Mile Marker 18

This is a little granite marker on the side of the towpath of the Delaware Canal in Washington Crossing, Pennsylvania.  It is very near my parents house and it has a meaning to our family that others passing by are unaware.

The Delaware Canal is 60 miles long, and extends from Bristol to Easton and follows the Delaware River which separates Pennsylvania and New Jersey.  The Friends of the Delaware Canal installed these mile markers for the benefit of the many people that walk, run, and/or bike along the towpath.  The cost of the markers was defrayed by donations.  I donated mile marker 18 (and if truth be told, mile marker 25.)

The many floods along the canal in recent years has caused havoc, but by and large, most of the markers have survived without harm.

Mile maker 18 stated dedication is "In honor of" my parents.  It is indeed that - and it is also in honor of a family pet.  Just before I donated the money for the stone, the family cat (one of my mother's favorites over the years) passed away at the age of 18 years.  He was entirely jet black except for his inquisitive yellow eyes - and his name was "Shadow".  It seemed only fitting that "our stone" be number 18.

When I walk by this marker, as I frequently do, I recall Shadow and his beloved antics.  He came to us in an unusual way.  He was a skinny, hungry stray kitten, who one cold wintry day, crawled under my dad's pickup truck while it was parked at the family foundry and laid on the engine to get warm.  My dad, upon starting the truck heard him yowling, and opened the hood to find himself looking into the eyes of his new friend.

The cold, hungry cat came home - where he was fed, kept warm, and healthy for the next 18 years.

And so we call this marker, "Shadow's Stone" and smile to ourselves when we see it.

Mile marker 25 was donated in the memory of my Mother's older brother - my Uncle John - who passed away on 23 Jun 2005 in Ridgecrest, Kern, California.  His grave is so far away, this marker serves as its surrogate for his sister and her family.

While the markers are just simply little bits of rock - they trigger many memories when I see them.

Have a Seat

Ah. Nice to take a load off.  It was a busy weekend - the weather was perfect - the company was so nice - and the food marvelous.  I need a quiet day at work to rest up a bit. :)

Bench in Chestertown's Fountain Park.

Division of Family

Yesterday, after a brutal (for me) workout at the YMCA (1 hour on a treadmill at four miles per hour on a 15% slope), I stopped by the field my niece was warming up in for a soccer match to say "Good bye and Good luck" to her since she heads off on Friday to her first year of college.

It seems like only yesterday I gave her a stuffed Tigger that was nearly as big as she was for Christmas.  I recall her laughing and running around with him with wild abandon and watching her dress him up, insisting Tigger was a "she."

I have another photo of her somewhere where she is about the same age, after she opened a gift of a razor scooter - one she badly wanted.  I caught her eyes popping wide as the wrapping paper fell away from the box.  I treasure the photo but I treasure that simple moment of joy even more.

In the years since, I've watched her grow and mature into a fine young woman - she played cello in a chamber music ensemble, the orchestra at school, and performed at a number of dance recitals with her proud uncle watching.

On the way home, in a selfish moment, I thought to myself, I didn't have any uncles or aunts see me off to college and thought it out. Family divisions - caused by the usual "list of characters" was responsible for this.

My dad being an only child, I had only two aunt and uncle sets - my mom's much older brother and sister and from them I was separated by geography and generational age.  Their children, my cousins, were all 10-15 years older than I, and as I was growing up - that made them "unapproachable adults" and not people to play childhood games with.  The Aunt lived 380 miles away in Boston, and the Uncle lived 2800 miles away in Los Angeles.

So the aunts and uncles in my life where all actually my dad's aunt's and uncles and my "greats."  Age again - caused a divide but there was another divide - petty family squabbles - that ran deep and turned to poison.

Without boring you with the details - my great-grandfather "parted ways" with his two brothers - over a squabble at the family business - he left and started his own - and thus was forever "mad" at Thomas Charles and Russell.  You may remember Thomas Charles was Franklin, Elmer and Marshall's father.  Russell was the WWI machine gunner that was wounded in the Argonne Forest.  This separation meant - that even though the three sons lived into the 1990's - and lived nearby - I never met them.

Another family business squabble - this time between my Grandfather and his mother - after my great-grandfather died - caused ill-feelings between my Grandfather and his mother's family (all of whom, I met only once at a family reunion, are very nice people.)  So those distant family members were "lost to me" while growing up.

My Grandfather had three sisters - between them, they had 4 children.  Aunt Ann was childless, my (great) Aunt Marian had two sons and a daughter and my Aunt Mary had a son named Pat (who had Down's Syndrome).  Pat was a sweet, but big and gruff  (6' 2" 280 pounds) guy that seemed to behave in an unpredictable manner that was off-putting to me as a young boy. I have since learned better. Marian's children might have been in the social circle except...

...she worked with (and unfortunately, for) my Grandfather, Harry, as the bookkeeper in the family business - and one day, the day to day tensions of working together - spilled over and unkind words were spoken - and my Aunt Marion walked out to never return.

I recently found a letter, written by my Grandmother on April 26, 1967 to my "honorary Aunt Bea" that made me cringe -

I may not particularly like my sister-in-law and niece's mother - but I have tried to make sure that this (mutual) feeling has not prevented me from being involved in my niece's life.  I have gained much to treasure from doing so - and can hope, somewhere down the line, my niece might feel the same.  This bitter family lesson on how to watch what one says in the "heat of the moment" and to be a little more forgiving was hard earned and too late to cure the divides.

'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far...and Grace will lead me home.

Last Wednesday, I attended the graveside funeral of my sister-in-law's grandmother.  I did not know her very well - but she was always very nice to me - and my brother and his daughter seemed to want me there.

It was a bright and sunny day - so I went a little early to walk the grounds and to reflect - I wandered through the fields and found a stone with the following on it - and thought, no matter what you "believe," you can't argue with the point being made:

One Solitary Life

He was born in an obscure village
The child of a peasant woman
He grew up in another obscure village
Where he worked in a carpenter shop
Until he was thirty

He never wrote a book
He never held an office
He never went to college
He never visited a big city
He never traveled more than two hundred miles
From the place where he was born
He did none of the things
Usually associated with greatness
He had no credentials but himself

He was only thirty three

His friends ran away
One of them denied him
He was turned over to his enemies
And went through the mockery of a trial
He was nailed to a cross between two thieves
While dying, his executioners gambled for his clothing
The only property he had on earth

When he was dead
He was laid in a borrowed grave
Through the pity of a friend

Nineteen centuries have come and gone
And today Jesus is the central figure of the human race
And the leader of mankind's progress
All the armies that have ever marched
All the navies that have ever sailed
All the parliaments that have ever sat
All the kings that ever reigned put together
Have not affected the life of mankind on earth
As powerfully as that one solitary life.

 - Dr. James Alan - 1928

During the service, someone stood up and recited a poem - one that struck a cord deep within me - with the "family tree" efforts I have been doing - I've often typed someone's name, their birth date and the date they passed away separated by a dash, "-"

The poem by Linda Ellis, is simply titled, "The Dash Poem" and goes like this:

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

Also during the service - a young woman with a beautiful voice sang "Amazing Grace," the favorite song of Naomi, the woman that passed away.

I found the stanza:

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.

...repeating in my head as I walked alone, back to my car and on the drive home, all the while thinking about my "dash."

Rest in Peace Naomi - your dash was well-spent - so many spoke highly of you when we all went to say "Good Bye."