This morning at my kitchen table I was a little nostalgic about Saturday mornings. Thinking back in my childhood...I remember Saturday mornings as "sleeping in", "cleaning" house with my Grandma Bessie because Saturday was house cleaning day OR...watching cartoons some mornings with my Dad and discussing important things like PePe LaPue (not sure how you spell that) being a skunk, "Tawt I saw a Putty Tat", watching to see if the Coyote might actually get one over on the Roadrunner, looking for that "Waskly Wabbit", and oh ya we loved Speedy Gonzales...the funniest little mouse.
Then before I know it, I am a young mother who is the wife of a dairyman and Saturday mornings brought my family down to visit. And my Dad would come and relieve me of milking duties, my Mom would usually take on some "baby" time and if my brother came we just did "stuff". After my Dad died, Saturday mornings were hard for me as I would catch myself looking out the window to see if that old "Hoop" might be pulling in. (The "Hoop" was an old van bread truck kind of deal that he worked out of which got him his name Grandpa Hoopee. Heather would watch for it and as my Dad called it the Hoop or Hoopee, she decided in her wisdom that only little ones can...he was Hoopee...a name he carried with great pride).
Heather and Hoopee
Down the road a little further is my daughter who loved sports! So Saturday mornings usually revolved around a little ball or perhaps some other activity that was school related. And now sometimes Saturday means a chance to spend time with Firecracker and her mom and dad. Or Lance will be home checking on sheep...
And now I come back from my trip down memory lane and there out my kitchen window is my son following behind his dad. I can tell that they are not just doing chores...there is some sort of problem...and it looks like maybe electric. So perhaps I should just stay in at my table--sometimes too many questions when these two are on missions--isn't always the best thing (not that I always choose the BEST path).
So anyway as I watch this young man following his father all of a sudden I am back 20 years when a 30 year old man breaks his hand because he fell over his 4 year old son who was "helping" his dad grind hay. Here we are 20 years later and the dad walks a little different step that 20 years can do to a body that has been on the go. But the son still has a skip in his step as he follows along with the dog just soaking in his time on the farm. Only now he really is "helping" his dad. And I wonder what this will look like in 20 more years? The dad will be 70 with a son who will soon be 45. Will there be a younger one following behind "helping"?
Pfeiff's Fine Flock (that's what I call them:) Board of Directors Meeting
As I talk about this with these two when they come in for breakfast...I say what about the next 20 and my husband says I hope I am not still here when I am 90. But he knows it really isn't up to him. I tell them in 20 more years our little Firecracker will be 21.
So much can change in such a short time...I really am not sure where the time goes so quickly but I know that I am thankful for the time I have had. Guess I better get busy...clean some house, watch some cartoons, or maybe take on some other project! It's SATURDAY MORNING...ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN! Oh ya Life is Good!!