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#2312 - Friday, November 11, 2005 -
Editor: Jerry Katz
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Highlights reader Millie Miller sends today's
contribution, which is about her brother Tim who
passed away a month ago.
"....he enjoyed the little things, the things that
count, like walking in the woods and parks hand
in hand with his wife and daughter, and maybe catching an
occasional glimpse of turtle."
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A walk in the woods, with recollections of a brother
named Tim (who died October 10, 2005)
by Millie Miller
It was a marvelously sunny but quite windy morning, just this
past November 1st, and I decided that
a walk in the woods alone would be ideal. Bundled up in a heavy
sweater, jeans and a pair of old
boots, I traveled the long pathway that leads from one end of the
nearby woodland behind my house
to the other, at times hustled along by wind gusts at my back
which seemed to delight in pushing me
along the path with helpful little nudges. My hair was a mess and
my makeup (which is just a mask I
hide behind) was non existent; I didn't care. Hell, I'm old.
It was pleasantly cool but not cold, and the smell of wet leaves
mixed with smoke from a woodfire
burning nearby lent the air an aroma totally in keeping with how
we think of a day in the woods in
mid autumn in Cincinnati Ohio. In this part of the world, as in
many parts, it is harvest time and
also it was the day after Halloween, a time when children dress
up in funny costumes or, if they
were poor, as we were (though we didn't know it), dressed like
hoboes or gypsies in old clothes
once belonging to grandpa and grandma, and went door to door
trick or treating for candy. It was
innocent, and I remembered what it was like when I was a child
and did the same with my older
sisters and my much loved little brother Timmy, who was my pride
and joy, as they say, and who, by
the way, just recently died, (taking a large chunk of our hearts
with him, I might add..and oddly
enough, his cat).
I remember when he was little, how I'd come home from school and
take him out for strolls around
the neighborhood almost every afternoon. He loved to ride in his
"Taylor Tot" which was his
stroller, and we'd usually set off for the nearby park called
Fleischmann's Gardens which was our
favorite place to go most days. I was a loner and a woods rambler
then as I am now but he was
always welcome company even as a baby. He used to like to go sit
by the pond and look at the
various wildlife around us, rabbits and squirrels and birds with
an occasional raccoon who'd
forgotten to go home with the dawn. I'd hold him in my arms and
sit on the ledge by the pond as he
tried to spot "Too doos".... which was his way of
saying "Turtles". Funny how something like that
can make even a little girl's heart catch into a knot and a lump
rise in her throat. Yep, he was my
pride and joy all right, old Tim.
Now, here and there in present time, with the sound of my boots
crunching thru the brush, the smell
of dead leaves rises to my nostrils and sets up a feeling which
is like some sort of nostalgic
yearning, but for what I don't really know. As a far off train
whistle blew, a male cardinal
swooped suddenly over me, landing for a time on a low sunlit
branch, quite unexpected and startling
in its brilliance and beauty. A little later, a family of
squirrels began having a terrific free
for all, with much conversation full of tail waggings and loud
chirpings in the nearby trees and,
sitting down on a large rock, I watched for about an hour as they
chased each other, leaping from
limb to limb and tree to tree with wild abandon and absolute
fearlessness, jumping ahead without
seeming to even look, trusting totally that a branch would appear
beneath their feet wherever they
landed, and one always did. I could not tell whether it was a
friendly territorial dispute or just
joyful and exuberant play but one could clearly see how unplanned
and completely spontaneous this
display was. I found myself wishing that my "little"
brother (56 years old), was here to see it
with me.
Animals make no plans for the future; they don't preach of gods
or heavens and hells to each other;
they don't worry about how their fur is thinning on top and they
do not mourn their dead. They have
no ambitions, plan nothing except perhaps the burial of a nut or
two for later, then, as is the
case with squirrels, promptly forgetting where they'd planted
them, which is good because usually
some other animal or bird will end up harvesting their crop for
them on some future day to come
anyway. And not captured in memory, they will never be missed.
Today, the leaves were falling in large abundance and as each
gust of wind blew by, it seemed that
thousands of them, maybe millions, in gold, red and brown, came
swirling to the ground all at once
in great gobs. By late afternoon, one knew that there would be
few leaves left in any of the trees
and autumn would, for all in tents and porpoises, (as someone
once said), be over and done with.
The sky was a brilliant blue with only an occasional white puffy
cloud passing overhead, and the
sound of crows nearby lent an air of haunting mystery to the day.
I have here parts of a J. Krishnamurti quote that I've read
recently which makes a lot of sense to
me. He started with a question, asking:
"Is it not possible to live in this world without
ambition" he asked. "just being what you are? If
you begin to understand what you are without trying to change it,
then what you are undergoes a
transformation. I think one can live in this world anonymously,
completely unknown, without being
famous, ambitious, cruel. One can live very happily when no
importance is given to the self; and
this also is part of right education."
And, "The whole world is worshipping success. You hear
stories of how the poor boy studied at night
and eventually became a judge, or how he began by selling
newspapers and ended up a
multi-millionaire. You are fed on the glorification of success.
With achievement of great success
there is also great sorrow; but most of us are caught up in the
desire to achieve, and success is
much more important to us than the understanding and dissolution
of sorrow."
My brother Tim didn't spend his life worrying about becoming a
great success or a big moneymaker,
he worked, made a living and helped make a home for himself, his
wife, Diane, and his much loved
daughter, Lisa, but he was no career man. He, like myself, would
probably be called a failure by
some, for he certainly didn't have any money at the end, but he
was happy, because he'd enjoyed the
little things, the things that count, like walking in the woods
and parks hand in hand with his
wife and daughter, and maybe catching an occasional glimpse of
turtle.
I was pondering this sort of thing that day when suddenly a tiny
chipmunk scurried across my path
and, as I was sitting quite still upon a boulder, he did'nt
notice me at all, but stopped and
foraged thru the leaves nearby for an occasional acorn or
mushroom, or whatever might be found
within that was munchable. I remembered as a child trying to
chase down such a one as this, with my
brother sitting by in his stroller, laughing and yelling
excitedly, in his baby voice, and cheering
me on with great glee. And I remember my great one track minded
longing to capture it, take it home
and keep it for a pet. Luckily for the chipmunk, (and probably
for me), I never even came close. He
ran to a nearby woodpile and it became a hopeless case. I
remember running up the stairs when I got
home though, and yelling breathlessly, "Mom, mom, I caught a
chipmunk" followed by a rather more
subdued, almost an afterthought, "almost!" Well, she
and my sister rolled with laughter and
obviously thought the whole thing very funny, as I do now, but at
the time, my disappointment was
great. We humans seem hellbent on capturing the things and people
we love, holding them tightly in
our arms, keeping images of them in books, and never wanting to
let go. Now that I am grown,
sometimes I still try to capture and hold on to things that are
dear to me.....but I mostly only do
it with a camera. But why do we try so hard to hold on to things
and people, even just in memory? A
memory is not the real.....it is not alive.....and held greedily
onto soon is seen to be the dead
thing that it really is. I could look at pictures of my brother
now but what's the use; , it's not
him, is it? He was a once in a lifetime thing; no replica of him
ever existed before nor will one
ever exist again, similarly to what Wayne Liquormann recently
said of his cherished friend who
recently died (only he said it much more poetically). I might as
well say my goodbyes here and now,
in these woods....and hope that if there is anything left of my
brother, it walks peacefully beside
still waters and has many opportunities to pet the turtles and
run with the chipmunks.
The wind has begun to die down now, and the heat of the day
begins to rise, so I shake off my
sweater, knot it around my neck, then continue wandering thru
this woodland, blissfully without a
plan for the day except to wander alone in the welcoming aura of
nature at play on a brilliant
November day, with memories of a dear little brother named Tim
beside me.
I know he is gone; I cannot keep him alive even just in my head,
nor would I try to hold on if he
were still here....he'd suffered greatly, lost a leg and a half
to diabetes, both kidneys, and was
rapidly losing his eyesight. He'd also just had a stroke. Another
walk in the woods had become an
impossibility years ago. I just seem to want to hang on for a
little while more to the memory of
one who added such a joy to a little girl's life. Then, I'll let
him really go.....really, I
will.....only not just yet.