Dream Diary - Grandpa's War

I guess it’s been a while since I had a dream that seemed significant to me, or one that I could remember anyway. Last night, however, I had one that is really sticking with me.
It started out in a house that is unfamiliar to me. In the house was myself, Mom, Dad, Grandma Brandt, and I think my sister was there too. I don’t know whose house it was, but I think someone was getting ready to move out. It seemed like there was a lot of clutter around, and there was also a carpet steamer. The steamer belonged to Dad in this dream, and I was thinking how handy it would be to have one, so I asked him how much it had cost. In typical Dad fashion, he said, “Those of us who work for a living pay attention to how much things cost.” I said something to him, but I can’t remember exactly what. Something like “Okay, that’s good.” Then I went outside through the front door.
The front stoop of this house was a concrete landing of six or seven steps. Grandpa Meril Dean was sitting on one of the lower steps talking on a cell phone, something he never did in life because they hadn’t been developed yet. Grandpa’s hound dog, Barney, was sitting about three steps up from him, so I sat down next to the dog and began to pet him. I got the impression that Grandpa was talking to an old friend, reminiscing about the war. In reality, Grandpa did serve with the Marines in World War II.
After a minute or two, Grandpa hung up the phone, and he said to me, “Do you know what happened at Hondu?” “Hondu” is exactly what he said, and to my knowledge this is not a real place, but in the dream I understood that he was referring to a WWII battle. I felt a moment of regret at not knowing what had happened there, and I think I considered lying to him so as not to seem ignorant, but in the end I answered, “Not exactly.”
So he began telling me the story of what he had experienced at Hondu. I don’t really remember the details, but definitely remember the way he told the story. He was very animated, going through the actions and doing sound effects and everything. At one point he actually pulled a handgun out from somewhere to show me how he had drawn a bead on the enemy. For one crazy moment I was afraid that someone would come out the front door, and Grandpa, caught up in the moment, would accidentally pull the trigger. That didn’t happen though. That kind of animation was nothing like Grandpa in real life, but his old familiar gruffness was still very much present. During his story, he also mentioned Tarawa, which I think is a real place, one of those Pacific islands where the Japanese fought so fiercely against our Marines. After that, my dream started going off on some crazy tangent that I don’t really remember, and I woke up pretty soon after that.
Grandpa died in 1992, and since then I can’t tell you how many times I have wished that I had talked to Grandpa about the war and got him to tell me some stories. It is one of my biggest regrets. In a way, I got to experience that a little bit through this dream. When I woke up, the first thought that popped into my head was, “That was an awesome dream, God. Thank you.”

Isaiah 43:2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. NIV

Memories - Thanksgiving

Well, Thanksgiving is almost here again. What does Thanksgiving make me think of? Food, of course! But more importantly it makes me think of family. As with most families, Thanksgiving for us was about getting together to enjoy good food and good company.

My parents split up when I was 9 and the arrangement we had was Thanksgiving with Dad, Christmas with Mom. I was young enough when this tradition began that it always seemed perfectly natural to me. As a matter of fact, I honestly can’t remember any Thanksgivings before that. I have no idea what we did when my parents were still married.

So we always gathered at Grandma Brandt’s house. She always did all the cooking herself. I don’t think she would have trusted anyone else in her kitchen. Uncle Gary and Aunt Ellen would always come from Des Moines, along with our three cousins Jeff, Greg, and Eric. That was kind of special in itself because Uncle Gary and family only came to visit twice a year.

Those are good memories. The house would smell so good and there would be so many people around. Then after dinner we could go out and show our cousins around the farm. I remember one year we found a lump of some kind of chalky stuff and we used it to write all over an old shed. Then Grandpa Meril Dean saw it and made us clean it off. That was the same Grandpa that got after us for making paths through the corn. What a fuddy-duddy!

Inevitably, there came a year when Grandma said she just couldn’t do all that cooking anymore. I don’t blame her, I know how much work that is, but Thanksgiving just never felt the same after that. Instead of our home-cooked feasts, we started going out for Thanksgiving dinner. And it wasn’t long after that when Uncle Gary stopped coming. His boys were grown and they had gatherings of their own to attend.

We still had our time together with Dad and Grandma and Grandpa though. That tradition held until the mid 90’s. Grandpa died in 1992 and Dad in 1995. And us kids were grown by then too. Brad had a family of his own, and Bobbi had her family out on the east coast. Kevin was who-knows-where by then. That was around the time that I moved away too. It’s a little sad when traditions end and families grow and spread out, but that’s the natural order of things.

After that, our Thanksgivings were catch-as-catch-can. You were never really sure who might show up on any given year. In 2003, Joni and Adam came to live with me and all the sudden I had a family of my own. For the next six years we had quiet gatherings in our little apartment in Dallas. I always missed my family back home, just as Joni missed hers, but I have to admit that I enjoyed the quieter atmosphere and the beginning of a new tradition.

Now here I am back in Nebraska again, and it looks like Thanksgiving this year is going to be something really special. This year marks the first time that my three siblings and I will all be together at the same time since about 1987. I'm only guessing here, but I think Mom is kind of excited about that. I find that I’m a little excited about it too. My daughter, Brenna, will be coming so not only will us four kids be there, but also all of the grandkids; about 10 in all I think. That will be quite a crowd!

That will be on Wednesday since that was the only day we could all get together. On Thanksgiving day, Brad and family go to His mother-in-law’s, and Joni and I have decided to have our traditional quiet gathering here at the house. I find that I am looking forward to both gatherings with equal anticipation.

Traditions are so important in this crazy, ever-changing world we live in. They give us a sense of belonging; something to come home to. I said earlier that it’s sad when traditions end, but maybe they don’t really end. Maybe they just grow and evolve, like our families. The gatherings I am looking forward to this week will involve very different groups of people than the gatherings of my childhood, but it's still family, and it's still Thanksgiving. I will enjoy it while it lasts and look forward to future holidays, whatever shape they may take.

Thanks for reading today. I hope you enjoy a wonderful Thanksgiving tradition with your own family this year. And if you don’t have a tradition, it’s never too late to start a new one.

Jeremiah 30:19 And out of them shall proceed thanksgiving and the voice of them that make merry: and I will multiply them, and they shall not be few; I shall also glorify them and they shall not be small.

Memories; Children of the Corn

Hi there! If you’ve been to Drums In The Deep before, I’m very glad to have you back. If this is your first visit, welcome!

I think I said in an earlier post that I wasn’t going to bore you with long descriptions of life in the Midwest, but I’ve changed my mind. “Captain’s Prerogative” as Jean-Luc Picard would say. Being back home here in Nebraska has left me feeling kind of nostalgic so I thought I would explore that a little bit.

When I was a child, during the mid 1970’s this was, we had to be a little more creative in our entertainment than kids today. The internet was still 20 years away. Computers had already been invented, of course, but the smallest model would have been roughly the size of the house my family lived in. Heck, the Atari game system wasn’t even around yet. Also, we lived “in the country” which meant that during summer vacation we rarely, if ever, saw our friends from school. No, it was pretty much just my three siblings and me.

We had fun though, don’t get me wrong. When you live on a farm there are always things to explore and fun places to play. The thing I remember most about those long summers is the corn.

The house we grew up in was bordered closely on two sides by cornfields. In the spring and early summer Dad would always be in the field, driving his tractor up and down the long rows. Planting, cultivating, ridging, spraying: I can’t imagine the hours he must have spent out there.

Sometimes when Dad was working in the field, Mom would be in the kitchen baking chocolate-chip cookies. Dad liked them without the chips, what a weirdo. She would bake him some plain ones before adding the chocolate, put them in a container, and send me outside with them. I would stand at the edge of our yard, right where it bordered the cornfield, and wait for the tractor to pass by. When it did, I would walk out to meet it. Dad would stop the tractor and help me up into the cab so I could give him his cookies. Then he would let me sit on his lap for a while and steer the tractor. Not that there was much steering to do. I got to hold onto the wheel though, and that was pretty darn cool.

By late June or so, the tractor work would be done and there was nothing to do but watch the corn grow. Corn grows pretty fast and it also grows pretty tall. If you’ve never been up close to a cornfield you may not realize that the stalks can grow to a height of seven feet or more. To a kid of 6 or 7 years, that is an awesome height. Once the corn was over our heads, the real fun would begin.

There would be endless games of tag, or hide-and-seek out in the corn. We would trample a few stalks down here and there to make paths and mazes to play in. Until Grandpa found out, that is. He was not impressed. It’s hard for me to put into words what a magical place that was to play in. Wonderful and a little scary all at the same time. Secretive and exciting. What if we got lost out there someday and couldn’t find our way back to the yard? Being the youngest, that probably bothered me more than the older kids. But I always felt safe with my brothers and sister.

Well, the impossibly long summers always managed to end very abruptly, and then it was time to go back to school. As September faded into October, the corn would gradually ripen and begin to turn dry and brown. Then one day we would come home from school and the combine would be making its rounds, slowly gobbling up the corn.

Those golden days of late October stand out so clearly in my mind. Watching Dad drive the combine back and forth across the field, stopping occasionally to dump the picked and shelled corn into one of the trucks. And how strange to see the old trucks moving around! All year they just sat there like museum relics, and now they were moving around; lumbering dinosaur skeletons suddenly come to life!

Before we knew it, the corn was all gone and there was nothing left but empty husks and chaff blowing up into the yard. That was a little sad, but also kind of new and exciting. After being boxed in by the corn all those months, suddenly we could see for miles in every direction. Like the whole world had been opened up to us. So long corn, see you next summer.

Those were the good old days. My family was not well off, we didn’t have much in the way of material possessions, but somehow that never bothered us. We had each other and that was enough. I have a family of my own now, and how I long to give them the kind of life I had. It’s not within my means to give this to them, but you know what? We have each other, and that’s enough.

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Matthew 9:37-38 Then saith He unto His disciples, “The harvest truly is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Pray ye, therefore, the Lord of the harvest, that He will send forth laborers into His harvest.”