They say as you age time speeds up. My father explained our sense of time is relative to how old we are. If you are 4, a year represents 25% of your life. It feels long. When you are 50, a year is 2%. It feels like a moment.

Makes perfect sense. Yet this summer was a lifetime in a season. Started full of hope, dreams of camping, fishing, fires, motorcycle rides and trips to far away places in the ole musketeer. A partner who loved me and was loved. There was also a promise of joy.

Robert Burns explains to the rodent:

“But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, (not alone)

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley, (go oft awry)

An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,

          For promis’d joy!”

Plans went awry. My family was hit hard with grief and pain. Guilt and regret, my old dance partners came calling. We are hanging out again although I now know they will destroy me if we move in together.

For promised joy. Burns is saying we get grief and pain where we once expected joy, but for me the grief and pain were a prequel to a promised joy. The joy came! An expected child arrived on the last day of summer.

Burns tells the mouse it has it better than man. The mouse deals with things in the present while man understands doom is ahead. Anxiety expressed in the 18th century. What Burns does not tell the mouse is we have beautiful promises to look forward too as well.

We lost one of our own. But we will get to see him again one day. I ask for a picture of my son’s daughter every day. I am building a lifetime picture album. Every night I watch it to music. I think about how it felt to hold her. It helps heal the grief and pain. It brings me joy.

Thank you God for promises of joy during this crazy journey you put us on.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

It’s painful to know the truth. It is painful to see the light, and want to share it, knowing that the very fact it’s you that’s sharing it makes it less credible.

You learned the truth because you were less, worse, more flawed. You saw the light because it was a life preserver thrown to you where others swam easily. Grace was offered you because you needed it more than most. The realness of it so certain because of your own weakness.

Now you share it with those you love. You see the doubt in their eyes because it’s you sharing it. They think it’s because you want your way, not understanding it’s the very last thing you chose.

You were first to the pit, so grace was extended to you. Why would anyone listen? I would not have. It’s why I ended up where I did.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

We have all chased it. That glinting thing that caught our eye that deep down we knew would leave us hollow.

Perhaps a time you left a movie night with your mum early, to go be with friends. Friends that would fade away in time but the lost moment with someone you dearly loved and lost would burn forever.

Maybe it was years spent trying to make clients happy, or get ahead, at the expense of time and memories with your family.

Could have been a night out drinking, while a young family waited to spend time with you.

Possibly years spent chasing a woman that may or may not have loved you, but certainly not as you were. Deep down you always knew you were not what she wanted, no matter how much you wanted her.

Could be seeking strangers approval while taking the never ending loyalty of family for granted.

Were you caring about stupid and trivial grievances with a sibling rather than remember all the times they had your back?

How do we get it so wrong? How can we be so stupid. Correction. How did I get it so wrong? Why was I so stupid? what was missing inside me that made me look in all the wrong places to feel something? Speaking for myself, I know the answer. I refused to ask God to guide my life. I still struggle with this. The things that can fill you are closest to you. Embrace them. Love them, give to them. Ask them to forgive you. Look up and do all those things to the One who never stopped loving you, no matter how many times you chased fool’s gold.

A passage was read at church this past Sunday. I think it’s a heavenly precious metal detector:

 “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things”.

Boy does this fool ever have room for improvement.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.

Caleb. My youngest brother. I think Caleb is the most misunderstood man I know. His razor sharp intellect is only outmatched by the size of his heart.

One thing I have learned writing about my family is there is a common thread. Generosity. Our Father taught us to live Mathew 5:42:

Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.

Caleb lives this. I cannot add up all the people I have watched Caleb help. He Gives. Gives. Gives.

Whether it’s giving me his allowance to double mine to get the socket set I wanted, to giving our aging father a home when no one else would. Including me.

God blessed Caleb’s generosity with 2 amazing children. A son as smart as his father, and a daughter that has completely captured his heart. There is nothing Caleb will not do for his kids, no pain too much to endure, no cost to high, no obstacle thrown in his way he can’t overcome.

Caleb is hilarious. He makes me laugh every day. We have had a couple heated moments over the years, but most of my memories with him are joyful.

Two brothers, 4 years apart working together in an oak shop owned by their older brother. A familiar song comes over the radio igniting the inner rock star inside them, both jump on the table, grab sticks for guitars, and perform back to back for imaginary thousands.

The spirit to perform is still there, even though the goal has changed. We now dream of performing for a few people at a Karaoke night. We we want to do the 9 min version of Bat Out Of Hell by Meat Loaf. We will be out of tune, awful, and will not realize our dream till people start tossing drinks at us. It may never happen but discussing it monthly for decades brings us joy.

Caleb helps me when I need to sound intelligent. When we felt our son needed to jump up a grade, Caleb wrote out a paper that the school board could not refute, backed by facts and crystal clear logic. Seeing my son work hard through years of University makes me realize he will finish one year earlier, thanks in no small part to Caleb.

When I was upset coaches and local hockey were facilitating and somewhat encouraging drinking, Caleb once again put his time and effort into summarizing the disastrous affects alcohol has on a 14 year old brain. He was likely sipping a beer as he wrote it…

That’s Caleb. A checkered Angel. Behind the drink, the cigarette, the sharp remark, is my brother and friend. Recently I messaged him. I mentioned his intellect, and how it was superior to mine. His reply?

“I do not know a Cottier that is not exemplary”.

My teachers and grades would suggest otherwise. But I will say this. As a guy who left school early for the trades, it was always Caleb who would reach out and make me feel like I was enough. When someone like Caleb says you are not too bad, you feel 10 feet tall.

If you read this far, thank you.

-Tris

The man was 30 going on 60. Tired, unhappy, angry. He could not remember the last time he felt ok. If you were to ask him today about those years he would tell you he was in a heavy dark fog.

He lived in a small apartment on the 3rd floor of a building with no air conditioning. On a night like this, with the heat, it was unbearable.

On this night, as he walked in the door the one thing that made everything make sense was waiting for him. His almost 3 year old son. He was a brilliant young boy, spoke fluently, built things, shot pucks, and kept the lights on for his struggling young parents.

A month before the man insisted on buying the best tricycle available for his son. He had worked in a bike shop as a teen, and knew where to acquire it. That night the man and his son made a plan. A long distance trek, in actuality maybe only about half a mile, was planned. For a young child who could barely reach the pedals on his trike, this was an odyssey.

The two set off. They were patient with each other as they navigated out of the parking lot. By the time they crested the hill halfway to the destination the man’s anger was gone. The depression was gone. There was only innocent questions, jaded answers, and laughter. The second half of the trip was downhill and the man can still tell you every detail of his son’s face as he coasted down the hill. Light brown hair waving in the wind, wide smile, sparkling bright blue eyes, cheeks dimpled, fearlessly laughing with abandon.

The man was happy. Purely, truly, completely happy. He was exactly where he was meant to be.

The destination was Wendys. The reward was a frosty. But the gift was a memory that sustains the now older man. It fills up his heart as much today as it did that muggy summer night.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.

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For a lot of my life I was depressed. Surrounded with people I loved but mired in fog. I was in pain. I felt like I did not belong anywhere, that I was not enough. I now know we can all feel this way. Understanding this helps me love those I used to despise.

Since, I have figured a few things out. The most important thing was believing God loved me. So hard to accept. I had broken every vow I had made, made all the big mistakes. How could the creator of every great thing love me? but accept it I did. Everything changed. Wounds I thought would never heal scarred over. The marks are there but the pain is gone. Mostly.

One of the beautiful things in life is as you journey along you sometimes are given moments to relive:

Sitting in Church with my Dad a few weeks ago the congregation began to sing. My Dad was following the lyrics with his finger as he belted them out. It was not polished but it was authentic. It took me back in time, I was 10 years old again, sitting beside my dad as he sang, I was happy.

I feel a lot of love. I feel. Maybe thats the biggest thing. I am here and I am happy. When I see people my age dying, I feel guilty it is not me. Did I not wish for it? Why them? Why not me? Only God knows.

Jesus says in John 10:10,

“The thief cometh not but to steal and to kill and to destroy. I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”

Thank you Jesus for my life. If it is ok with you, I’d like to stay a while. Heaven can wait. Tell mum I love her. Tell her I am happy and reading the Book she gave me. Your Book.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

Esme is just above me in the birth order of our family. Esme is artistic, beautiful, hard working and often the one who holds things together for her family and ours.

I remember well the thrill of the crime as I would sneak in her room and play her treasured Donkey Kong game.

One of my fondest memories is taking turns bouncing a ball against a wall for hours as she recounted a book she was reading at school.

As we both learned to drive our relationship took a turn for the worse. We seldom made it a mile together without one or the other exiting the vehicle and walking home.

Esme is an artist, whether it is a paint brush or a garden tool in her hand something beautiful is left behind.

Speaking of beautiful things Esme’s greatest art is her children. It would be impossible to describe the effort and sacrifice she has made for them. The effort was not in vain. A new generation of beautiful, artistic and successful women have emerged, along with an awesome young man who is framing homes.

Twice in the last 6 months Esme has helped me out when I needed it most without me saying a word. Watching her “get things done” both times took me back to when my mum would help me clean my room, get my life organized or just simply lift my spirits with an encouraging comment.

Thank you Esme for reminding me of her. She would be so happy you helped her son, your brother. Especially a brother who though younger was always a superior driver. As I write that I laugh. It is not true. I drive like the old man that I am now, holding up traffic with a blinker on. Esme drives fast. Because if she hurries, she may just get a few hours sleep before she starts working again.

Proud to be her brother.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

I love old things. Houses built as the century turned and the windows that characterize them have captured my attention for a long time. There is something about a vertical hung sash with single paned lites that feels like a window to a time gone by.

As I drive past falling down homesteads the dormers on the steep pitched roofs bring light to attic rooms and my world. I have taught myself to build all these things. It was not the best or most profitable use of my time but I have no regrets.

On my table I have a compass from WW2. I have an small canvas bag from the same conflict. Both are probably surplus items, but its not impossible a young soldier found his way with one and another carried a message with the other. In my utensil drawer I have an antique potato peeler. Every time I use it I imagine a mother in a tiny farmhouse preparing a meal on a woodstove for those she loved.

The small town museums I love and frequent are dying now. The volunteers themselves are a dying generation. Most can barely get enough donations to keep the heat on. It makes me sad. The generation that built everything we enjoy felt it important to preserve these items. We seem uninterested in preserving their legacy as we live off it.

I recently watched an old man order a beer at a restaurant, as the server went over all the craft beers with him he kept shaking his head no. He waived his hand in resignation and slowly walked away. He did not know how to choose between 10 artisan beers with names he did not understand, and he had no interest in learning.

I saw an elderly lady sitting alone in a restaurant. She was wearing a cotton dress and bright red lipstick. I saw her, I saw her now and I saw her as a young woman. She was gorgeous then and now. She was a stark contrast to the young couple beside her in clashing pyjama bottoms and hoodies.

My young dog is turning old in front of my eyes. It is breaking and swelling my heart at the same time. I have promised him a month at the river this year. We were supposed to live there together. I may not get there in time. He deserves a season there. I am terrified to lose him.

The Bible says:

”There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,“
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭NIV‬‬

As I age things I love are disappearing. When I see old things it feels like they are stopping by to bid us farewell. I struggle with goodbyes of any kind. I guess that it why I love old things.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.

They call it the millionaire’s family. One boy, one girl. I do not have the million but God blessed me with a son and daughter. Most recently he added another daughter to my family.

At my son’s wedding this summer, I became emotional as I watched my son’s beautiful new wife dance with her loving father. The way he draped his paternal arms around her as she melted into them is a memory I will never forget. In that moment I glimpsed the first time she was hurt, heartbroken. I felt all the years he worried about her. I imagined the day she took her first steps to him. I saw a father’s and daughter’s love. As the dances ended I walked over to my daughter’s table and pointed at her, “You and I are doing that one day.”

“No we are not!” She retorted.

“YES, we are.”

This was not something she expected. I have never been the warmest Dad. But I love my children as much as any other Father.

Brooklyn, along with her brother are my world. She is beautiful inside and out. She has always been a light for me. She fights for the underdog. She comforts those that feel alone. She seeks out the hurt ones and tries to ease their pain. I could write a thousand things I love about her, her talents, but these traits are the things I am most proud of.

Most of us do not understand what daughters need from us. I am starting to figure it out, but it is coming very late. I can only pray not too late.

Who am I to tell anyone anything? No one. But if I could say something to fathers I would say our daughters need love, safety and strength. We need to listen. I never listened to my son or daughter enough. The Killers have a song called Heart Of A Girl. It has a lyric in it:

Daddy daddy daddy, all my life, I’ve been trying to find my place in this world…..

Baby baby babe, I got all night, to listen to the heart of a girl.

We need to be someone they feel safe opening up their hearts too.

If I could say something to daughters, I’d tell them we are different. We do not often understand things that your mother just gets. We get a lot wrong, but we adore you. We love you more than you could ever know. Some of us, many of us, well we just are not good at knowing how to make you feel it. But trust me its there.

For all the daughters out there that feel unloved, I am sorry. You know who you are. Your fathers are too broken and lost to show it or perhaps they feel unworthy of you and choose to love you in pained, lonely silence. I am willing to bet most of them if not all would lay their life down for you in a second. I have met many men over the years who are estranged in varying degrees from their daughters who cannot hold back tears at the very mention of them. I know there are daughters everywhere that feel unloved who have a father that has a giant hole in their heart that was once filled by them. You are deeply loved. Know that. If not by your earthly father, then most certainly by your heavenly Father. The Creator of all magnificent things. The Creator of you.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

Well its been a while. There’s a mood I get in when I want to write, and it has eluded me for a while. I don’t really know if its happiness, sadness, peace or turmoil, but maybe the best way to describe it is a sense of peace during turmoil, bittersweet.

Its been a season… My son stepped up and married the woman he loves, setting an example I hope to follow one day. My daughter got her first stripe and is soloing in our skies. My niece, who I could not admire more, became my roommate and brightened up my home.

I learned to fly fish. I have hooked one fish, two birds, my hound Bauer, and more bushes and trees than I can count.

I bought my first 2 rifles. A Winchester .30 .30 and a left handed T bolt Browning. I considered becoming a hunter but have decided despite being a meat eater I have no will to take the life from an animal. If one could eat cats, I might reconsider. Every time I step in one of Hope’s hairballs I have Hannibal Lector worthy thoughts.

I have made some new friends and unfortunately let distance come between old ones. I have gone to and avoided church. I have been up, down and everything in between. I guess what I am saying is I am just being. As I age I find myself with new questions about my old answers.

Tonight I am hanging with my dog, listening to Ray Stephenson thinking about how excited I am to fish with my son and his wife this weekend, how happy I am my daughter is safely on the ground after her evening flight, and how good God is.

I hope whoever might read this had a happy summer.

If you read this far, Thank you.

Tris

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