Choosing to Remember...

I've been thinking alot lately about forgetting and remembering things. You see, in the wake of my dad's passing, I've often thought: I don't want to forget him. Though he wasn't perfect, he was a good example to me of so many things that are valuable in life...I don't want to forget!

Back in the Old Testament of the Bible, the Hebrew people used to have a practice to ensure they didn't forget things. If some great event happened, especially a God-thing, it was their habit to make a pile of rocks. They were called "standing stones." And then, whenever they would see these standing stones, they would remember what God had done for them.

In our contemporary American culture, it seems we have a forgetfulness problem. If something significant happens to us, we think it's really great. We tell everyone else and even ourselves that we hope we'll never forget it. But then life moves on, the pressures of getting by set in, and the event whimsically comes and goes in our memories. Before we know it, we've forgotten the great thing we experienced.

The problem? I think it's because we don't choose to remember. Sure, life can be complicated, but we don't choose to put things into action in our lives that will enable us to remember God or the event or whatever over time. In short, we don't put up standing stones.

Last Saturday I drove alone on a sunny morning out to a large local tree nursery to get my version of a standing stone to remember my father's life: a Cherokee Brave Pink Dogwood Tree. I've always liked these dogwoods, and admired them as I've driven around town. Now this tree doesn't have any inherent connection to my dad, but I've chosen to attach the meaning of his memory to it. Now, when it blooms it's deep creamy pink in the Spring, I'll view it with joy and consider my dad.

Something about all this feels really good to me. I think it's that I choose to remember him...

Lookin' Up, Pastarod

I'm Being Overrun...

When I was growing up backpacking in the Colorado mountains, I used to get really excited if we saw a Marmot. They were a sure sign that you were in the high backcountry, for they were never to be seen anywhere else.

Until recently...

Over the last few years these varmints have been overrunning our house. Last year their little babies figured out how to get through our garden fence and helped themselves regularly to my lettuce, broccoli and cabbage. Now that's a problem.

They used to be cute...not anymore...

It seems most anytime I look outside one of these Yellow-Bellied Marmots or Groundhogs or Woodchucks or whatever other heinous name you'd like to call them is grazing in my fields, rummaging around underneath the deck, crawling up on the grill, munching away at our flower pots or rooting around the engine compartments of our cars. Ughhh!

And go figure...it's very illegal to trap them and move them.

Oh well...any day, any time, there will be a lot less of these hideous critters in the population count...

Lookin' Up, Pastarod