Winter Cleaning

It is one of those days on the frozen tundra of western Illinois. The required outdoor duties have been completed. You know, shoveling snow off the walk and running the snowblower on the driveway. It was time to do some rearranging. Setting up a little office space in one of the spare bedrooms. A place to pay bills and scan pictures onto the computer. I ran across some pictures we had taken on our last cruise. I wanted to hang one above my desk just to remind myself of a couple things. First, that there are places in the world that are warm in February. Second, that Carol looks really good in those pictures and I never get tired of looking at her. The picture frames I was planning on using didn't have that little saw toothed hanger thing on the back. I went to look for one in what I call my pieces and parts inventory. You know all those little nails and screws and bolts and stuff that are left over from projects. You know the rest of that story, I have every fastener known to man except the one I need. Shit, fuck, damn!!! In looking for that I found something more important and a story I want to share.
I found the little funeral paper they hand you at a funeral telling you the order of the services, the minister and the pallbearers. The gentleman who had passes was Homer R. Hurt and I had the honor of being one of the pallbearers. Homer was born on October 27, 1905 and passed away on June 17, 1998. When I was growing up Homer worked for my father and grandfather as a hired man. When you are 13 or 14 growing up on the farm you think the world is yours and you can out work an old man. So when I was 13 Homer was 62. I remember starting working in the morning thinking this old guy can't keep up with me. The day started with all us young men going like a house on fire. Homer had one speed and it looked slow. By noon all of us young fellas were spent. Homer's steady pace had pulled him even with us. No problem, a lunch break will give us our second wind and we will show that old man. It was one of those June days in Illinois when the temperature and humidity are both in the 90's. There was no second wind. Homer went back out after lunch and resumed the pace he had set first thing in the morning. We struggled to keep up. We fell behind. We fell way behind. We quit. When he quit for the day, about 3 hours after us he was still working at the same pace. He had done more than us by an embarrassing amount. Lesson one from Homer. Slow and steady wins the race. Another lesson learned along the way was to do everything you do as well as you can. It was like his lesson on working fast, he didn't say it he just lived it. When you got done at the end of the day you could look back and see the job was done well. You didn't need anyone to say so. Homer never talked much and when he did he spoke softly. He spoke with deeds not with words. I remember driving by Hope Cemetery in Galesburg in the 1980's and seeing Homer taking out all the shrubs that had grown up in the fences. Typical of Homer all the work was done by hand. I drive by now and remember it looks like it does because of his efforts. He was in his late 70's or early 80's when that work was done. There are people in your life who make you who you are. Homer had a profound influence on my life. We could all learn a little something from him. Kids don't want us to tell them how to live, they want us to show them. They are more likely to watch what we do then they are to listen to what we say. Thank you Homer.