Dearest blog reader
I hope that this blog finds you doing well. It leaves my
hand in a bicycle ride, endorphin fueled bliss. I really needed it tonight.
Work has been pulling me in too many directions lately. So, fifteen miles on the bike and I feel good
as new; focused and ready to write.
Mother's Day, in this father's humble opinion, was great.
After ignoring all of the sage advice in the last blog, I went out and
purchased the "single most important kitchen utensil available."
That's right I went out and bought the perfect Mother’s Day gift; a pressure
cooker. Being the highly evolved male primate that I am, I looked thru the
instruction manual and found that setting one is 8 lbs of pressure and setting
two is 15 lbs of pressure (more power).
Armed with this information, Bev was able to whip up a very nice bean
and bratwurst lunch. I'm just kidding.
We live in a fair and high minded household. She looked it up herself. Just
kidding again. I made the beans and brats, (5 minutes on setting 2) and
followed it up tonight with that other Sharritt family pressure cooker
favorite; maggot meatballs. We have been without the "single most
important kitchen utensil" for way too long.
Mother's Day being over, the summer holiday season has
shifted. This weekend finds us in search of the next summer celebration; high
school graduation. Our Facebook demographic has been displaying it’s newly
minted under and unemployed college graduate offspring. In an effort to lift
our economic spirits, we headed to the land of greater hope, the high school
graduation. (Maybe the economy will turn around after four or five years and
that art appreciation degree can be put to good use.) Bev and I found ourselves
in Iowa
But I promised that I would stay focused for this blog. Just
say no to little league blogs. Just say no to little league blogs. I must stick
with graduation blog.
This blog started 6 weeks ago for me. I was enjoying one of
those glorious 80 degree March days. Walking up the sidewalk to the house after
a long day at work, I noticed the dog track that leads from the back yard to
the front yard. That first spring flush of lawn had manifested itself, and the
tireless wanderings of our two Jack Russell Terriers had kept the grass from
coming back on this slender sliver of our front yard. It leads off towards the
front yard where numerous bicyclists, diesel trucks, and the occasional
squirrel would pique their interest and send them tearing off in a barking frenzy
as fast as their 4 inch legs would take them. The beginning of this path is
precisely placed. It is on the very rim of their universe. Four inches further
to the West and the invisible-fence, collar of death starts to beep its Death
Star warnings of electro-shock therapy.
So their path takes a gentle arc towards the front yard,
until it approaches a flower bed with several shrubs, and plantings of
perennials; there their path becomes paths and it splits off to go between some
plantings in the bed. The day in question found me looking at their decision
point, wondering what made them split off there. What from their five inch high
perspective convinced them to zig and zag several times during the course of
the winter and early spring so that their wanderings sank in, making their mark
on the world. Those gentle thoughts took
me to Carl Sandberg and his poem about the road less traveled; which led me
thank fully to Robert Frost and his poem “The Road Not Taken”. (Thanks Google
and Wikipedia.) Robert Frost - Carl Sandberg is an easy mistake for the
common man to make. In my mind, Carl Sandberg is just Robert Frost with
calluses on his hands. I have no idea why.
(Semi-interesting note; Carl Sandberg was born on the same road
as Herbert Hoover’s Museum; which I was on while traveling to Story City, Iowa.
High school graduates can look up these factoids also )
Looking at my dog trails, contemplating hugey flob’s poem
about the less traveled road, it occurred to me that he was really just
following one of two dog paths. What’s the big deal Bob? No big choice here.
Maybe one smelled better to stupid dog a few days in a row making it more
traveled, or stupid dog had a tick near his right ear that pulled his head
right and viola, his body followed. In the end, you’re just following the north
end of a south bound dog. But no, Bob somehow made this big choice and followed
the “road less traveled by dogs, chipmunks, squirrels, cows, farmers, traders,
horses, wagons, cars, and trucks. Which by the way, is the evolutionary path of
the road that passed Carl Sandberg, and Herbert Hoover’s house on the way to
Story City, Iowa was marked for creation.
How many times this spring will principals, superintendents,
presidents, and valedictorians, encourage the newly minted graduating class to
take the road less traveled? “You’re choice will make all the difference.” “You’re
life is out there now go and seize the day.”
I figured that before I became too presumptuous and started
talking smack to Robert Frost, I should read the poem and familiarize myself
with some of its subtler points.
“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Low and behold, I think that Bob and I are on the same page here. Let
me paraphrase; fork in road, this path looks like that path, Being stuck in
this time and space continuum thing, I choose one. Since I am the kind of
person that doesn’t look back and change my mind I keep going. Until one day in
order to feel better about myself, I make up the part about choosing the one
less traveled and who’s to say it didn’t make all of the difference.
He really was just following the north end of his south
bound dog, but recognized the future failings of his reinterpretations of the
past. And for the most part, we have just followed along.
Take care,
Roger
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