Emily and I noticed the horses acting funny this morning.  They were acting spooked and looking toward the barn.  I went out to make sure everything was okay with Brad and the goats, and when I got there, only two goats came to greet me.  I looked around and saw Banjo on the ground, kind of half way under the big hay feeder.  He was all twisted around, shivering, and occasionally twitching his leg.  It wasn’t like he was frantic – more like he was dying.  I ran in and as soon as I touched him he kind of rolled over and looked to be ok.  The problem was his front paw was sort of twisted back behind him and wedged in around the leg of the feeder.  He was completely stuck.  It took me a little while to free him because he was struggling and I was afraid his leg might be broken so I was being very careful.  I finally got him out and he stood right up and seemed ok except for a limp.  I carried him into the garage so he could warm up and relax without the other goats around, and gave him so hay and water.  I went out and fed the horses and Brad and when I came back he seemed fine and his limp was much better.  I don’t think his leg is injured – I think it was just sore from being stuck like that or maybe it was numb.

I put him back with the others, and Moon immediately charged him and head butted him in the side.  He ran away and hid for a bit and then came out to eat.  A little while later Moon did it again, and again he hid.  I’ve been noticing since I got back that he seems a little timid.  The other two run out and jump up on the door when I come to visit them, but Banjo kind of stays back.  Maybe that’s just the social order they’ve developed.  The problem is Moon has horns so I’m afraid he might hurt Banjo.  For now I’m just keeping an eye on them.

Henry has become a great video game player!  I got Lego Star Wars for him, and he’s been playing it a lot.  It’s a fun game that we can play together cooperatively, or he can play it by himself.  At first he just ran around and hit stuff with his light saber, but now he really understands all the problem solving and puzzles.  In the game, you can select several different characters, all with different skills.  Some have light sabers, some shoot, some can jump high, some can fly, you need to use a certain one to open certain doors, etc.  He gets all of it.  He’ll switch over to Jar Jar to jump on a high ledge, and then he’ll see an R2-D2 switch and switch to R2-D2 for that.  Right now he’s pushing boxes into the places they belong.  I never taught him to do that; he just figured it out by watching me.  I just taught him a button combination that requires three different button presses and pretty precise timing, and he got it on his first try!  This morning he got up pretty early so I dozed on the couch while he played, and he completed three levels of it all by himself.  It’s so amazing watching him not only learn the mechanics of it (how to move the guy on the screen, what certain buttons do), but to see him thinking about how to solve these puzzles.

Wow – he just successfully navigated a really tricky platform and bridge section!  He tried once and fell off at the very end.  He asked me to do it for him and I told him to try one more time and I’d help him if he couldn’t get it.  He tried it again and made it all the way!

I am proud of my dad. He was a man who confronted challenges without hesitation, and who always put others before himself. He nearly left us almost four years ago, but with guts and determination, he rejected the limits that doctors set for him and not only survived, but got back to living the life he wanted to. In that time, he saw his granddaughter Delia grow from a toddler to a young lady, and the arrival of his grandson Henry. I’m grateful to him for that time.

Even when confronted with cancer, his first thought was about my mom and me, and not himself. In the car on the way home from the doctor after we’d received the diagnosis, he eloquently told us a story about how soldiers in the civil war who marched off to battle knowing they might not come back were lauded for their bravery, but that he always felt the loved ones at home were the brave ones because they could do nothing but wait and feel sorrow. That was the last it was spoken of, and then he bravely got on with it. Never a tear for himself – only concern for those around him, and a noble defiance.

From as far back as I can remember, my dad taught me how to work with my hands. Anyone who knew him knew that he was always a teacher. Even when he wasn’t teaching, he was teaching. My fondest memories of him were the times we spent together building, fixing, or even demolishing things. Every time I fix something around the house or use a tool that he gave me, I think of him and feel his influence. He had an uncanny ability to provide me with knowledge and tools that I’d end up needing in the near future. On Christmas morning, I’d open a present from him only to find a tool that I’d never encountered before and didn’t understand. He’d explain to me what it was and say it might come in handy. Almost always, within the next year or so, it would be exactly what I’d need to complete a project. I loved going and working with him, and again, more often than not what we’d do on those days and what he’d teach me would always come to serve me well later. I’d sometimes wonder why he so thoroughly explained to me what he was doing and had me practice what seemed to be a trivial “when will I ever need to know this” type of task. Later when I’d come to need the exact thing he taught me, it made sense. This was something he did for many other people as well. If someone was in need, he’d make it his project to help them, but also set them up so they wouldn’t need help in the future. His wisdom and thoughtfulness were something to behold.

I’ll always remember the funny things he’d say about whatever project we were working on. “I keep cutting and cutting and it’s still too short.” “I think we need a bigger hammer.” “Violence always works.” and after we’d pondered the best course of action for too long, he’d say “Well, if you’re going to make a mistake, make a big one.”

I’m so proud of how he lived his life; always helping other people, and, to paraphrase a quote from Lincoln that he loved, plucking thistles and planting flowers. The best way I know to honor his memory is to try to follow his example.

And I will always “measure twice and cut once.”