Category: Life

Posted in Life

Sleeping with the horses

Posted on by William Douthwaite

While visiting our Rowlett, TX family, we stayed in the loft of a horse barn that we discovered on Airbnb.

So some travelers might think, “You stayed in a horse barn?” Kind of. The loft had been remodeled into a very nice 600 square foot efficiency, more comfortable and equipped than some of the whole houses we had rented before. When I told three-year-old granddaughter Josie, “We’re sleeping in a horse barn,” she said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The horses will chew you up!”

We were in no danger of bring chewed up by the two horses who lived in the barn beneath us, Proton and King. They were all about the fruits and veggies we brought. As soon as we pulled up into the small parking area, they ambled over. We thought they were just being friendly. They wanted to see what kind of snacks we brought for them. Every time we left for the day or came home at night, they came over for carrots and apples. If we had none, they quickly went back to whatever they were doing, which was mostly foraging around the yard for food.

The neighboring corral was home to some Shetland ponies. As soon as they saw us feeding the big horses, they came over to the fence, knicker it a soft, “Don’t forget about us.” We didn’t, and they were more friendly when all the produce had been eaten.

Late at night, if I woke up and rolled over, I listened to the night sounds. The heater fan and the refrigerator robbed the night of its silence. Plus, I heard some other sounds. Water dripping? No. Wind outside? Sometimes. Then I realized the other sounds were the horses in their stalls right beneath us. They were snoring or eating or moving around or whatever horses do at night.

We’ve stayed in eight short term rentals in Rowlett and Garland. Some were newly remodeled and very nicely decorated. Others were spartan. One had four bedrooms with a TV in each. This one was a single room. When we come, we really don’t spend a lot of time in the rental other than to sleep.

The horses really make the loft stand out. I know they are fair weather friends, more interested in treats than in me. But they always welcome us home after a day of negotiating Dallas metro traffic to go anywhere or do anything.

Posted in Food, Life

A slow food restaurant

Posted on by William Douthwaite

As we walked into the restaurant, I noticed this sign at the host station. This was a small breakfast/lunch place with both indoor and outdoor seating, lots of diners enjoying a meal or a cup of coffee brought by the waiters. No drive through window. No tablet ordering kiosks. Nothing resembling a fast food restaurant.

So I couldn’t help but wonder, “What have you experienced here that would make you order and post such a sign?”

I didn’t get the chance to ask anyone that question, but I can just imagine some of the comments and behaviors they have had to deal with. Patience is a virtue, but it is not a common virtue. People want want they want when they want it, and generally, they want it right now.

There may be another dozen tables in the restaurant, but some want you to get to work on their order immediately. Ten minutes has become too long to wait for food?

It could be that people just don’t cook that much at home. They forget how long it takes to prepare a meal. The longest they ever have to wait is two minutes for something to come out of the microwave.

I wonder if the customers who need to read that sign are the ones who see those words? Does a sign like that silence the impatient and demanding clientele? Do words like that really change anyone’s behavior? Do folks read that and react, “OK. I guess I’ll go somewhere else”?

If you don’t have time to wait for a table, don’t have time to sit and have something to drink and look over the menu, don’t have time to wait for the cook to prepare your food, and have to eat and run, then why did you come here at all?

There is something so nice about not having to rush, not having to cook, and not having to clean up. You can focus on the people you’re with, enjoy the place and sometimes the view, and be off the clock for a while.

Posted in Life

Don’t ding our car

Posted on by William Douthwaite

We had a few hours to kill before our Airbnb was ready in Rowlett, TX, so we went to one of our favorite local downtown places, Bankhead Brewery. All of the street parking was filled, so I pulled into the gravel lot out back.

As I pulled into a spot, a couple was getting out of an Infinity SUV next to us. I was still getting used to the rental van, so I lingered a minute to make sure all the doors locked. The other couple walked away towards the restaurant, but kept looking back at us. A better word would be “glared.” Especially the woman. She gave us the evil eye as if to say, “If you ding our car, buddy, we’re going at it!”

I double-checked my parking and we were fine. I was right in the middle of my spot. My wife could open her door all the way without touching their not-that-new vehicle. Still, we got several more glares as we followed them to the restaurant.

After we got inside and sat down, I went back out to get my wife’s reading glasses. As stepped away, she said, “You might want to move the van further away.” I agreed and repositioned the van two more feet away from theirs before I rummaged through a backpack for the readers.

After lunch, we walked back towards the van, and saw they moved the SUV out front to the street parking far way from this reckless driver’s parking lot antics. I asked, “Did they finish before us?” My wife answered, “No, I saw them sitting by the front window. They weren’t eating, just drinking.” It wouldn’t be hard to spend the afternoon day drinking at Bankhead. They have 16 of their own on tap every day.

So maybe, just maybe, they were worried that they might ding our van when they went to leave the brewery. I should try and explain everything in the best possible way, right?

I’ll try.

Posted in grandparenting, Life

The joy of rock painting

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My four-year-old grandson and I have a new craft for those days he spends with us: rock painting.

We got the idea when we purchased a cheap rock painting kit at Hobby Lobby. The kit came with a bunch of rocks, but hardly any paint, and one lousy brush. There is no way we could paint rocks to look like the ones on the box. But we wanted to.

So I got to work. We had a nice assortment of craft paint brushes here at home. We had some paint mixing trays, too. I ordered a rainbow selection of craft acrylic paints on Amazon. I went to Hobby Lobby and found 40% off bags of rocks. I bought two bags (about a dozen rocks each) for $4. Now we’re ready to do this right.

I spread out the plastic craft tablecloth on the dining room table and we got to work. We used every single color to paint every single rock. We used a different brush for each color, and when they all had paint on them, I rinsed them out and we got back to work. He did mostly solid colors. I painted a few rocks al one color, and when they dried, added a sea creature. That’s what we originally wanted to do. I painted a sea turtle, a jellyfish, an angel fish, a flamingo, and a dolphin.

The next week, his older brother got involved and we painted rainbows and Roblox characters (Barry the Prison Guard and Papa Pizza). We didn’t have to buy more rocks. You can paint them over and over again.

So what is so fascinating and satisfying about painting rocks? For a while it was a very popular medium. Our public library has a rock garden out front where you can leave or paint rocks. A rock is a small enough canvas that it doesn’t take long to finish a project. It dries quickly and you can just stick it in your pocket to take home. For a preschooler, it’s all about quantity, not quality. Rocks are cheap and you and put a whole lot of paint on a whole bunch of rocks in a short amount of time.

We store up all our rocks in used egg cartons. They are ready to go the next time we are inspired to paint!

Posted in Life

Bringing wisdom

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Photo by TheStandingDesk on Unsplash

The new person in my online Bible Study Fellowship (BSF) group a couple of weeks ago was Mophath, who lived in Nairobi, Kenya. It’s cool to study the scriptures each week with men from all over the world. Some members of my small group live on the east and west coasts of the US, others are in the midwest states of Illinois and Iowa, and four live in Africa. Earlier in the year, one guy lived in Hawaii.

Our leader asked Mophath to introduce himself to the group and tell us a little about himself. He’s twenty-two years old, is studying at the University of Nairobi, and learned about BSF from a friend. When he checked out our group, he saw many “who could be my grandfathers.” Yes, our group leans a little toward the retired side of life. We’ve got a few young guys, and Mophath will lower our average age a few more years. “But,” he added, “I am thankful for the wisdom you all bring.”

His comment revealed a respect for those who are older that my culture doesn’t necessarily display. Maybe I am more aware of that as I wade a little deeper into senior citizenship. I get senior discounts now, so I guess that’s where I am. I don’t feel that old, but I get a weekly reminder when I see myself on Zoom. Mophath’s comment made me think about my respect – or lack of respect – for those older than me. Or even those my age.

Feelings of disrespect bubble up when some folks can’t seem to handle technology. Some struggle with self-checkout lanes, smart phone updates, TV and cable remotes, and resetting the clock in the car for Daylight Savings Time. But wait a minute. Don’t we all struggle with those things?

I get a little agitated when I have to wait for someone who’s moving a bit slower than me, or takes a little more time to express an idea. That is, until I remember that I make more mistakes when I rush through something. I also say some really stupid things if I don’t think before I speak. Just relax.

It’s bothersome when those who are older have such little tolerance for the appearance, language, and habits of a younger generation. I know, it’s always been this way. The “generation gap” is nothing new. I feel out of place among those who fully embrace tattoos, piercings, brightly dyed hair, K-pop, and choosing their own pronouns. Guess what? I’ve advanced to an older generation.

I haven’t yet felt too much disrespect from a younger generation. I think the way to dodge that is to show an interest in them and listen to their story. Perhaps that’s wisdom I’ve discovered over the years. I should give God credit, too. He said that you reap what you sow. Show respect, and you’ll receive respect.

Posted in Life

Ref on the phone

Posted on by William Douthwaite

In between whistles, this ref had a lot of texting to do.

My seven-year old grandson is playing his first season of basketball at the YMCA. I’ve enjoyed going to his games and watching him and lots of other six and seven-year olds run up and down the court, occasionally dribbling, sometimes shooting, and once-in-a-while making a basket. At this level there’s no stealing the ball, you’re not out of bounds if you’re not really out of bounds, and the referees don’t call traveling.

At this week’s game, the ref was preoccupied with something or someone on his phone. Even though he had a whistle in his mouth and was standing right in the middle of the court, he didn’t get to see much of the game. He was texting someone on his phone the whole time.

I know, I know, the whole world is on the phone all the time. Even with laws prohibiting it, most of the drivers I see are on their phones. Everyone in the store is talking to someone on the phone. Worshipers in church are texting referring to their bible apps. The guys and gals in the gym, grunting to finish a set of flys, are on their phones in between sets. Who’s not on their phone in a restaurant?

I thought to myself, “I wonder if he’s supposed to do that? Will he be in trouble if someone from the Y sees him?” When I mentioned it to my daughter, she said, “He’s the director of the program.” I guess he won’t get in trouble.

To be fair, he probably had a good reason he needed to be on the phone. Maybe someone in his family was sick. He’d be off to the hospital right after the game. Maybe he needed to line up refs for the next few games. It’s part of his job. Maybe he was on hold waiting to talk to a real person at the bank (like that ever happens). Maybe he was consulting an online rulebook to be sure he called the game correctly. I probably don’t know the whole story.

Hey, he probably isn’t making much money running this program and reffing the game. He might even be a volunteer. So I’m just going to be thankful that the kids can have fun learning to play the sport.

But what about the hat? I don’t know. That’s a story for another day.

Posted in Life

Catch

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My two grandsons brought all their baseball equipment to my house on Monday. Baseball and t-ball were starting soon, and they needed to practice. They had two bags full of bats, gloves, hats, and balls. “We have to practice!

We started out playing catch. Then we switched to hitting whiffle balls. The windows were too close for hitting real baseballs. Yes, we hit some windows and fouled a few balls over the fence. Both boys – ages 7 and 4 – did really well.

That morning brought back memories of playing catch with my dad in our back yard. He still had his old glove from college, one barely bigger than his hand. Mine was newer, larger, and much easier to catch with. Dad always claimed that his was fine, as long as you caught with both hands. I knew I’d never be happy using a glove like his.

The memories of playing catch with dad are as vivid as ever. It’s such a simple activity, yet it bonds father and son in a special way. You’ve got dad’s undivided attention. You can talk about all kinds of things when you’re playing catch. You sharpen your skills. Once in a while you show off how hard you can throw.

As I got older, I played lots of catch with my brother and neighborhood friends. We played a lot of pitcher catcher, run the bases, and shagging fly balls out in the field beyond my back yard. But it was never as much fun as playing catch with dad.

Posted in Life, music

I love the sound of the birds

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Photo by Sreenivas on Unsplash

I hear their singing before the sky begins to lighten. The birds are awake, welcoming the dawn. I love to hear their voices.

Their song is joyful. Some people hate the morning. But obviously the birds love it. It’s like they couldn’t wait for the faintest brightness on the horizon to start singing.

I feel joy when I hear their song. Maybe that’s part of the reason I love the morning so much. I don’t know why they are singing. I don’t know what they are singing about. I don’t recognize the tune. But they sing it over and over again, and each time they do, it makes me feel good. It reaches a place in my head that releases some kind of happiness into my soul.

Some of the songs are so simple. A single note, over and over again. Some songs are choruses repeated again and again. Some melodies are complex. When I’m out on a walk, I’ll sometimes whistle to imitate a bird song. I’m not very good at it. But as we go back and forth, their joy becomes mine. Whether it’s true or not, I like to think we’ve got a little conversation going. I know, they are probably thinking, “You’re not a bird.” Just like the cows I moo at who chuckle in their heads, “Does he think he sounds like a cow?” If the owls haven’t yet gone to bed, I’ll hear them talking from one stand of trees to another. I’ll add my “hoo-hoo-hoo-hooo” to the conversation. I don’t think I’ve ever fooled them, though.

Their song is hopeful. Most bird song sounds optimistic to me. Somehow their song says, “It’s going to be a great day!” Even the doves, whose “whoo” sounds mournful, do it in a positive way. It’s a new day. It’s filled with possibilities. The birds just can’t help but sing about it.

From their vantage point, either up in a tree or flying in the air, they probably see the first rays of the rising sun before I do. Their song announces another chance to both live and love. No matter what happened yesterday, I’ve got another chance today. I’ve got a chance to do it better or a chance to keep up the good work.

Their song is alive. Creation was pretty quiet until God spoke and birds filled the sky. Suddenly, there were sounds above the trees and seas. Hawks screamed as they glided overhead. Crows cawed. The staccato brraattt of a woodpecker working on a tree filled the air. Ducks and geese added their quacks and honks. The creative voice of God made this world a noisy place!

That last paragraph reminded me of all the words we’ve created to describe the sounds of the birds. Tweet. Chirp. Squawk. Peep. Cock-a-doodle-doo. The land, water, and air are alive with the songs and sounds of birds, and I’m alive, too.

Posted in Life

No trespassing!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Two new threatening signs were just posted on a corner lot just up the road from my house. I estimate these signs to be about 9×12 inches, and were nailed to the tree about ten feet up from the ground. Some of the print is on the small side, so I had to walk on to the property to read and take a picture of the posting.  I quickly found out I was not welcome to do so!

In the past, a simple “No Trespassing” sign was attached to one tree. Even before that, there was a smaller sign indicating that the property was protected by a Colt 45.

Now this is an undeveloped corner lot in our neighborhood. Much of the underbrush has been cleared leaving only a sparse stand of tell scrub pine trees. I walk my dog past this lot twice a day and sometimes at night. I have never, ever seen a person on this property. Once in a while I pick up a stray can or drink cup, so no one is dumping trash there. The briars and brush that have regrown beneath the trees makes it harder to cut the corner rather than just walking on the street. It is also a school bus stop. Once in a while the kids will play hide and seek while waiting for the bus, but their are parents waiting there, too, keeping an eye on them.

So why the threatening sign? Why invoke Florida law and the sheriff to secure this empty corner lot? I wonder if the sheriff even knows his name is even on this sign. Anyone could make a sign like that and nail it to a tree. The posted phone number belongs to the homeowner on the adjacent corner lot. What is he worried about? Or pissed off about? What’s really going on back there in the woods?

Years ago, when there were more vacant lots than homes, the neighborhood children would run and play in the woods, building forts and creating bicycle trails. There aren’t too many wooded lots left and there aren’t too many unsupervised kids running around, either. I’m thankful that the folks in our neighborhood know each other and keep a close eye on each others’ homes. Surely the sheriff and deputies have more important things to do than keep this empty lot…empty.