Walking Backwards - Episode 20
Waiting for revelation. Learning to see little miracles. Everything changes.
This is the twentieth episode of Walking Backwards, the third collection of not quite true tales of Texas. Previous collections are:
The Cold Days of Summer - If you are new to these tales and the type who likes to know how things started I would recommend starting here.
The Hollow Men - the second collection of not quite true tales of Texas.
New episodes are posted (almost) every Sunday. You can move easily between episodes via links to the previous and next episode.
If you are new to these not quite true tales of Texas but are the type who likes to dive right in you could start with the prologue to Walking Backwards. The prologue provides a summary of the first two collections and descriptions of the major characters you will be reading about in Walking backwards.
In our last episode, episode 19 of Walking Backwards, Sam the smiling dog is depressed but Rae comes up with a way to help Sam get back to her normal self. Drew relies on the art of jury rigging to put his life back together.
A curse becomes a prayer
I don't know where my anger comes from. Maybe it rises in situations where I seem to have little to no control. Maybe it rises when I sense injustice. Maybe it rises because I think it makes me look like I care. Maybe it rises because I think it makes me look tough. Maybe it rises out of fear.
All I know is that I'm an expert at becoming angry, but when I look objectively at all of the times I've been angry I can honestly say there was only one time when my anger actually had a benefit. That was the one time I played golf with my father. It was back in the days of VP Tanks and Rick, Uncle Bill and my father played golf one afternoon at Golden Acres. I was hacking the ball on the first par three, lying three off the green, spitting fire, ready to throw clubs, cursing the wind, my luck, my swing, anything I could think of. I took every bit of anger I had and poured it into my chip shot. I willed the ball into the hole for a bogey 4 to tie the hole. That's it, the one time my anger did me any good. The one time. Every other time, at the best, my anger got me back to where I started from. Most times my anger left me further behind.
I've heard that from awareness comes wisdom. I've become aware of my anger. I'm still waiting on the wisdom.
One day I was working in the back yard. Ann and Rae had gone to the grocery store. I was mowing with a gasoline push mower and ran over a small rock, about a half inch in diameter. The rock got caught up in the mower blade and was slung out straight into the fleshy part of my left shin. The sharp edge of the rock embedded into my shin. My first reaction was a sense of white light strobing, then the pain hit. I stopped the mower, looked down at my leg, saw the rock and the blood flowing down my leg. I felt sick to my stomach as I sat down on the ground.
Sam and Mike trotted over to see what I was doing.
I looked at the rock, nudged it a bit, bit my lip from the pain. The rock wasn't in too deep. I grabbed the rock, gritted my teeth and pulled it out. The white strobing light came back hard, the pain was sharp. I don't think I said anything out loud but I was screaming in my mind.
God damn! God damn! God damn! God damn! God damn! God damn! God damn!
God, damn. God, damn. God, damn. God, damn. God, damn. God, damn. God, damn.
God.
I was done. I could do no more. I couldn't swear. I couldn't, the pain was too intense. But I was done, I needed help. I gave up, told God, if he was listening that I was his. Take me, take this pain away. I prayed.
I waited. I waited for the sense of peace, the revelation, the change. I waited. Nothing happened.
I needed to clean up my wound. I walked over to the porch, grabbed the hose, turned on the water and washed the blood from my leg. The blood and water mixed freely. A couple of minutes passed and the proportion of blood to water was decreasing. I turned the water off. I watched the blood drip down my leg. It was flowing slower. I grabbed a work towel from the garage, wiped up the blood, and went into the house. I dripped some blood on the floor on the way to the bathroom. Once there I poured some peroxide on the wound and watched as it bubbled away the dirt. It was a clean cut. Once I was convinced the flow of blood was slow enough for coagulation to start I cleaned the wound one more time then bandaged it. I cleaned up the blood I dripped on the floor, went outside and finished mowing the yard.
Rae noticed my bandage and asked me what happened. I told her nothing, just a little nick from mowing. Looking back on this I realized I was wrong. It wasn't nothing. It was something. Something changed that day. In me. I was looking for an answer right then and there. I was expecting revelation in real time. You see, I'm not all that patient. Sometimes you have to wait, sometimes you have to wait.
Of blessings, miracles and Easter eggs
Daisy's words about miracles and blessings came back to me on Easter Sunday, 1995. The night before Ann and Rae made two dozen Easter eggs in a wide range of colors and styles. Sam and Mike watched the whole experience closely, smelling the freshly boiled eggs and expectantly hoping an egg or two would come their way. Luckily, three eggs cracked during the boiling process and weren't deemed perfect enough to decorate. Once the egg shells were removed, Sam and Mike dispatched with them quickly. Once the paint and decorations had dried on the remaining eggs Ann placed them in the refrigerator.
Rae was five going on six and bubbled with excitement, anticipating what the next day would bring. Ann told her about the sunrise mass that would be held outside of the church, of the baked ham and macaroni and cheese, of Grandma Torrance from Freeport who would be at our house once we came back from church, and of the Easter egg hunt once we all got out of our Sunday going to church clothes into something more fit for being outside. Such words, such dreams, such visions only served to rev little Rae up and it was a struggle to bring her back down. It took a long bath, several books and a song from Ann before she finally drifted off to sleep. Now the real work began. Ann loved holidays and believed that such days were meant to be celebrated and she had a full Easter Sunday planned for us, which meant we had a good amount of work to do before we could go to bed.
In addition to the 21 decorated boiled eggs Ann had another two dozen plastic eggs to load with candy and small toys. My big job for the evening was to put together Rae's first bike. She had hoped for one for Christmas but we decided to save the bike for this Easter. I had hidden the box in the garage for the last week under an old paint tarp. Once we were sure Rae was deep asleep and I had one beer to loosen up my joints and my mind, I dragged the box into the living room. With my tools in hand I was ready to build, I was ready to swear, but quietly as I didn't want to wake up little Rae. It took awhile, and I ended up with a couple of bruised and bleeding knuckles but I did put the bike together. I now had to hide it until Sunday morning. I rolled it into the spare bedroom that also served as my office and laid it down underneath my old drafting table. I covered it with a blanket, turned out the lights, locked the door, and the bike was safe for awhile from Rae's curious eyes.
The three of us were up before dawn, ate a light breakfast, put on our Sunday best and went to sunrise mass. We watched the dawn, listened and prayed to find our way in this world.
When we arrived home Rae ran into the arms of her Grandma Torrance. After hugs and kisses Rae ran to her room with Ann close behind. Rae was determined to get to the goodie part of Easter as fast as possible but Ann's job was to slow things down enough for me to get the bike out onto the back porch and the Easter eggs, all 45 of them, well hidden in the back yard.
Moving the bike was the least of my problems. I placed it out of sight behind the garage, but with a ragged line of Easter eggs leading to it. Hiding 45 Easter eggs with the unwanted assistance of two dogs determined to have their share of boiled eggs was a challenge to say the least. Frustrating it was and more than once I caught Sam or Mike trotting happily away with an Easter egg in their mouth immediately after I had hidden it. It took a few stern words and stares before I convinced them to leave the eggs where I left them. By the time I had all the eggs hidden I was done, tired, hot, a little edgy, almost a little angry. I wasn't seeing any pleasure out of the last 15 hours of boiling eggs, putting together a bike and hiding Easter eggs from two dogs and one little girl. All the while I was hiding the Easter eggs Grandma Torrance was enjoying the show from the porch.
“Drew, Rae better hurry on down before Mike and Sam decided they have waited long enough for the eggs to be found.” she said laughing.
I almost flashed my anger but as I watched Sam and Mike sitting quietly, but straining so hard to not grab the eggs I laughed with her. I began to see how the same thing, the same event that had frustrated and angered me, could cause her to laugh and enjoy the show.
And then there was Rae. She walked out onto the porch and stared out into the yard. Some eggs were easy to see, some were well hidden but the joy in her eyes, in her body, well, that could not be hidden, that was plain to see by Grandma Torrance, Ann, and me. Easter basket in hand, Rae ran into the yard, looking every direction, picking up an egg, putting it into her basket, then running to the next. Sam and Mike were as joyous as her, bounding, dancing, jumping, running with her. Joy*Joy*Joy, an amazing equation. Ann, Grandma Torrance and I just watched, amazed by the energy and the joy.
“It's a blessing, isn't it? To see so much hope, so much happiness” said Grandma Torrance softly, almost whispering, not wanting to disturb the scene playing out before us.
We played Marco Polo with Rae, shouting “colder” and “hotter” as she tried to find the best hidden eggs. We laughed until we cried. Then she saw the bike and the joy multiplied.
God, it was a glorious day, a glorious day. I thought to myself that I could use a few more like this one and then it hit me, it was sometimes nothing more than a matter of perception, what a day is. At one point I had been near frustrated and angry but saw how someone else saw humor and laughter in what had frustrated and angered me. And then to see Rae’s joy, well, it was all worth it, it was.
Time passes, things change
Time passes, particularly if you're not paying attention. The year 1996 rolled in and things were as they were before. I was living day to day, coping with the weight of the voices, the dead and my own actions. I was walking down the middle of the road, staying away from the ditches.
Work was going well with one change. I had one full time long term contract with a medium sized software company in Houston versus spreading my efforts across a number of smaller, short termed contracts. The work was interesting. I began as a pure technical writer, taking their technical specs and writing them in layman's language as user manuals and tutorials. I ended up in a number of management and status meetings, first as a scribe, then one day I opened my mouth. The development team was struggling with requirements changing all of the time and were frustrated with projects never really being complete because of “last minute changes.” As I listened to their frustration I thought back to Daisy, my Dad and change.
Change your attitude, change your life. Change or the world's gonna change you.
That's not what I said, that's what I was thinking, but in thinking I had quit typing up the meeting minutes. The director of the development group noticed my lack of typing and asked me what was going on. He asked me twice before I responded.
“No need to type, no one has said anything new in the last few minutes.” was what I said.
The room became quiet. I was asked to elaborate.
“Requirements change, they always will. Requirements change because needs change. You've got to deal with the changes, not ignore the changes.”
More silence and I was asked what I would do.
“Accept the change, expect it, embrace it. Might as well. Don't let the changes break you. You say you never get the time to bring the project to a close. Lie. Tell the marketing people, the sales people that it takes n+2 months to get done, then get it done in n months. When they come to you with a change, dig in, find out they're thinking. I bet they don't trust you. When was the last time you made a delivery date?”
“The last project. We made our delivery date on the last project.”
I pulled up my notes of the last several months, skimmed through them and said “You mean you made the last delivery date. I'm looking at the project summary right now. The delivery date was moved to the right four times in the twelve months of the project. You're right, you made the last delivery date, but you missed the first three.”
You could hear a pin drop, then the voices rose up in righteous indignation. It was clear no one liked me at that moment. This went on for a bit until the director of the development group caught their attention.
“Drew's right, we missed the first three delivery dates. Nearly had my ass handed to me when we missed them. The only thing that saved us was that we made the last date and we all know how much fun that was.”
It had been a death march. Seventy hour weeks on the slow weeks, over a hundred on the bad weeks, three months of pure hell.
“Drew, take what you're thinking about, put together a proposal and let's talk at the end of the week.”
The meeting went back to normal. I spent some extra time that week on my proposal. The concept was straightforward, we would use an iterative approach to development, focused on one month deliverables. We would “lie” to everyone outside of development, giving ourself a 2 month buffer on large projects, a week or more on shorter projects and we would deliver. When requirement changes arrived we would embrace them. If the requestor insisted on the change right then and now we would explain the pain it would cost the project, but if they would be willing to wait until the next month increment we would work on it then. There were more details, and a lot of gray areas, but the director must have some saw some merit in the idea. He offered me a full time position as the manager of Technical Writing and Process Development. I told him I had to think it over for a few days but I would get back to him early the following week.
Author’s note: in the “Time passes, things change” chapter Drew says:
I was walking down the middle of the road, staying away from the ditches.
I’ve been a fan of Neil Young since I first listened to Neil Young’s 1969 album “Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere.” In the mid 1970’s I remember reading a Rolling Stone interview of Neil Young. In the interview Neil mentioned that he preferred the ditches instead of the middle of the road because things are more interesting along the ditches. Man, I like Neil Young’s music, but I’ve been in a few ditches in my life and I prefer staying on the road. Neil’s albums Time Fades Away, On the Beach and Tonight’s the Night became known as The Ditch Trilogy. Of the songs on those three albums my favorite is “Walk on” from On The Beach:
A good article about The Ditch Trilogy can be found at Neil Young Defined His Legacy in the Ditch.
Next week, in episode 21 of Walking Backwards, seven years after Rick’s death, Drew receives a gift from Rick.