Picking Up Sticks

I just imagine that you as the reader assume I shall be pontificating about the game, “Pick Up Sticks” or wondering, “Why the hell is she going to tell us about picking up sticks?” Just as a side note, I used to love “Pick Up Sticks.” It was the ultimate game to prove your honor. When you called yourself out for moving a stick, even though no one else might have seen it, your status was heightened by those who were playing with you. Perhaps instead of “Presidential Debates” we should have them play a game of “Pick Up Sticks.” This would be very telling of character, decision making, and honor. But, I digress.

     One of the most hated jobs/chores at our house as teenagers after we moved back to the States from Germany, was, picking up sticks from the yard. We had 5,000,000 trees and they all decided to self-prune themselves with regularity.

     In order for Dad to mow the little grass we had (it was mostly moss with  tough, tall stemmed weeds) to help pick up sticks. You didn’t dare mention that you were “Bored” or “Depressed” because the instant answer, the solution to all your troubles was, “Well, go out and pick up sticks.”

     Damnit! That man had excellent hearing. I swear, I would just be thinking, “I’m so bored I could die,” and he would say, “Mare, time to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Go pick up some sticks.”

       Those dreaded sticks. The day my father died this past March, just a few days after my Mom’s funeral, my sister April performed an act, that when she told us, brought us all to tears.My dad was having some new physical issues (alarming ones but he refused any outside medical treatment or intervention) and April was there to cook for him, care for him, tend to the open wounds on his legs (which none of us knew about!) and to be his loving caretaker. She had, of her own accord, gone outside and picked up sticks!!!! My Dad died, knowing that April picked up sticks.

     My dad’s birthday is next week. We are still in the process of sorting through the 40 years of living done in that house. My older sister and her husband will be there, taking a week away from their home, to help continue to the onerous, emotion filled process of going through all of Mom and Dad’s things. On my agenda for his birthday, going over and…picking up sticks.

     I picked up sticks at my own house today, and pictured my dad, looking over me approvingly, probably smiling. I must say, that after a few hours of this manual labor, I felt better than I have in weeks and months.

      Thank you for reading my piece today. Did your Dad have a “Well, if you’re that bored, you can (fill in the blank) ” chore for you? I’d love to read about it. If not, maybe it’s time to…pick up sticks.