" Cabin Porch Perfect Morning Memories"

Gypsy and I were on the cabin porch early this morning. It was so dark we could only distinguish the trees in the Angel Patch that were outlined by the stars in the morning sky. The lace work formed by the leaves of the red oaks against the morning sunrise is truely magnificent. Then we saw it, a shooting star across the horizon. Surely this was a good sign. It was beautiful. The lantern we had lit was sending its flickering glow accross the cabin porch like small, golden, feathers dancing to the gentle breeze that reached the crack in the lantern door. It was very quiet and very dark. The stars were bright, all in all a perfect morning here at the cabin. We could not pull ourselves away, so Gypsy crawled into her pink porch bed and soon was snoring away. I moved from my chair to the first step of the porch so Gypsy could come and sit with me and get scratched. She was so comfortable she choose to remain in her bed. As I sat on the step, the morning dew dripped off of the cabins metal roof into my espresso and onto my hands. It had a cool and fresh feeling. We wanted to savor all we could of this wonderful morning, atleast I did.
My mind began to drift and I remembered that my fathers birthday was on Halloween, which was yesterday. I wondered if my three children knew this and if they did would remember it? I remembered all the things I had learned from my father.
He always told me to get the work done first and then go out and play. He never liked being in debt, and told me it was best to pay for everything up front. He made car deal after car deal with a handshake. I use to hang out at his office in the building where he made good deals selling Chrysler cars and International trucks. His handshake was his word and his reputation of honesty followed every handshake. I learned you do what you say you will do. When folks got stranded with car trouble on the Ohio Turnpike and ended up at my fathers garage, he sent them on their way in one of his cars and a handshake that would hold their deal, until they would return on their way home to leave his car and pick up there car. Your reputation was a big part of who you were, and brought many people to my father to buy a car.
He took me hunting with my BB gun and our old fox terrier dog Gus. Now, Gus was a great hunter until the first shot was fired. He then, on his own volition returned to the truck and was still shaking when we got there. We hunted in the woods and cornfields of my dads customers and my mothers relatives near the small town in Northern, Ohio. We also picked our share of wild sponge mushrooms mom would wash shaking out the small insects that hid in the sponge part and then dust them in flour and fry them in butter. I usually ate so many I got sick. Some things we never learn.
My dad also let me drive brand new Chrysler cars home from Detroit, Michigan on
Telegraph road. This road was a three lane, cars going in both directions used the middle lane to pass. You guess it, head on collisions just waiting to happen. This was pretty exciting stuff for a fifteen year old, and it made me happy to think my dad trusted me so much. He taught me how to drive. And, by the way, I wasn't sixteen yet and did not have a drivers license. So, this was the reason I always wanted to go to Detroit to pick up new cars. If by chance they had an extra car for dad, I got to drive it home. It scared me alittle each time because of Telegraph road but, not enough to make me stop wanting to do it. We also got to stop at a big city restaurant for lunch. Wow!
My moms folks, Grandpa and Grandma Spengler had died so young I never knew them. I only knew Grandma Spengler had 12 children at home, nine of whom survived. They had a big farm in Ohio, and Grandpa died young of a heart attack. We would visit dads parents, my Grandpa and Grandma Hall most every Sunday afternoon in the small, Ohio farmimg town where they lived. My mom counted the distance from where we lived to their house by how many fingers we had yet to go. Janice and Nedra and I would constantly ask her, "How many fingers yet mom?" I remember the rain on the metal roof of their farm house, the apple orchard and the beautiful shrubs Grandpa trimmed in the cemetary just down the road from their house. My two sisters and I loved to go on those visits, it was fun.
When my dad was still young his lingering heart problem caught him one day after work. He went out in their backyard and laid down in the hammock, as he did so often. Mom found him there when he did not respond to her call. I felt fortunate to have seen him the day before, having gone back home for a few days to look after mom.
So, you see, remembering as the morning drifts by out on the cabin porch we are mindful how lucky we are to have memories like these that hang around us through the years like ghosts in the night. As much as I want to stay out on the porch, I want to get to the computer and write as much as I can for my children and grand children. So, they can know that from the farms in Switzerland, to the farms and towns in Ohio their legacy is of fine, honest, hard working, independent people. People who took care of themselves and others. People who were not afraid to make sacrifices for what they believed. Their blood flows through our veins and will hopefully influence all of us as well as Kody, my grandson and his coming brother or sister. I am sure as I write this, my mom and dad will read it and be as pleased as I am by these memories. Our lives are like rivers whose end we never see.