THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, December 10, 1995 TAG: 9512080234
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Random Rambles
SOURCE: Tony Stein
LENGTH: Medium: 84 lines
My word processor is by my den window, and I am writing this in the late afternoon of one of those Tidewater fall days that has been a smorgasbord of weather conditions.
When I let the dogs out early this morning, the sky was clear with a sprinkling of stars crisply bright against the blackness. The wind was still. The air seemed almost midday warm. I stood on the porch until the dogs came in, and Rusty, the sheltie, did the whirling dance he does in anticipation of the canine cookie he and Laurie, the little mixed breed, get every morning.
When I went out to work in the yard later in the morning, the sky quickly clouded over. A pattering of rain began to fall, and I knew it right away. When you are both bald and hatless, your bare scalp sends dampness signalsimmediately. I didn't complain about the rain, either. It made things grow. It refreshed the earth. And, yes, it gave me an excuse to swap rake for recliner.
Later in the day, when Miz Phyllis and I went out store-browsing, a sudden wind was brisk and chilly. Then, an hour or so later, the skies cleared. The day warmed. The late-afternoon sun had that particular golden glow that only late fall afternoons seem to have.
Or maybe it's because I notice things like that as fall slides too suddenly into winter. I'm gathering sights and sounds and smells to savor over the winter as if they were foods stored in the dark comfort of an old-fashioned root cellar.
Like the leaf color that seemed to come late this fall. But when it did, it was a visual avalanche of red and gold.
Even Battlefield Boulevard around Great Bridge, where steamroller development is creating Kempsville II, became a gracious corridor of color. In my own front yard, a red maple turned so luminously crimson that we stopped to admire it each time we backed down the drive.
A truly philosophical person is one who can remember that a week later when the leaves have fallen and he or she is endlessly raking in a suburban imitation of a galley slave. Briefly - very briefly - I wished Santa would bring me a chain saw. Shame on me.
Memory and anticipation are helpful winter companions. I realize that there will be occasional winter days when it is shirt-sleeve warm. But they will be rare, if memorable, and the trees will be starkly bare. In this starkness of winter, I am thankful for the beds of pansies that burst with rainbow hues from tubs and beds and pots all over town. Strange, isn't it, that ``pansy'' is sometimes an ugly word for a supposed weakling. A pansy is a Rambo of the flower world, a tough little bloom that shrugs off bitter cold and holds its head high.
In early fall, when the nights were still warm, I would sit on my back porch and remember my childhood. On such nights so long ago, the voices of youngsters at play would echo up and down the safe and friendly streets. All the words of the familiar childhood games: ``Simon says,'' and ``Red light.'' And that stern admonition to your marbles opponent as he took aim - ``Knuckles down tight.''
Remember my childhood and marvel that more than half a century has passed. Remember my youth and marvel that I am the grandfather of 16-year-old Garrett and 12-year-old Lisa. Remember the resolutions I made to myself at the beginning of this year and marvel that 1995 is just a couple of weeks from slipping away.
So, in late fall, I ponder a bit. What have I done that I promised myself I would do in 1995? The list is too short. What have I not done that I promised myself I would do in 1995? The list is too long. Yet maybe there's a chance to beat the midnight Dec. 31 deadline and keep a frayed resolution or two.
Actually, I am not a philosophical man. The Great Questions of life do not concern me. Meredith, a child at my church, once summed up her philosophy by saying she did the best she could and tried not to hurt anybody. Hey, kid, you got a pretty good handle on things.
Come to think of it, that would make a wonderful New Year's resolution. I mean, you resolve to lose X many pounds and you've got a mathematical barrier to crack. You promise to do the best you can to lose weight and you are comfortably inexact.
OK, that's my resolution for 1996: To do the best I can and try not to hurt anybody. It's sad to see people battle each other over shades of religious belief. If everybody just resolved to do the best they can and try not to hurt anybody, a lot of the misery of the world would go away.
Besides, if I resolved to get organized and not lose my keys or glasses in 1996, I would probably break the resolution by 30 seconds after midnight. by CNB