Catching up.... not yet

It feels like forever since I've taken the time to post something! I constantly talk about how busy my life is, but honestly, what would it hurt for me to take ten minutes out of my day and blog a bit.

My life has changed drastically over the past few months and I would like to catch everyone up to speed... but not today. As I said before my excuse is that I am always so busy. I'll gather up my thoughts, make a few notes and get back with you tomorrow!

I promise! But until then, here's one of my latest pictures... Gotta love fall in Kentucky!

View from the Roberts Cemetery in Irvine, Kentucky. October 14, 2012

Getting back to nature one fish at a time

Me and my bluegill!

 I've never been much of a fisherman, well in my case fisherwoman, but that all changed four years ago. I married an avid fisher. Oh, boy!

  I don't like the smell of fish, I refuse to take them off of the hooks, especially after my husband informed me that some of them will cut you with their… well, I wasn't paying that much attention. Not to mention the fact that  I apologize to all the worms that I put on the hook. They didn't do anything, but that's just the circle of life. 

   A few weeks ago, against me protesting, my husband went out and bought our fishing license. He said that now I didn't have an excuse not to go with him. Shoot fire!  Hey, I tried.

   So the next morning he wakes me up at the crack of dawn to drive 100 miles in the middle of nowhere to this little pond that might be as big as one of those 4 foot above ground pools. Did I mention it was in the middle of nowhere?

   Of course I wasn't going unprepared. I took my fold out chair, a book, my purple fishing pole, and of course my camera. 

   It was early and kinda chilly and I just knew that I wasn't going to like this whole fishing experience, until I caught the first fish. That's right! My line had barely touched water when I saw that floater go under. 

  Now I was excited! Timmy is always catching the large fish, while I catch what he deems as bait. It didn't matter that my fish was only about a pound, give or take a few ounces. Okay, take a few ounces, but I had caught a fish, I still wasn't taking it off the hook though. 

   After a few hours of catching blue gill and releasing them ( I probably caught the same fish over and over again), I got bored. I didn't feel like reading, so I picked up my camera and started walking around. 

   I took pictures of wild flowers and clover and everything that caught my eye. I probably wandered around these woods for a good hour. On our way back to civilization (Okay, it wasn't that far out in the middle of nowhere. This is a fishing tale, we are suppose to exaggerate) Timmy asked if I enjoyed fishing. 

   My answer, "Yep, as long as I get to catch the first fish and take my camera." Looks like I'll be fishing a lot this summer. 

Timmy sitting at the pond.

   Herbert Hoover once said, "Fishing is much more than fish. It is the great occasion when we may return to the fine simplicity of our forefathers." To this I would add, and the beauty of Mother Nature.

More than a name...

Top: My five year old nephew asking questions about life.
Bottom: Finding the name on the traveling wall.

The lawn was crowded, but you would never know. A few whispers could be heard along with the shuffling of feet, the snapping of hundreds of American flags whipping in the wind, and the silent sobs of an American hero.

He was an older gentleman who had on a black Veterans cap, an American flag on his shirt and as I looked up, I could see the tears roll down his face. He was reaching out to a memory, a memory he could touch with the tips of his fingers. A name of a lost comrade, friend, brother, cousin, hero. 

It was a name on the Vietnam Traveling Memorial Wall on EKUs Campus. Three hundred feet of names to remind us of the great sacrifices that were made during the Vietnam War. They say it was “made for the purpose of helping heal and rekindle friendships and to allow people the opportunity to visit loved ones who otherwise may not be able to make the trip to Washington.” 

I found the name of my dad’s cousin, Farris Lee Richardson, and couldn’t help but reach out and run my finger tips over his name. He was a Sergeant in the 101st Airborn Divison. He was only 20 years old when he was killed in action in March of 1968.  

Now, he is a name on a wall, a memory of someone I’ve never even met, but someone whom I hold in the greatest of respect. I couldn’t help the tears. 

It was a moment that even my five year old nephew, William, knew had to be respected. A time to be quiet. He whispered questions to my mom, “Nan, what is this?” “Are they in heaven?” “Everything is good in heaven, so are they having fun?” 

When we walked by the traveling museum he saw a pair of combat boots and asked me if those belong to one of the soldiers “who are with Jesus?”

“Maybe, but he doesn’t need them in Heaven.”

As we made our way through the visitors, I told mom that even though I’ve been to D.C. and seen the original wall, that this was something that every American should see. Visual proof of what these men sacrificed for our country, our families, and our future.

I am proud to be an American. Proud to say that I have family members who have fought and some who have died for their country. Because of the sacrifice of these men and those before them, and those men and women who are fighting today, I am able to write this and say thank you and God Bless.