Spice

Chutzpah. “ho͝otspə”

The Yiddish word even sounds brash. It’s meaning – supreme self-confidence, nerve, gall, audacity, boldness.

While chutzpah doesn’t fully define Claire, some days it seems close. Her fabulous mother – my daughter-in-law who may carry her own chutzpah gene – recounts. . .

     On our way home today in terrible traffic, I was driving like a boss — only centimeters between myself and the many cars around me coming in all directions – maneuvering to make a near-impossible left turn.

Knowing I was doing a great job, I nevertheless voiced to Claire, “Driving in Kinshasa is not my thing”.

Claire responded, THAT’s for sure – Which left mom questioning with a teasing glint,

“What do I have to do to impress this girl?

Such spunk, tempered by her wise parent’s guidance, could well cinch feats in life for Claire the more faint-hearted may only dream of.

***

Relational

Here, grandpa, I’ll take that inside for you. Grandma, let me carry that. The middle child – and indeed his siblings as well – from early childhood volunteered aid to the seniors come to visit.

With daily livestock duties at the family farm, tending to his restaurant job and his full college load, T.J.’s still keenly attentive to relationships. How ya’ll doing? escapes his lips as much as any phrase.

***

Industrious

Saturday – Easter Eve, my wife’s birthday – arrived. While she busied herself in the kitchen with granddaughter and daughters, I sat visiting with my two sons-in-law and grandson, Travis. Our most recently-added son-in-law responded to questions about the small brood of ducklings being nurtured at he and his new bride’s Tulsa home.

Travis, second-born of our grandkids – now married and parenting a fine toddler – ably engaged the discussion,

Hundreds of my baby chicks made it through. The incubator care I gave them made a difference.

Travs’ poultry enterprise began when – in diapers still – he shadowed his mother to the chicken-house, tending to his chirping, feathered buddies. Overseeing the full process fell to him in short order. As did other outdoor tasks, requiring a sharp mind and a ready body.

Three youngsters – Claire, TJ, Travis – all share in the qualities of confidence, warm-heartedness and industry. Yet each one – a one-of-a-kind – in personality and virtues.

As with them, our creator grants us every one, giftings, graces, ways of being. To touch a life, a family, a society – bringing things of good to our needy world.

                                           Variety is the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavor.

                                                                                            – William Cowper (poet)

©2016 Jerry Lout

A Milestone

Taking a seat on a cushioned wicker chair, I stretch my legs forward, resting my feet on another. The coffee mug I hold signals a steamy aroma and I indulge a second sip.

A keen sense of satisfaction hangs in the early air as I settle into my restful spot at this temporary residence atop a gradual-sloped hill. The liquid blue of Lake Fort Gibson lies before me, a forested, hilly shoreline her furthest boundary.

Birds twitter their good-mornings and I take in the distant view from my elevated sanctuary.

Where did the years go?

Nineteen Sixty-Four had taken me from Oklahoma’s hills to Wyoming’s Rockies and on to Montana, land of extravagant surprise.

A breeze visited the deck where I sat. It seemed to carry a flavor. Of feeling, warmth, thankfulness.

By week’s end the Seventeen people dearest to our lives – Ann’s and mine – will have gathered here at the lake house, an hour out of Tulsa. Last night’s laughter – light-hearted banter of our earlier arrivals – offered promise of more. Lots more.

It’s an early celebration – five months early. The season’s climate along with travel logistics moved us to fudge the timing. Summer, not December. . . well-suited, too, for the overseas clan just arrived.

Children, their spouses, grandchildren – all converging. From Konawa, from Tulsa, from Congo.

Words of a greeting play at my thoughts, a phrase. Surreal. And sweeter than honey. We’re hearing it these days more and more, my bride and me.

I reach again for the coffee mug. The next swig tastes richer still as I let the phrase replay.

Happy Fiftieth, Grandma and Grandpa.”
©2017 Jerry Lout