Pax Plena

Category: Indigenous

  • A Visit from a Friend

    A Mourning Dove. I call him Dave.

    I’m in Indiana this week. My time of being a nomad is well underway. It’s cloudy and muggy out. The heat grasps at the moisture in the air. It’s oppressive. Not quite as dreadful as DC in the summer. But pretty close. Even the squirrels and chipmunks have stilled their play to allow the afternoon heat to drag on.

    Soon, I imagine, they will resume their scurrying and gathering, or whatever it is that my friends do during the heat of the summer. My ex-wife’s backyard is filled with animals. I usually spend my days at the dining room table with an unobstructed view of the backyard. When animals make their way onto the deck (which happens fairly often) I call them my friends.

    So, with my friends scampering about, I suppose that the only idle one around here is me. My son has resumed school. His family here has resumed their work routines. My girlfriend in CO remains busy doing attorney things while maintaining her home for her kids. My family in OK are all, well, doing okay! Work, School, and Church seem to run the days there.

    The Sentinel.

    As I thought about the constant motion, it occurred to me that I felt a bit like the tree in the backyard. I call him The Sentinel. A fine specimen of a sugar maple, he stands athwart the chaos of days and looks calmly on. His stately branches reach out and provide shade and shelter as the world passes by. It could be said that he stands idle. But, at risk of being overly animistic, I don’t think he does. I think there’s a wisdom to watching and learning before acting. At least that’s what I think he does, and what I hope I’m doing.

    At any rate, what made today especially interesting was that a mourning dove joined me on the deck this afternoon. He was a handsome fella. He seemed rather content to join me and sit on the deck while we awaited the afternoon thunderstorm. As the humidity rose, I began to wonder where he would go should it truly start to rain.

    It prompted me to learn a bit more about mourning doves. I read that female mourning doves sit on their nests from late afternoon throughout the night. So, I figured that this mourning dove, who was decidedly nowhere near a nest, was a male. For all I know, he had just finished the morning shift of nest sitting and was cooling his heels until the storm arrived or passed. I’d say, he was here at least 20 minutes.

    In considering his stay, my mind began to wander, and I grew concerned for him. I hoped that he wasn’t injured.

    But isn’t that rich! He was doing what I was doing. Together, between me, the bird, and the tree, we were all idling and whiling away the afternoon. There was nothing wrong with me. The tree seemed fine. Yet, I immediately wondered whether there was something wrong with the bird.

    It wasn’t a flash of insight, but it struck me that maybe a guy just needs a damn break from time to time. And while it’s not popular in our culture and economy to take breaks (Gasp! Resume gaps!), maybe taking a break is okay.

    Because, come 6AM tomorrow, I reckon we’ll both be up, taking care of the kids, and doing all the things, all over again.

    I learned a lot today. I’m glad my friend stopped by.

  • The Blinks

    I remember that night well. We were hurtling down the airport corridor trying to catch our flight. The hop from Indy to Dallas wasn’t a long one, but the window was a bit tight, connecting from Dallas to our home airport in Lawton, OK. The start of the summer was underway and it seemed we had nothing but leisure ahead of us.

    And we did. I just didn’t account for the blinks.

    The blinks. I’ve used the phrase far too much over the years, yet it’s the simplest expression for how quickly time can pass. In a blink our tribe’s Homecoming Celebration was over. Another blink and our summer side-trip west was done. In one final blink, the Summer of 2026 will be in the books as well.

    I have my son for the summer each year. But at the end, my son goes back to Indiana. He leaves on Sunday. We are doing a family pizza night here at the house in a few. But this will probably be the last hurrah before the summer ends. I’m aware of time passing, but each year the summer seems to go by more quickly. It’s like a new summer brings with it a faster clock, along with a myriad of differences from the last that allows time to slip by undetected.

    But in truth, this summer has passed like many others. The Oklahoma humidity from the early summer rains yields to the broiling temperatures of late July and August. First comes the pow-wow in mid-July. Vacation Bible School at church follows. Not that we participate. Screaming kids, heat, and music are all in the top five of the things my autistic son hates, so attending is really a non-starter. With those all done, all that remains of this summer is the day the kids dread – the resumption of school.

    On this account, my son goes back next Wednesday (8/5). We have meetings with the school on 8/3 per usual – this is the meeting where they tell us all of his deficiencies and how they’ll plan to bear the burden of his presence. This will be followed by my son’s appointment with a developmental pediatrician on 8/4 to help us learn more about his outbursts, diagnosis and how to deal with them (hopefully). I plan to be in Indiana with him for the first three days of back-to-school and for the first full week of class.

    But with all of the things coming to a close, it’s strange to think back on where the time went. I was only unavailable for a couple of days due to speaking engagements back in mid-June. We spent a Dallas weekend with my girlfriend and took a trip to CO to see her for a week. But the rest of it’s a blur. The reality is that I was home with my son for most of the summer and we really didn’t see anyone. I think that’s how summer usually goes around here. We skulk to our houses to escape the heat. In the process, the summer winds down as we sit in the AC unawares.

    In retrospect, I must have backed out of our driveway 100s of times. Driven the same roads. Gone to the same places. And all of the local fare must have been substantially similar to last summer.

    Except that this summer my son sounds more like me than the little boy he was last year. He’s taller than me too. Somewhere in those 100s of repetitions he grew up and became a man. Well, a little man. But he’s more man now than boy. I was there for all of it. But I don’t know when it happened.

    I think that’s just how life goes. The last egg. The last prayer at night. The last bedtime story. Even if you’re intentional about soaking them all in, the moments will still pass too quickly. They all disappear in a damn blink.