Prologue - Happy Birthday

Mom - February 1970 (not an actual photo)

Sitting on the 3rd stair from the bottom she tugged gently at the sleeve of the yellow dress she wore.  She glanced for the millionth time at the clock….. 10:13 p.m.  Her water had broken just an hour or so before, nothing major, but it was time.

The contractions had started shortly after her water broke.  Looking at the clock, and judging from the intensity of the contractions, she knew it was only a few hour until the baby came.  The contractions at this point were about 15 minutes apart, but still, this not being her first baby, she knew was a sign the baby was coming fast.  She sighed and stood up.

Her little hard backed, plastic pink suitcase sat by the first step, aligned in perpendicular fashion with the step, the small plastic handle resting lazily on the top of case. The silver edging on the seam of the suitcase shone brightly in the dull hallway light, reflecting back to her the stress of being nine month pregnant.

10:30 p.m. - already?  She glanced again at the hallway clock, it’s large wooden, radiating arms flaring out from the center of the brass center, numbers dark and black, proclaiming the hour proudly.  Minutes were a bit harder to read, and seconds whizzed by, imperceptible really on the brass back ground.

Then suddenly lights flared in the drive way, flashing across the living room, next to the stairs. making the blinds reflect shadows on the wall, for a moment looking like a prison cell.  Eagerly, she pulled herself to her feet, flex picking up the suitcase, hanging from her right hand, left hand clutching her right wrist, suitcase hanging before her knees like a plastic shield.  

On the other side of the door the rustling of keys jangled like wind chimes in a storm.  She thought she heard cursing.  Her lips pursed in a tight line she stared at the door in the dark hallway, anxiously waiting.

The door swung open, following its arching shadow was the smell of viceroy cigarettes moved, at least to the nose, as fast as the shadows.  Grumbling about keys, his voice echoed across the small entry way.  Fumbling his hand hit the light, and for the first time it seemed he saw her, standing in her little avocado dress, red hard back suitcase in hand, he mumbled, “Ellen?”

“Bob,” matter of fact, “I’m in labor, we have to go to the hospital.”

For a moment, one of those rare moments when time seems to stop, the clock’s hand seems to move, backwards: he clutched the keys in his hand.  The cigarette in his mouth suddenly was too hot, too smoky, too bitter. He choked back a cough and said, “What?”

Not her first pregnancy, her lips belaying a patience not really present she muttered, “I’m in labor.”

Through this news the gin fog that soaked his frontal cortex faded and the reality of his wife’s condition finally hit.  “Ellen!” he exclaimed “We have to go to the hospital.”  He looked down at his clothes, a suit he had worn all day, “I have to change.”  He shot up the stairs, brushing past his wife in her  avocado dress, the stair handrail groaning under his weight leaning against it as he propelled himself up.

She looked at the clock, grimaced as the start of another contraction rose into her body.  She sat down on the steps again, knuckles white against the handrail, which groaned again.  She closed her eyes, a tear seeping out and resting on her cheek.  This pain, rising up from her groin and across her belly wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was felt again like the first time.  As the contraction tightened her muscles she remembered to breathe through it, gasping as her belly tightened around the uterus, the as of yet to be born baby slowly, imperceptibly moving into place.  In the pain, during the contraction, time seemed to stop, breathing was its own reward The contraction faded and she looked at the clock again, 9 minutes since the last one, and this one lasted nearly 30 seconds.  They had some time, but she knew not much.  The pain lingered across her belly, she wiped the tear away and glanced up over her shoulder at the top of the stairs where she could her him rushing to get changed.  She crinkled her nose at the smell of the cigarette that he burning in his lips, the dull haze of smoke clung to the air like the tension of labor.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, gasping for air, the cigarette still burning on his lips.  He looked down at her head, she was still sitting on the stairs her hand clinging to the rail.  “Ellen, I’m ready let’s go!”  He started down the stairs, his Florsheim shoes bright under the hall lights.

She looked back up at him, pulling herself upright with the hand rail.  He paused as she stood.  A light smile tugged at her lips.  He waited, cocked his head and noticed the smile, “What is it?” he asked.

The tugging became a full smile, “Bob, before we go to the hospital I think you should put on some pants.”

His face flushed and he looked down.  “Shit”  and ran back into the bedroom.  He jerked his slacks up over his shoes, flicked his cigarette with the aim of a marksman into the adjoining bathroom toilet, and fumbled with the belt, hopping into the pants as he headed back to the top of the stairs.  She was still standing at the top, the little suitcase in hand, waiting.  “Ellen let’s go” he barked as he lumbered down the stairs.

It was cold outside, February in Denver generally was, cold and dry.  The air was quiet, only 19 degrees, but the car was still warm from his earlier outing.  She climbed into the seat next to him, the suitcase resting at her feet.  She knew another contraction was due soon, it had been nearly six minutes from the last one.  He pulled a cigarette out from his pack, pushed the car lighter on, turned the key and the car rumbled to life immediately.  He looked at her, “ready?”  She nodded at him, her hands folded together in her lap, little black gloves protecting her fingers against the winter’s cold.  

They backed out on the street and he gunned the engine.  The lighter popped out of the dashboard, and without even a thought he lighted his cigarette, the acrid smoke immediately filling the car.  She coughed a little and he glanced at her, “sorry” and rolled the drivers window down a crack, the winter’s air a fridge breathe of relief.  The streets were quiet, it was a Wednesday night at nearly 11 p.m.

She gasped as the beginnings of the contraction hit her.  He looked at her, panic flashing across his face, the cigarette on his lips standing to attention from the pursing of his lips around it.  The car began to accelerate, it was a 1964 OldsmobileF-85 DeLuxe, a big car with lots of power, and like new.  They were in Littleton, but the doctor they were powering towards was a couple of miles away in Denver.  She groaned as the pain tightened, and he pressed harder on the accelerator.  A stop sign blew past, unnoticed and forgotten, except that behind them appeared the familiar red flash of a cop car its siren screaming into the winter’s night.

The cop’s siren seemed to make the onset of the contraction worse, and she clinched her teeth as the pain clutched her belly, the shifting muscles pushing the unborn closer to escape.  Bob muttered under his breath, “Shit.”  He slowed the car, flipping the turn signal on from habit, and the car rolled to a stop, engine still running, cigarette burning, its ember light lost in the flashing lights of the car behind them.  His grip tightened on the wheel, the creaking of his tendons audible in the cold night.  Even in her contraction she glanced at him and offered a grimacing smile, “It’s okay Bob.”

The cop pulled his car behind the Oldsmobile and looking through his wind shield he noted in his log the license plate number and make of the car.  He opened his door, the fridge February air enveloped his skin quickly and he gasped.  He could see the heads of the couple in the car before him, not moving really.  He noticed the car was still running. He debated using his car loud speakers to tell them to turn it off, then shrugged, probably a couple of kids out drinking.  No big deal.

He ambled to the car in front of him and got to the driver’s window, with the butt of his flashlight he tapped the glass, which was already partway down, “Sir, roll down your window and turn off the engine.”  He turned the light to shine it into the car for a better view.  It was a young couple, a woman in the passenger’s seat and a guy, looking very nervous behind the wheel.  He could smell cigarettes from the car and maybe gin.

Bob rolled the window down, his hand shaking, and glancing at his wife who was in a full contraction, he started to stutter at the cop, “This is an, a, uh, well, damn, a, um, this is AN EMERGENCY.”  His voice became fever pitched and the emotions of the night carried in his tone.

The cop clicked his tongue, leaned into the now down window, and managed a forced smile, “Sir, what emergency?”  He was focused on the driver, who it seemed was either drunk or something else.

Bob stammered, waving his right hand towards Ellen, “My wife, she’s pregnant!!”

The cop looked more closely at the woman in the passenger seat. He noticed she had her head back, her lips were tight, and her hands were clutched her full belly.  She was indeed pregnant.  He looked back at the driver, “Sir I can appreciate that but…….”

“Damn it man!” Bob yelled, “She’s in labor right now!!!” 

The cop looked back at her and noticed she was gasping, in distress.  He stepped back and stood upright, looking back at his car.  He could call an ambulance and they would take care of this.  He looked back at the driver, “Sir, you say she’s in labor?”  Bob nodded.  “Miss, miss, can you hear me?”  The woman nodded, just barely as she breathed through what appeared to be a severe contraction.  

Bob had it, he reached through the window and grasped the cop’s arm, “Look bud, we can debate this all night, but I”m not sure we’ll make it in time for you to call an ambulance, we’re going to hospital and you can arrest me there, but we’re going unless you want to deliver a baby!”

The cop sighed, he looked at them both.  He had only been on shift an hour or so, so this was already more excitement than he had seen all month.  “All right sir, I can’t have you running stop signs and speeding, and no, I don’t want to deliver any babies, so tell you what, you follow my cruiser and I’ll get you to the hospital.  Deal?”

Bob nodded, his cigarette’s ash falling on his coat.  “yes, let’s go, Porter Memorial”

The cop nodded, pleased at himself and jogged back to his car.  He picked up his CB radio, and dialed into dispatch.  “Dispatch, this is unit 99, over.”  

“Go ahead 99, over.”

“Yeah, um, I’ve got a 10-59, a pregnant couple urgently need escort to hospital, location Porter, Denver County.”

“Roger 99, to confirm you’re 10-59 to hospital, Porter, Denver County.  Please be advised 99 it’s out of jurisdiction, over.”

“Roger, I’ll escort and get out of there- over.”

“10-4 99, over.”

The cop smiled, flipped his siren back on, pulled out in front of the couple’s car, waiting for them to assume position behind him, and he floored it, lights and stop signs be damned.  He nodded, hell this was kind of fun.

They had been close, and the drama of an escort was minor, but Bob pulled into the hospital’s emergency parking, the cop was on his heels, “Sir, let me help.”

Bob glanced at him nodded, “just grab a wheelchair I think.”  The cop nodded and darted into the hospital, emerged moments later pushing a small wheel chair to the car.  He noticed the couple were out of the car, and the woman seemed to be okay, she was clutching with on hand a small pink suitcase, and the other holding on the man.  He wheeled over to them.  “Folks here you go, good luck.”

Bob smiled at the cop and helped his wife sit down.  He glanced at the cop, “Thanks for everything, be safe.”

The cop nodded and watched them disappear into the building, their breath seemed to linger behind them in the cold.  He slid into his cop car and shook his head.  Babies and drunks.  What a night.  He pulled out and headed back into Littleton.

Later, several hours, they rested in the room, the baby had been delivered.  She stroked his little face, dark features, everything was completely normal.  He was nestled against her breast, asleep.  She sighed when she looked at his little face and nodded with a smile, “Hi Thomas.”

And thus I was born.

Green Grows the Grass on the other side

 

 

Life's lessons are handed to us in the most unusual ways.  Thinking back I remember a grand adventure I had taken as a boy with my dear friends and cousins.  We braved danger, harsh conditions, and learned a very valuable lesson.  Watch where you step.  This lesson has carried me through life and into adulthood.  As I think of my lesson I have to shake my head and ask myself why, in all these years I keep needing to be reminded.

I lived in the most wonderful place as a boy, Steamboat Springs, Colorado. My family had lived in the Elk River and Yampa Valleys since the 1930's. My grandfather was a ranch hand, working as a cowboy and foreman for a ranch in the valley called Murphy Ranch. He was a tough man, a man of mystery, a man of few words. The valley he found himself and his family in would become the most amazing playground. It would be a place that would depart great wisdom on me. I still love it there even though I've not lived there in 25 years.
Growing up in the valley was a grand experience for me. My parents ran and owned a small hotel called "Rainbow Cottages". It was a hotel favored by guests who stayed longer than a night or two, made up of 10 units and two houses. We lived in the large of the two houses and my grandparents upon their retirement moved into the small house. With the business Mom and Dad were not terribly aware of what we kids were doing in our free time, especially during the short summers in the high mountains.

My partner during the majority of my childhood until I entered Junior High school was my cousin, Chester (see my blog post "Little Puffs of Dirt"). He was a year younger than I, and we were inseparable for the entirety of our growing up years. We explored the valley and surrounding mountains without end for days and nights on end. He was my "Bud" and we were the best of friends. Without him my childhood likely would have been rather bleak and lonely. We shared a passion for imagination and were always into some sort of trouble.

His family's house sat just on the edge of town (at least then, now it's part of town) on a small hill just below the cemetery - with a great view of the mountains running up the Elk River Valley just north of town and the Yampa River running east. From our vantage point of his property we could see the lay of the land, and from that view we would seek places in the valley to explore and discover that we hadn't been to. Frequently in our explorations of the Yampa and Elk River Valleys we would wander for hours in the mountain sun. We would walk/hike everywhere. Occasionally we would ride our bikes and even more rarely we would ride dirt bikes on game trails. His house though, perched just high enough above the river, on a hill facing north/east we would survey the land.

 

 

One summer day we were playing out by his house. We looked across the valley and spied on the hills just above the Elk River, north, a green field. It shone like an emerald in the hot summer sun. It was late in the summer, and by now the verdant green of the grasses had faded and the valley was mostly colored with sagebrush and browning scrub oak. Yet we could see, maybe 2 miles away, perched like a small garden of Eden this green field. We knew in our hearts that this perfect spot of green had been placed there just for us to find it. Looking at its location, it wouldn't be easy to climb through the brush, up the hills to the green field, but we knew we must.

We called for our sisters, Julie and Susan. Susan, Chester's sister, was my age, born only a couple of months later than I. Julie, my sister, was the youngest of us children. She was precocious, but always up for an adventure. We told the girls about our discovery, and Chester, in his resourcefulness pulled out a telescope. So there we four children stood, like Lewis and Clark surveying the land before us, planning our adventure to the verdant pasture that awaited us. We knew, as a group that this place was perfect for a picnic. We marveled that we hadn't ever noticed the shining emerald grass before, and thus we laid out our plan.

The western slope of Colorado is a safe place, spotted with the occasional black bear, the biggest danger was honestly the ticks that ran thick in the brush. It was late enough we knew that they shouldn't be so bad as the spring, but none-the-less, we didn't want ticks on us. We also knew that occasionally in the brush you could encounter a western rattlesnake. They weren't terribly common, but they were there all the same, and they always made our wanderings in the brush and country side a thrill. The valley had been formed with a combination of the rivers meandering through as well as a glacier that had centuries early pushed through. The glaciers had deposit all along the hills and valley floor large boulders that over time became dotted with growing fungus and moss, and these boulders, placed like little pieces of art were perfect spots to hide snakes, and we knew that we would have to pass over and around these stones and their guardians.

 

 

But looking through Chester's spyglass, we had to do it. We had to rest on the soothing grass that seemed to place amide this dry summer ground for our play. Our plan was simple, we'd pack a lunch, take our tin canteens filled with water, grab our walking sticks (and poking sticks to ensure that we were not attacked by the snake) and let Duke, Chester's Irish Setter lead the way. Duke was the main reason we were comfortable traversing the western wild. This dog loved us kids, and he protected us. He watched our every move, and when we got lost, turned around or trapped by brush or impassible obstacles, Duke would find a way to get us out. Plus Duke wouldn't let rattlesnakes, coyotes, or any other creature near us.

So that fine summer day, in the full heat, facing known and unknown dangers, we left the safety of the cemetery hillside and set out to rest in the beckoning cool green field placed no doubt by nature just for us kids. The hike was hot, dry, dangerous and very difficult. Being that we were all of us still only ages 6-8, we had little legs and the brush was thick and grew high all around us. There weren't trails we could see leading to the green pasture, so we made our own. We relied on Duke to find the small animal trails dotted around the boulders and brush, and we traipsed our way up slowly up the mountain, hoping we knew where we would end up. As we passed into the hills, our clear vision of the mountainside was lost, and we relied on our memory of the lay of the land, hoping that the taller landmark hills and mountains would guide us to the little green pasture.

We passed over and under various barbed wire fences (fences in that time for us were simply obstacles - not indicators of private land). We knew we were getting close though as we walked because we finally came to the hill that the pasture laid upon. We came atop a rise and there just before us we could see cotton wood trees and the green pasture! Throwing our canteens and lunch to the ground we each of us ran to the green field! The field was surround by a low wooden fence topped with barbed wire (we didn't see the wooden fence from our vantage back at the cemetery. We could hear lulling in the area cows and indeed, beside the cotton woods rested cows. We climbed over the fence and jumped into the green grass and realized why the area was so green in the midst of the faded brown of sage brush.

The green fenced area, near a small supply of water, surrounded by cows was green because of the bovines' very presence. From our vantage point, a mile or more away, even through the telescope, the grass just looked green, we didn't know that it was thick and sharp bladed crab grass. From our vantage so far away the other side of the fence teased us with it's emerald blades, and it wasn't until we jumped the fence and stepped in, well stepped in it, that we realized this was no garden of Eden  this was no special place that called us from across the valley. This was a farmers feeding lot, used because of the water and shade for his cows. The cows dropped their dung, and the ground sprang to life with verdant green dung.   Our disappoint was sure and it was harsh. Of course we were not dissuaded from further adventures as children, but this great adventure, through the brush, braving rattlesnakes, severe sun, ticks, set our imaginations on fire and we were wiser because of it. The lesson learned - the grass is not always greener on the other side of the fence, and if it is, maybe it's greener because its feed with manure.

My entire life I've taken this adventure over and over again. That lesson learned so literally nearly 35 years ago is still a lesson I have to go to and revisit frequently. In my journey from high school into college, from college into seminary, seminary into priesthood, priesthood into disbelief in the divine, I keep packing my lunch, sling on my canteen, and set off into the woods searching for the greener grass. I still make the mistake thinking the grass is greener, and often after jumping the fence I find myself stepping in manure. But here, as I rest quietly on my life's hill now, my spyglass pulled out and in my hand, I'm not afraid to walk towards that pasture. The lesson I took from the adventure wasn't the disappointment in finding a green field of cow paddies, it was the journey. The fear of the snakes, the pushing through the brush, the hot sun beating on my neck painted a grand picture of discovery. It was the laughter I shared with Chester, Susan and Julie. I am not disappointed that my adventure as a man of god ended up with me standing knee deep in dookie. I'm not disappointed with the lovers I've had and lost. Each one of these journeys, much like the one I took in childhood, have given me joy, laughter, disappointment. I have encountered venomous villains along the way, but I've also walked with the best friends the destiny of star matter colliding could provide. It's not resting the green pastures that have brought me the most joy, it's the getting to them.