Decisions

Give them hell! Or, show the incarcerated a glance of compassion, if that is possible. Oh, but for a few decisions different on anyone's part in the mix of life, and we could have been "them." My own father was incarcerated in Amarillo for passing a bad check once in the 60's. He lived his own version of hell. I am glad that my grandfather, the grumpy old man that he was, had compassion enough to get my father out of jail. We too, lived in my Dad's version of hell. It was brutal, and I would not wish that on any child in the universe. Ever.

We have an amazing existence. Oh, but for a few decisions different on anyone's part in the mix of life...

Hicks Killingsworth
2017 International Copyright Reserved

1 May 2017

My son turned 30-years-old today. Where did the time go?! I am mesmerized that he was a laughing, giddy child only yesterday. It is as if the rotating of the sun, moon, and stars has accelerated and I can only stand by as an observer now. 

I am laughing and crying in the same moment at the thought. We run as fast as we can, in the effort to provide for a child, to teach him our very best thought processes, and to hope with everything in us that he will survive the turmoil and chaos.

And in the resounding turning of the child into a 30-year-old, I am reminded at just how brief the moments have become. I am proud of the man he represents, in that he works hard, he's so smart, and he has grasped the goodness of being a kind soul. 

I am pleased that he survived those years too hard to even think upon. Life has held incredible challenges for us. He survived a parental marriage disaster. He forced his way through the chaos of our 2,000 mile move back to the South Central, of an impending change to a new school, of our vehicle being broken into, our apartment being ravaged by criminals, severe vehicle accidents, more Raman noodles than a child should have to consume, a weary mother with a scoundrel of a father who could not find common ground. 

He forged his way through the teenage years, with basketball on his agenda, every second of every day, and all the things that go along with changes occurring in the middle school and high school years. 

Thankfully, the young man survived college and crazy fraternity brothers, and the drive that got him through working numerous jobs to finalize the degree. He drove endless hours to get north into the Ohio Valley, when the job-market presented the opportunity to work there. (I still have no idea how he stayed awake hour after hour without sleep!)

He pushed through during eighty hour work weeks to finalize a master's degree in a top-ranked, world-class energy program, with severe sleep deprivation.  

Today, I realized that bringing a child into the world holds the greatest joy a mother can know. Experiencing life alongside that child, now grown into a 30-year-old productive citizen, is about the best opportunity I will have to gain hope for the future of humanity. 

Life has been good to us. Thirty years good! 

Hicks Killingsworth

International Copyright Reserved

16 Years

When one person determines another to be accounted for in a marriage and the beginning begins, one cannot fully comprehend or take in what the future may hold. The whole process is a stab in the dark. Yet, if one prevails, the outcome is deliriously amazing. Stability. Belief. Laughter. Anger. Quaintness. Honing. A hand to hold. A heart to beat. A musical touch for the soul. Happy anniversary, Killingworth. May the adventures ahead in our tomorrows, sing many songs.

Hicks Killingsworth
2017 International Copyright

Death

1/28/2017

Death changes us. We prepare. We think we know. We are even a bit cocky about how we will do things differently. Then when death takes the soul, we are altered. Forever.

The quiet after death is so loud that I think my ears will break. I listen, but hear nothing. And yet, it is soothing in its own comforting way.

I had this same feeling in Chipping Campden in the presence of bodies long gone cold. The experience tried my soul. I cried silent tears. And yet, I was consumed with another knowledge that gave me closer understanding. The universe is so big. And yet, we each distinctly matter. Herein is a large and mind-boggling thought.

Today, I will once again listen to the quiet ticking of the clock, and I will be still, and understand the uniqueness of silence.

Hicks Killingsworth
2017 International Copyright

Churchill

In retrospect, Churchill brought a clarity to young Queen Elizabeth that she so desperately needed after the untimely death of her father. While he had to have known he had far too long held office as Prime Minister of the U.K., possibly he held out to ensure the stability of Queen Elizabeth II. Did you know he was involved in politics for 50 years? (Who would not become pompous and asinine after that length of time in dealing with deep layers of politics?) Did you know his mother, Jennie Jerome, was American? Churchill is one of only eight who have been made an honorary citizen of the U.S. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, 1953. Churchill died in 1965, at the age of 90. Even in death, Churchill was honored by a rare state funeral by decree of Queen Elizabeth II. Churchill's larger mission seems to have been splendidly accomplished.

Hicks Killingsworth ➡️ ➡️ ➡️
© 2016 Hicks Killingsworth

Leaving

Oddly, I am a product of both those who sought to find freedom from persecution, as well as those who fought to retain their lands. The very battle of these encounters tears me apart. I suppose, the mothers who hugged their grown children for the last time as those families shipped out of England for New England, must have had their hearts torn apart in the process. I suppose those Native American mother’s first encounters with shiploads of English arriving on their shores, must have had their hearts also ripped apart in knowing their grown children would die fighting to retain life as they had known it. Life is in the unknown.

↣↣↣ Hicks Killingsworth

© 2016 Hicks Killingsworth

The Ranchers and the City Folk

I'm not sure we fit into Oklahoma sometimes. The ranch group is someone we should be able to relate to; we've done our share of riding horses, working cattle and being "farmhands" in our growing up years. The thing is, we must have become city folks through the years somehow. We don't seem to quite fit in with the ranch crowd anymore.

We usually sit quietly at the table with those who are eating after the events we've recently attended, and listen a lot to their stories of buying ranches, buying a particular pigeon toed roping horse that can "heel" with the best of them, as in the "heading and heeling" events of roping at rodeos.

Last evening we sat with the trick rider who had ridden for years at Branson, Missouri with the Dolly Parton Show there. She rode in yesterday's Oklahoma Centennial Parade for one and one-half miles standing up on the saddle over the horse, holding an American Flag. She's a successful realtor from Tulsa now, and trick rides at rodeo events throughout the nation.

They are an interesting group of folks, the ranch people. They are leather skinned from being constantly in the sun. They eat heartily, offer their kindnesses after the meal, are honest (most of the time) in their dealings, and move quietly out of the restaurant, to head back to the ranch with their often $250,000 to $1,000,000 rigs, by the time value is included for the truck, the trailer and most importantly, the horses in those trailers.

The trick rider’s dad, from as far west in Oklahoma as one can get to be able to spit into Texas, but stand in Oklahoma, was sitting next to my citified teenage daughter. It was quite a sight. Leah is wearing her Channel necklace, has her hair perfectly coifed, her makeup carefully applied, her manicure and pedicure and dressed as if to appear on the runway. The rancher from Carter, OK, sits beside her with a hint of dirt lining his steamed and formed cowboy hat. He has already applied for and used for many years his AARP card, as well as is receiving Medicare Benefits by now. He has obviously spent years with horses out in the elements of western Oklahoma that have lined his face with creases as deep as his hat’s.

So, the young city girl eats her salad and listens as the rancher stabs his fork into his well-done t-bone, talks of racing his Greyhounds in Kansas, and of warning his young daughter about the auspices of riding the spirited horse out in the field. He speaks through a barely detectable side of his mouth, while still chewing on the steak, that this particular horse will surely buck his young daughter. This is the same “young daughter” who has done trick riding for years, and continues to trick ride at the age of 40, but whom the old rancher still warns to “be careful” when attempting those horses who might shuck her.

Later, my young city teenage girl says, “I couldn’t understand much of what that cowboy was saying!” And, I must laugh, as I couldn’t understand much either.

And so, there we are: the ranchers and the city folks relating as best as we can. We drive past some of them as we leave the parking lot. They focus on the road as best as possible in the rain, knowing they will drive another two hours home, then spend another two hours washing down their very valuable horses, brushing them down, getting the investment animal feed and maybe catching the 10:00 pm news to hear how the weather will affect them tomorrow at 5:00 am when they rise to work their ranches all over again.

We city folks look at them in awe as we understand the hours and dollars they invest in their lifestyles. We then drive through our favorite Starbucks fifteen minutes down the road. We sip on a Cappuccino before we rush home to catch “Desperate Housewives” and “Brothers and Sisters” on our cable television/high speed media center, before we retire for the evening. We don’t even own a dog, or any other pet, as we aren’t home enough to sufficiently take care of an animal!

The ranchers and the city-folk: how different we are!        

Hicks Killingsworth -> -> ->
14 October 2007    
© 2016 Hicks Killingsworth