flaws haven’t much bothered me or caused me to ponder the consequences of nineteenth century construction integrity.

But these cracks I find increasingly troubling. The cracks are making me worry that the old farmhouse is about to cave in around me. I wonder if it’s because we’ve invested ourselves in restoration and now, like a dog who repeatedly wanders onto the property, I’ve begun to care for the old girl. Does caring beget worry?

Knowing my interest in photography, Jim offered this idea. “Why don’t you go around the house and take pictures of all the cracks. Then, you’ll know a new one when you see one.”

Interesting idea of his, cataloging cracks. I’ll keep you posted.

Resolving to live forever

It’s New Year’s Day and 2008 stretches before you like a newly-plowed field. What will you sow? Why not take a stab at achieving immortality? It’s easy and you don’t have to leave the world a Shakespearean body of literature or dot the countryside with libraries (as did Andrew Carnegie) in order to live beyond your years. Few of us have such talent or resources anyway.

A person interested in achieving the most impact from their time on earth (foundational to achieving immortality) must pass along his or her values to the generations that follow. The most effective way to do this is by sharing and perserving those precious life stories. I’ve written about this before but it’s worth repeating: Your life stories connect you to generations past and to generations to come. Your stories keep you alive. Your stories link you, one generation to the next, keeping your memory alive long after your passing.

I’m especially charged up about the value of storytelling after seeing the movie Sweet Land. (Go to the web site.) If you haven’t seen the film, rent it on DVD; if you’ve already seen the film, see it again. You missed something.

Sweet Land is an independent film set and filmed in Minnesota; it tells the story of Olav, a Norwegian farmer, and Inge, his mail-order German bride, who is ostracized by Olav’s Norwegian neighbors from the moment she arrives, circa 1920. Critics have hailed the film for its cinemetography, its plot, its sparse script, and its masterful acting. And while the film deserves the multitude of praise it has received, all the reviewers have focused on the love that develops between the main characters.

But there’s another, more powerful relationship revealed in Sweet Land, one between the elderly Inge and her grandson, the man charged with perserving her legacy. It is between these two characters that the real power of Sweet Land unfolds. Inge’s story is revealed by the grandson and her legacy endures because her tale exerts power over him. (To give you more detail than this would be to spoil the plot for you.)

If you don’t understand the enduring power of a personal life story, even a story of a simple immigrant or a humble farmer, see Sweet Land. Once you do, you’ll understand how our life stories allow us to live on long after we’ve drawn our final breath.

Sun dogs with a New Year's sunrise