Being Semelparous

A FEW MORNINGS AGO, ON MY WAY TO WORK, I heard a story on NPR® about a plant that I suddenly felt a kinship to. It's called an American Agave plant.

Kinship to a plant? Maybe all this Whole Foods® shopping, yoga, juicing and listening to NPR® is getting to me.

This plant is grayish and prickly--kind of like me. It's nickname is the Century plant, although it seldom lives that long. Correlation? I think it sounds good to live as if I could live a century, but I really have no desire to do so.

American Agave Plants

Here's the part that really intrigued me though: when it flowers, it has big, spectacular flowers that can reach up to 8 feet tall, or more. I like that! Here's the problem: it's semelparous!

I had to look that one up: "Semelparity and iteroparity refer to the reproductive strategy of an organism. A species is considered semelparous if it is characterized by a single reproductive episode before death, and iteroparous if it is characterized by multiple reproductive cycles over the course of its lifetime." --Wikipedia

In other words, after this plant finally does it big flowery production (which can take up to 50 years or more), it DIES--sort of a One Hit Wonder.

It started me thinking, you know, about living life. Would I prefer to be known for something big and then fade or flame out. Or would I rather be a guy that just sort of lives a good, consistent, generative life?

The Tour De France is on. I know, I saw about 5 seconds of it as I was clicking through the channels to see what else is on. I thought of Lance Armstrong. WOW! He was huge and spectacular before he got his pants caught in his chain, so to speak. Too much for fertilizer for that plant, if you get my meaning.

I don't want to be like Lance, or Lebron for that matter. But take a guy like Sheriff Andy Taylor. Andy never rose to anything but sheriff of Mayberry and Opie's dad, but in 30 minutes, once a week for many, many years, he re-humanized most everyone in Mayberry. Yes, I know he's fictional.

For me one of the biggest One Hit Wonders of my era was a song called, "Wipe Out" by The Safaris. I guess you could say it was a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts for The Safaris, because it was their only big hit. But what a hit it was. I am confident that every young drummer, like myself, who grew up in the 60s became a better drummer because of the hours of practice to learn the Wipe Out drum solo and develop the hand speed to play it. To this day, you play Wipe Out for an aspiring percussion student, and they will determine to learn that solo.

Which brings us back to the semelparous American Agave plant: don't feel too sorry for it, because, you see, it also produces little suckers, adventitious shoots from its base, which continue the legacy so to speak.

We have two sons, a daughter-in-law, three Grand-Girls. I am so proud and grateful for all these little "suckers", and thanks to them, I may burn out or wipe out, but I know I won't fizzle out.

Now do you see why I feel sort of kin to this plant? I haven't been drinking to much kale/wheatgrass/ginger juice.

Being POPS to Nora

Sometimes this blog/journal is literally "about Pops"--in other words, the role of a grandfather. Now, Nora Grace is here and I have a third opportunity to be Pops. So what does this look like?

What children need most are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance: unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life. And, most importantly, cookies. --Rudy Giuliani

I really like the prayer for her daughter that Tina Fey wrote in her book, "Bossypants." I would like to include it here, but I don't have permission, and About POPS is a little on the conservative side of "PG" to include it. But you should check it out HERE. 

I will always pray for our grand-girls. And I will want the best for them; even if that spoils them a bit.

For you Nora, as for your big sisters, Karlee and Harper, I hope you will always know that your are loved, that you will know you are free to be curious and creative, so don't be afraid to color outside the lines; or better yet, draw your own. And while on the subject of the Arts, whether music, dance, drawing, painting, poetry, story-telling, or wood-carving, we will be there to encourage you always, because while school will take care of the math, science and sports; the Arts are pretty much up to you, but worth every minute.

Oh, and there will be boys. The three of you are blessed with your mother's beauty, so it's inevitable. So far, I've not seen a boy that deserves you, but we've got a lot of time for them to develop. Sometimes you have to find a good one and take him on as a project. Your mom and grandmother would probably say be cautious of drummers and preacher's kids. They do take extra patience and love, but they are worth it--some of the time. And, they mean well.

Karlee, 5-years old climbing at 30 feet.

Nora, I have no doubt you will have the bold, daring of your big sisters, so I will buy you your first helmet. Speaking of safety, I promise to always buckle you in to your car seat when traveling. Forgive me for the bad words I'll murmur under my breath when I can't get the dang thing buckled and unbuckled.

Be patient with your biggest sister. Those of us who are the first-born children tend to be wiser and could make your life better if you would only listen to us. So, at times, you'll think you have two mothers, but remember, Karlee just wants the best for you and she knows what that is.

Be patient with your next biggest sister. Harper is abdicating her seat as the baby of the family for you. She has served admirably and it's not an easy role to give up. But she is so much fun, and so full of energy and wide-eyed wonder, she will be a tireless friend for you.

You have two amazing parents. Give them a good 6 hours of sleep a night as soon as you can, and they will give you all of themselves.

Welcome to the Family, Nora!

Old people are distinguished by grandchildren; children take pride in their parents. --Proverbs 17:6 (The Message)

Gone Fishin'

Remember these:

Creek Chub Plunker
Heddon River Runt
Paw Paw River Rustler
P&K Bright Eyes
Cordell Super Shad

Someone posted a "poster" on the Facebook that read:

You can't buy happiness
But you can buy fishing gear
And that's kind of the same thing.

Apparently the wisdom here is not the promise that fishing brings happiness, but the buying of the gear (tackle, as it was called when I was a boy). So it is not necessarily the hunt for the elusive trout that rewards but rather the hunt for the fly that might lure him. I can get in to that kind of happiness.

I have a wise mentor whom I speak to often about this second-coming of age. He asked me a few years ago if I had a hobby. No, not really, I honestly replied. He warned me that if a guy doesn't have a hobby well before he retires he won't start one.

I'm afraid he's right. So, I thought, why not spend some time here at About POPS, exploring some hobbies old guys can do? Let's start with fishing.

But where to start? Bass Pro? You walk in there and it is apparent that for these people fishing isn't just a hobby or relaxing past time; it's an obsession.

Obviously though, fishing has served many an old-timer well. Heck, it's even biblical. There is a big difference though between Jesus and Jimmy Houston. The biblical fishing was done by guys in groups using nets. You could have handed Simon Peter a Zebco rig with 30 lb test and a True Temper Cripple Shad, and he would have... well, I don't know what he would have done, but I bet once he figured out what the rig was for he would have laughed and said, "Why would I catch fish one at a time?"

My Idea of Fishing.

I'm not sure fishing is the hobby for me. I tend to over-romantizize the whole experience. I have an aversion to chiggers, ticks, and mosquitos. I tend to lack focus and patience. But there is one thing I love about the fishing hobby: the fishing stories. Fisherman are so fortunate. When they get together they have something to talk about besides politics, religion, and their health issues. So while I'm not much of a fisherman, given the choice of spending leisure time knee deep in a cold stream trying to cast a fly in just the right spot and sitting at McDonald's drinking coffee with a bunch cranky, bitter old pharts; pass me the stink bait and the OFF®!

You get a line and I'll get a pole, Honey,
You get a line and I'll get a pole, Babe.
You get a line and I'll get a pole,
We'll go fishin' in the crawdad hole,
Honey, Baby mine.