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October 28, 2008

Memories

Delwood Ray Cavenaugh 12-22-1941 - 10-25-2008

I was told that dad had made friends with a local preacher. Dad has only liked two preachers his whole life and the other one was dead. When it was suggested that this preacher officiate his funeral, I was honored. If she's good enough for dad, she must be a wonder. Later I was told that she would be dropping by, she wanted us to share with her some personal stories about my father. Folks lets face it, I tend to like to think of myself as unflappable, of late I am well and truly flapped. I knew there was no way I could start reminiscing about my father so soon without howling like a hungry hedgehog. So I do, what I've done since the shrink suggested it in my childhood. I sat down and started writing. What follows are the things I handed to the preacher hot off the printer in georga 12 font.

  • Lived by the creed, "If man made it, man could fix it". He took great joy in it, and a special pride in repairing things that stumped others. His son noted it every time he had to call his dad on the telephone for advice.
  • Had a special quest to serve and protect the widow, no sewing machine went unfixed, no one went without fresh vegetables. He took great pride in his payment for a job well done, which took the form of the occasional cake or jar of jelly.
  • His primary hobbies were his garden and giving away most of what he grew. For a few years he sold collards from the back of his old Ford truck. The profits he made helped to pay for the following years garden.
  • He always had a great faith in the wisdom and opinions of his wife, especially when those opinions mirrored his own.
  • He retired from the textile business where he worked for over 30 years in the same building for over seven different companies. The job never changed, only the company name on the check stub.
  • Upon retirement he slowed down considerably. Fishing requires patience.
  • When he spoke of influences in his life he often quoted his late father-in-law who used to say, "What you get out of life is what you eat". Anyone who has ever tasted Delwood's BBQ knows he lived well.
  • One day two young men in suits riding bicycles came to his door and asked to come inside. Before opening the door he said to them, "In my house you are free to talk about any subject except religion and politics. Now, I'm about to sit down to lunch and if you'd like, you can join me." They ate a loaf of bread and a whole pack of bologna while he watched. All three had a wonderful visit and the young men never once broke the house rule.
  • People were important to Delwood, every day at the exact same time all work and all fishing stopped and his closest friends gathered at the barn for what they called "Tea Time". In many ways it was just like English High Tea, only they never had anything besides water from the hose to drink, and they never had cucumber sandwhiches. They were never ones for fancy finger foods.
  • Delwood took a great love of his wife's flower beds, although he often lamented how little there was to eat in them. If you walk those flower beds today you'll see his subtle influences; grapes, blackberries, strawberries, mustard greens, tomatoes, and peppers stealthily planted among the pansies, irises, azaleas, and daffodils.

Later we went to the first viewing where the immediate family decides if everything is ok with the body. While standing there looking at his corpse another thing came to mind that though too late for the preacher, was very much worth noting.

In the 30 some years that dad worked in a sewing plant he wore the height of men's fashions as often the unused samples were given to him and the other mechanics. He took great pride in looking good and his reward was the compliments he got daily from the many hundred women who sewed in the plant with him. I mention this because as his body laid there in the casket it looked better than it had looked in over a year. It was a great weight taken off of my mother and myself seeing that. Live well, die young, leave a great looking corpse. Dad thinks of everything.

October 26, 2008

Transitions

Water can be an ice cube, it can melt into liquid, and heat into steam. Steam can cool, liquid forms, once it cools enough, ice. It is the natural way of things. Three distinct states of being and it never stops being water.

You take a piece of paper and light it on fire, the combustion releases the energy stored in the paper. The law of conservation of energy states that energy is never lost, it just changes from one state to another.

A caterpillar goes into a cocoon comes out a butterfly. Nature is full of examples of how things may change but the essence of what is remains unchanged.

That's why I think that the sober scientific minds of atheist are so laughable. I am amused by those who look down their noses across the pages of science books to dismiss the beliefs of the religious. The science makes very clear that death is a transition between one state of being and another.

Don't get me wrong, I'm equally amused by the religious. Those who regularly look down their self righteous noses across the pages of their ancient tomes at the atheist who refuse to believe whatever arbitrary thing they believe. I find it odd that they are so filled with the spirit or what have you, but still fear death so much and go to such great lengths to prolong the suffering of those dying by keeping them alive.

I know that energy cannot be destroyed or created, I know that a thing can exist in many different states and still be a thing. I believe that death is a transition between one state of being another.

Thus, though I will miss interacting with my father, I know he still exist in another form. Today we make arrangements to bury the cocoon he spent the last 67 years in. It will wear his best suit, it will have his pipe and a new pouch of tobacco. My ancestors were Irish, and though this world isn't as hard for me as it was for them in the past, I share their faith that wherever he is, it is definitely better than where he was.

Delwood Ray Cavenaugh
1941 - 2008


October 22, 2008

Go With Your Strengths

I spent the better part of an afternoon working on a simple project using ingenuity and intellect. I needed to move the roof of the front porch on the old house. The plan was very strait forward. Dig out the area surrounding the legs so the concrete around them is clear to be raised. Connect the left and right legs together with a four by four secured by eight inch long lag bolts. Jack the legs up one at a time slowly back and forth bracing them with flat concrete blocks until they are out of the ground. Move the structure carefully out of the way. I worked slowly and carefully to make sure everything went just right. The four by four splintered, the lag bolts ripped out and plan "A" was a complete and total failure. I didn't even budge the thing. Time was wasted, effort was wasted, and I was feeling like a tool.

Then a moment of calm came over me and in this perfect zen instant the path was revealed to me. I was doing it wrong. Actually, I might have been doing it right, but not right for me.

I put away the shovel, post hole digger, drill, hand tools, and jack. I cleared away the blocks, the scraps of splintered wood, and any sharp pokey objects that do seem to like to tear my cloths. I went into the shed and brought out The Six Pounder. In a former life it was a splitting axe with a six pound head. That was before I broke the handle splitting wood. Some years ago I cut off the splintered end, wrapped the remaining eight inches of handle in leather and today it serves as an executive problem solver. The Six Pounder, solves problems my way, using my strengths to their best advantage.

My way is not very sportsmanlike.

After hours of wasted intellect and effort got me nothing, the porch was now laying defeated at my feet in a matter of minutes thanks to simply playing to my strengths. I think there was a life lesson in there somewhere for me. If you are a hammer, everything really does look like a nail. If you are an ax, every problem can be cut down to size, if you happen to be me, just let your force be your guide.

October 14, 2008

First On Flight

I just rode in an airplane for the first time in my life. Three planes in four hops actually. Most people who find out I had never ridden in a plane before assumed I was afraid of flying. I never was, and I'm not now having done it. I've always believed that how you get there is the worthier part.

To that end I've seen most of the United States, and a little of Canada through the windshield of a ground vehicle. Sure, I could get into a plane and go from here to there in hours what would take me days by car. I suppose some would see the days in the car as days wasted. I have never wasted a second on a road trip. Every mile is something new to see. Every stop is someone new to meet. I like to listen to conversations had at restaurants and gas stations on road trips. What do they sound like? I like to hear how to they pronounce "tomato", "pecan", "house" and "about". I want to know if the weather is normal or unusual. I want to see if what they call cold or hot is just cool or warm to me.

Even clothing choices can vary by where you are. Its raining, do most people wear raincoats, or ponchos or do they use umbrellas? I find all this interesting.

Plane rides give you a chance to listen to and perhaps interact with the people around you, but for however many hours it is more of the same. Do I want to spend two hours talking with someone I'll never see again? Maybe I do, but wouldn't it be more interesting to spend 10 minutes with a person, knowing that you are going to meet someone completely different just over the next hill for 10 minutes later on?

In a plane you can only see a sunrise from one place, up. It is the same for a sunset. I'm not knocking it, a sunrise or a sunset over the clouds is something to see, but I like being on the road knowing that the next sunset or sunrise I see will be in a completely new place, and one I will likely never see again.

In a plane you can occasionally see another plane, in a vehicle on the highway there is no telling what you'll see. I like variety, I like not knowing what's over the next hill, I like the undiscovered country.

That and planes are kinda loud.

October 1, 2008

To Serve, Protect, and Possibly Shoot you.

First they came after the dogs and I said something but was shouted down and or ignored. The vicious puppy showed his teeth from 20 feet away (out of pepper spray range) and the poor threatened officer was allowed to use a shotgun to even the score.

Then they went after the war veterans. The hockey stick with a range of about five feet was substituted later with the much more dangerous machete with a range of about three feet. My guess is the truth is the man showed his teeth, the officer felt he was threatened and since the guy was out of the range of taser or pepper spray, was free to open fire. "He's comin' right for us!"

I now have a greater understanding of the problem. Originally I believed that the police were taking a shoot first ask questions later philosophy. But now I believe it is a gross lack of training. The police clearly don't understand attack distance. I can help with that.

I invite all police to take a fencing class where they will learn in a clear and systematic way at what distance they are actually threatened. Once they have had some proper training and perhaps compete in a tournament or two, they will be better prepared to deal with situations where they may or may not be threatened and act appropriately.

Once they master this simple fencing concept, they will cut down on bad PR, eliminate extra paperwork and SBI investigations. They will spend less time on administrative leave, and best of all myself and people like me won't have to rant and roar every time they screw up, and hide behind the extremely weak "standard procedure" excuse that sounds so dumb when they say it on TV.

For more information on important training opportunities please visit this link.




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