Mike's day off.

I played hooky yesterday. Now, I know how Ferris Bueller really felt.

It was not planned, but spontaneous. And, when I made the decision to skip my responsibilities for the day, I fully recognized that it could end badly with me in the principal’s office the next day.

It was worth it.

Two of my good friends, Richard Bowers and Richard Brown, often take road trips together. They claim they are looking for real estate to buy. But, everyone knows better. We all know their trips are just so they can have fun, get away from the rest of us for a while, and enjoy each other as they see the countryside in places away from Jacksonville. Mostly they like to go to north Georgia or up into North Carolina.

Often, they have invited me to go with them, and always I have had to decline.

But, yesterday was different. This time their escape was only for a day, not the normal overnight adventure. And, God knows when they told me of their plans to scoot up to Darien, Ga.—about two hours north of Jacksonville—and return later in the day on Tuesday, I sure wanted to go.

But, with an early morning meeting on Tuesday and other work to do afterwards, I told them no.

Then, as I was sitting in my early morning meeting, I started thinking about what my two buddies would be doing all day, and my longing to join them got the best of me.

That’s when I phoned Richard Bowers and told him I wanted to go and he could pick me up when he collected Richard Brown at Brown’s house. Then, I hustled to a K-Mart and purchased a hooky uniform consisting of a pair of shorts, tee-shirt and sandals, which I exchanged for my pants, shirt and tie in a bathroom at Brown’s house.

From the moment I made the call to Bowers, I felt good. I don’t think it was because I felt I was getting away with something like when you skip school for a day. Instead, it was more because I knew what I was going to do was the right thing.

And, that’s exactly how it turned out. We did absolutely nothing that was important. Despite being together and talking for nine or ten hours, we said nothing that changed our lives or altered the world situation.

Just being together was the deal. Spending time to enjoy each other, no matter what we did or what we said, was what was important.

I can’t wait until I get another chance.

Value of a Rock and Roll Attitude

March 9, 2009

I’m sitting here at a kitchen table in our house in Jacksonville that has been on the market for almost three years.

Last Friday I lost one of my biggest and best clients because the CEO quit and he was my sponsor.

In two weeks, I will turn 65, and I have just signed up for Medicare.

And, I’m listening to foot stomping country music and having a glass of wine.

This is a time to count my blessings.

There are many.

But, life is not perfect.

It is relative.

A short while ago, I called my wife and left a message on the phone at our farm in Brooksville. “I’m looking for Annette McCrory,” I said. “I’ve been in love with Annette McCrory since we were eight years old, and I have a picture of eight year old Annette in my office.”

That’s blessing number one.

Shortly after that call, my cell phone died and I discovered I had left my charger behind at the farm when I left this morning.

Life is not perfect.

We have too many horses and too many mortgages to pay.

We also have so many friends; people we truly care about, and who I believe return that caring to the two of us.

That’s so important just because I am about to become 65. It’s been important to me for as long as I can remember.

In fact, I can clearly recall the day that my son David said something to me about my friends. “Dad,” he said, “you really have some great friends and you keep them close.”

Yes, David, I sure do.

I wish I did better with keeping my family close. David and his wife Carol and their two children Mack and Bret are now in Philadelphia, but it seems to me on so many days that they are much farther away and I need to pull them closer.

My parents are 86 and 88 and living in their home. They are doing okay, although my dad is kind of waiting to die. I figure there have been times he has been so mean that God is getting him back by keeping him waiting. They are in Columbus, Ga., about 6 hours from me. I see them three or four times a year and talk to them frequently. But, it should be more.

I am not sure, given my dark history, why Annette McCrory came into my life about ten years ago. She came into it with a huge beacon of light and a rock and roll attitude, and we’ve not looked back. Not once.

In fact, my greatest joy is being with her, watching her and talking about her. Nothing else is even close.

I love my life and just about every single thing about it.

I am not sure what will happen in the next several months. It might get tough.

But, as long as I have my beacon of light and my rock and roll Annette McCrory, I will be fine. We will do okay.

My, my...my Antoinette!

This is about Velvet, a week old red calf who has been cast off by her rude mother. And, it is about my wife Annette, a 64 year old retired grammar school teacher and ex-Junior Leaguer whose most recent relationship with cows is buying milk at Publix.

Annette runs our horse farm, all 18 of them, plus our four dogs, cat and dwarf lopped eared rabbit. Instead of teaching, she is now birthing and raising foals, working her horses in the round pen, riding in the forest behind the farm, mowing pastures, and redistributing horse manure. Farming, too, is new to her. Before she retired, she had never been around horses.

I travel a lot in my work, and this week when we spoke on the phone the first night she started talking about Velvet and how she is feeding Velvet from a bottle because her mother won't let Velvet nurse. Velvet? Who is Velvet, I asked?

Annette explained. Velvet is a new born calf that belongs to our neighbor, Mr Walter, an almost 80 year old man who lives down at the end of the road. Mr. Walter and Annette have become good friends over the last several months. He and his nephew David have helped her populate our pastures with grass. She has cooked meat loaf and key lime pies for David, and special dishes for Mr. Walter that fit his diet. So, it was only natural when Mr. Walter discovered a mother cow had pushed away the new born calf that he called Annette to help. Only, Mr. Walter calls her, "Antoinette."

It is just another chapter of a very long book of things that continue to amaze me about Annette, aka Antoinette. Despite not having been around horses until about four years ago, she is a seasoned horse person now. About a month ago one of our mares dropped a little filly on the ground just before sun up. It was the third foal born on our farm since we bought it less than two years ago. And, this was the first time I was home to witness the incredible event. Annette was all over it as I watched in awe. The black mare was on the ground and the bag bearing the baby was almost completely out when I got there. As if she had been doing it all of her life, Annette went into the paddock, stepped up to the rear of the mare and reached down to where the new born's tiny head was covered. She grabbed the birth bag and tore it open to expose the head, then she cleared the foal's mouth and nose of any obstructions. Wow! I didn't know she could do that.

Yesterday afternoon I got home from my most recent business trip. Later in the day, Annette had to go down to Mr. Walter's to handle Velvet's third feeding of the day, so I went with her.
Mr Walter was waiting, standing there by the small pen with his walking stick, so happy to see his Antoinette, and surprised to see me. Inside the pen, the tiny red calf was on the ground, all snuggled up under some hay.

Without hesitation, Annette took hold of this large plastic bottle full of a milk formula, added some sweet water to it, and then went inside the pen. She reached down to the calf, picked it up , held it there and started working the nipple on the bottle of milk into the calf's mouth. Velvet couldn't quite get it. Her tongue flopped back and forth as Annette probed with the bottle's nipple, trying to get it in place underneath the tongue. "You almost got it, Antoinette," Mr. Walter said.

She got it, and suddenly the only sound you could hear was the calf sucking on that nipple as Annette held up Velvet's head in just the right position. Wow! I didn't know she could do that.

The feeding was not easy from that point on. Velvet's clumsy tongue kept getting in the way. Annette would fix her grip on the calf, push open her mouth with a free hand and keep probing until she and the calf were in sync again. And there was that sucking sound again.

"My, my," said Mr. Walter. "Velvet sure is doing better. She was so skinny and couldn't even stand up. But, Antoinette has just fed her and fed her. Ain't she beautiful! My, my."

Yes, Mr. Walter. She sure is beautiful. And Velvet is pretty cute, too.

Christmas. How it is suppose to be.

Christmas morning.

We've spoken already with all six of our grandchildren and it just turned 8:30. The four who live closest by called us before we even got a chance to check in with them, and their excitement raced through the phone. We will be leaving here shortly for the 30 minute drive to their home so that we can experience their joy face to face.

The other two, who are the youngest, have recently moved with their parents to Philadelphia from Jacksonville, just in time to get everything set up in their new home and ready for Santa's arrival. Yesterday when I spoke with Mack and Bret, I explained that because of his route, Santa comes to Philadelphia before he gets to Florida. I think they liked that idea a lot.

This, indeed, is what this season is all about for me. How blest I am, for sure.

Last evening, we did what has become a Christmas Eve tradition by driving over to the nearest grandchildren's house to go to church services with them, ended each year by a crowd in front of the church, everyone holding lit candles and singing "Silent Night." And, then it is to their house where we all eat tacos or burritos in great anticipation of Santa's arrival. I really don't understand how wide eyed children can fall asleep with all of that adrenalin flowing. But, they always do.

When we got back home here to our little farm afterwards, I lit a fire in the pit outside and Annette and I sat there and had champagne, gazing up at the full moon, hidden from time to time by passing clouds. And, we counted our blessings. It took quite a while to cover the list.

Annette and I told each other that this year, we would not swap presents. We already have so much, we said. It was a false pact based on a wink.

We think each year that we can fool each other, but as Christmas grows closer, packages somehow seem to mysteriously appear under our tree. It always happens.

I think it is kind of like the four grandchildren--Carson, Connor, Coleman and Ashton--who always come home from Christmas Eve church services and start in right away asking their mom if they can open "just one" present. And, she always says, "No, not until the morning." She knows she does not mean it, and they know she does not mean it...but it is something the five of them do every year, and they do it as if it is the very first time.

Our children are lucky. Within a certain amount of reason, they let Santa know through various ways just what it is they would like for Christmas, and Santa and all of Santa's helpers do whatever it takes to make those wishes come true.

In doing so, we all also recognze--including the children--that not every child is as fortunate, nor every family as supportive. In fact, a lot of everyone's focus during the year is around those children and families who struggle.

But, for this brief and excitement packed few hours, these children get to own their Christmas and all of the wonderful feelings and things that come with it. That's how it should be.

Merry Christmas, 2007

Well.

It is now two days before Christmas, 2007.

It is a time of each year when the swirling in our lives seems to intensify temporarily before becoming still...soft...calm. Soon, a peace will return. It will happen tomorrow about the time the sun sets and brings on the night darkness of Christmas Eve.

It's as if we have learned since childhood that now, we can only sit and wait. Just be still. Listen. Anticipate. And, hope.

It is about this time each year when I begin looking back at the past 12 months, trying to take a little inventory. I tend to focus on the good things that happened; what went right more than what went wrong. It's much more fun that way. And, because I live such a lucky life, I get to enjoy lots of smiles.

Certainly, 2007 has been a year of much happiness and joy for me. If you read any of the essays on this site, I hope that will be most evident to you.

First and foremost, my wife Annette lives inside my heart and I find myself feeling deeply enriched with her every act. Surely, if you read what is here, the way Annette envelopes me and all of those around her with joy and tenderness will be as clear to you as the hot Florida sun on a July day.

Last night before we went to bed, we sat around a fire pit outside and listened to Christmas caroles. The cloudy night's air was a little cool, making the warm glow from the fire's coals welcomed.

In the darkness of the night, Annette and I could not see our horses in their pastures and paddocks. But from time to time we could hear some of them moving and stirring. We could feel their presence, almost as if they were sitting in chairs next to us, enjoying the music of the season along with us; thinking, like us, how fortunate we all are to be here in this place.

Three of our dogs were there at our feet, feeling the fire and all curled up and asleep.

The Christmas lights were all glowing on our entry fence up the drive, as well as atop our little red barn, house, and party screen room.

A blooming moon about to be full was hanging up there, only a small slither of it visible from time to time through the thick clouds.

And, as the Christmas music flowed out over us, the fire crackled next to us, and a couple of horses whinnied and neighed in front of us, I smiled.

Merry Christmas.

Smile. You will live longer.

My 63 year old wife Annette and one of our grandsons, 10 year old Connor Mack, ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches today sitting in the tree tops in a fort she has had built overlooking horses in two of our pastures.



And, as usual, I smiled.



This is no ordinary tree fort. That would not do. It actually surrounds a pair of side by side oak trees with two rooms that are connected with a swing bridge. And, because it is Christmas time and this is a gift to all of our six grandchildren, it is wrapped in green garland touched off by a wreath and a big red bow.



Connor Mack is one of the triplets. The other two are Coleman and Ashton. When Connor Mack saw the finished fort late yesterday afternoon he gave the enthusiastic and appreciative response his Nana had anticipated. And, after riding the tire swing and failing to scale the rope climb, he speculated that his ten year old sister Ashton could make it all the way up. "She's good that that stuff," he said.



The other triplets, along with their 14 year old brother Carson, will see the tree fort, tire swing and rope climb later in the week. Two other grandchildren, 7 year old Mack and 5 year old Bret, may have to wait until summer. They have just moved with their mom and dad this past week from nearby Jacksonville to far away Philadelphia.



But, this is not about the tree fort or the tire swing or the rope climb, or even our grandchildren. It is more about me smiling.



I get to do that a lot, which is a very good thing. I am absolutely convinced that smiling and laughing contribute to a longer life. Certainly it is foundational to a happy life.



And, around Spirit Woods Farm, out little horse place here on a state forest in west central Florida, and with my wife Annette, I find that I am enveloped in so many things that cause me to smile.



Take last Thursday night.



Because there is so much work to do when you have a farm, we have some help. His name is Ceasar, and he is from Mexico. Over the last several months, Ceasar has become very important to what we want to do, and who we want to be. In some ways, he is almost like family, and we feel very fortunate that he came into our life. Ceasar is a tremendous help to Annette and has a great loyalty to her. He will do anything for her...mostly because he knows she will do anything for him. He has a full time job and comes here on afternoons and weekends.



Ceasar has three young children, and often he brings them to the farm with him when he comes to work. There is 12 year old Little Ceasar, 8 year old Maria, and 7 year old Princess. I swear that is her name. They are all three cute, courteous and smart. And, like their father, they have a serious work ethic, especially for children.



Ceasar speaks little English, although he is very legal. But, his children go from English to Spanish to English with the ease that I count to ten. And often they serve as interpretors. However, somehow Annette has learned to communicate with Ceasar as if they've developed a language of their own.



When Ceasar's childen are here on our farm, Annette makes sure they have fun.



The three of them attach themselves to her as if they are an extra set of arms. It is "Ms. Annette" this and "Ms. Annette" that. Over and over and over. She talks, they listen. They ask, she answers.



And, last Thursday night Annette and I had a Christmas "fiesta" for Ceasar and his three young children. I mostly just showed up and had fun. Annette spent hours over days shopping and wrapping gifts for all of them. And, she cooked burritos for dinner.



It was a wondrous night. The children were talkative and excited...and grateful. Ceasar left our screen room where we were partying to go and cry in private because of his pride and his appreciation. He loves his children and is a terrific father.



Because it was a school night, about 8 o'clock Ceasar and his children climbed into Ceasar's old truck and headed out toward their home, taking their gifts with them and leaving my smiles and memories with me.



Shortly after they were gone, we had different guests.



You see, we also have a now a 16 year old young lady who spends a lot of time at our house; sometimes 3 and 4 days a week. Her name is Lisa and she lives in Tampa with her parents. Lisa has 5 brothers and sisters.



She is here for 3 reasons. She loves horses and we have them. She loves Annette and I have her. And, her parents let her come stay with us.



Unlike Ceasar and his children, Lisa's story is not one of economic difficulty or uncertaintity. Far from it.



Like Ceasar, however, she has come into our lives and has become very important to how we are and what we want to be.



Late in the day last Thursday, Lisa's 19 year old brother Robert brought her to the farm for a five day visit. Like most 19 year old boys with a cool car, Robert also had a couple of young ladies with him. After getting Lisa here, the four of them visited with us a short while, then Robert took all of the girls, including Lisa, with him to dinner while we had our Christmas fiesta with Ceasar and his children.



After Ceasar and the chidren were gone, Annette and I sat in our swing in the screen room and had a glass of wine, and we smiled. That was great fun, we thought. Those are wonderful children, we thought. How do we help them more, we asked?



And, we took a deep breath and tought about going inside and getting ready for bed.



That's when Lisa and her brother and his two lady (read that girl) friends drove up. No way, I thought, do they want to hang out with us and visit. Robert lives one hour away and he had to deliver his two friends after letting off Lisa.



Wrong.



The four of them came into the screen room, and there we sat with these young people. It was wonderful. We talked and we laughed and we swapped stories. And, as I sat there in my swing, looking out over the heads of these young friends, I saw the white of our Christmas lights and I listened to the Christmas music playing softly in the back ground.



I thought about what a wonderful day we had. I thought about a wonderful live we live.



And, I smiled. Once again.

Cocoa's first ever visit to the petrinarian.

(Mike Tolbert wrote this story for his grandchildren, 4 year old Bret and 6 year old Mack in the summer of 2007. Remember this: little Bret has told her mother that when she grows up, Bret wants to be a petrinarian—known to most folks as a vet).

We live on a small farm with a little red barn and lots of animals.

We have 18 horses. One of them is a three month old filly (girl) named Sugah. Another is a six month old colt (boy) named Spirit. And a third is a one year old filly (girl) named Rosie.

Then, we have two tiny miniature horses named Savannah and Butter Cup, along with some very nice horses that we ride in the forest behind our farm.

My favorite horse is Rebel. He is big, and he’s black and white.

Nana’s favorite horse is Fancy. She has a flowing white mane and white tail and she’s brown and white.

We also have one cat and four dogs.

It was time for all of our dogs to get their annual shots.

For some of them, like one year old Cocoa, who is a lanky and loose limbed clown-like canine, this was their first trip off the farm. It was also their first visit to see the petrinarian.

Now, let me tell you about our dogs.

First, there is our old yellow dog named Hammie, who is almost 16 years old. If she was human, we would say that Hammie is 112 years old because one dog year equals seven human years.

Can you imagine that? Who is the oldest person you know? (Probably granddaddy, huh?) And he is nowhere close to 112 years old.

Of course, we have always kind of thought Hammie was human. She understands everything you say…and she talks to me, I swear.

Hammie still moves around well for her age. She is alert and active. Hammie eats her dinner every night and she has two favorite places to rest: in the barn tack room beneath the saddles, and behind the hay in the hay barn.

Our other three dogs play with Hammie. But they are respectful of her age and they don’t play too rough.

Since the petrinarian has recently visited our farm and given Hammie her shots, we did not plan to take her with us on this trip with the other dogs, but Hammie had other ideas. She loves to ride in the truck.

Our youngest dog is Oprah. We just got her about a month ago.

Oprah is a tiny little Jack Russell. She has a black face, white body, long nose and a short black tail that is constantly wiggling.

Oprah is quick. She can jump high, and she loves playing games with our cat, whose name is Kitty.

This was to be Oprah’s first shots because she is so young.

Oprah’s best buddy is Cocoa, that lanky chocolate colored cut up who is half bird dog and half lab. Cocoa’s long tongue hangs out most of the time. Cocoa has sad looking eyes…but she is always happy.

We got Cocoa when she was just a puppy. What a funny dog. Cocoa is always playing and she loves to run and jump into the water troughs where the horses on our farm drink.

Big Cocoa watches after little Oprah. She is kind of like Oprah’s baby sitter. And they play together all of the time, chasing each other and wrestling all around the farm.

Then there is our black dog. Her name is Chloe. She is a sweetie. Chloe is a quiet dog. She listens closely when you talk to her and she just loves to be rubbed and petted.

We adopted Chloe when she was about nine months old. Her owner had to move all the way to Michigan and could not take Chloe with her, so we brought her to live on our farm. We are so glad we got her.

Chloe loves our horses and she is always checking on them. Her favorite is our 5 month old colt named Spirit. Chloe and Spirit play together, and believe it or not, they chase each other around the paddock.

So, those are our dogs.

Now, let me tell you about the morning we tried to load them all up and take them to see the petrinarian to get their shots.

Chloe, the sweet black dog, was pretty easy to get loaded into the truck. We showed her where we wanted her to go and she jumped into the back seat and found a place to sit.

Oprah was easy, too, because Nana was holding her. That meant Oprah had nothing to do except get in the truck with Nana when Nana decided it was time.

But, before Nana and Oprah could get into the truck in their front passenger seat, old Hammie decided she was going, too, and she jumped up into the truck and had a seat. It surprised us because we did not know Hammie could still jump that high.

I tried to coax Hammie out of the truck. But, Hammie would not move. She sat perfectly still and looked straight ahead. No matter how much I begged her to get out, she just sat.

And sat.

And sat.

And, so, we decided to let Hammie just sit and go with us.

The only dog left outside the truck was Cocoa. Now, remember. Cocoa is long and lanky. Her paws are as big as a catcher’s mitt. She weighs almost 80 pounds. And, she is very strong.

Cocoa had decided she was not going anywhere. Not to the petrinarian’s. Not even to the end of the drive way.

Cocoa was not getting into the truck. It did not matter if her other dog friends were already inside there in the back seat and ready to go. No way am I getting in the truck, Cocoa said.

I plead and beg.

I yell and scream.

I try to lift Cocoa up.

I try to pull her in.

I try to push her up and in.

Nothing works.

I offer her treats, but the other dogs eat them first.

I am thinking of leaving Cocoa behind and only taking the other dogs.

Then, I try once more.

I lift and push. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

This dog is not going to win, I thought. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Cocoa’s in the truck.

Let’s go, Nana.

When we arrived at the petrinarian’s office for this very first visit, the waiting room was already filled with other dogs and cats waiting for their shots.

So, we decided to let our dogs stay in the truck with Nana until we knew it was time for them to see the petrinarian. When he is ready to see us, we thought we’d bring the dogs in, one at a time, until they were all there.

“Mr. Tolbert,” the petrinarian’s assistant said, “We are ready for your dogs.”

Great, I thought, and went to the truck, which was parked just by the front door.

Okay, I told Nana. Here is the plan. You carry Oprah inside. I will bring in Chloe, and then I will go back and get Cocoa.

So, that is what we did, and it worked. It was perfect.

I left Nana, Oprah and Chloe there inside with the petrinarian and his assistant, and I returned to the truck to get Cocoa.

But, Cocoa had other ideas about getting out of the truck.

“No way,” she said.

“I am not getting out of this truck. Not for any thing. And, certainly not to go in there with all those other dogs and cats. And, I am not dumb enough to go in there and get stuck with a needle for shots.”

Cocoa braced herself on the back seat and said, “Are you kidding? Get out of here because you are not getting me out,” Cocoa exclaimed.

Whoa, I thought. Cocoa, you are the dog. I am the master. You are my best friend, but I am in charge here.

Do you remember the lead ropes we use when we walk the horses? They are strong and long. Well, that is what I had attached to Cocoa’s collar. Something that I thought would be sturdy and help me get her moving.

So, I tried to pull her out. I pulled. I pullllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllled.

I begged her to come out. I beggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggged.

But Cocoa planted her big paws firmly into the seat, stiffened her body and said, “NO WAY. “

I pulled. And Cocoa pulled back.

And, the people sitting inside the petrinarian’s office with their dogs and cats watched it all through the big glass windows. And, they laughed and laughed.

Then, I put the lead rope around Cocoa’s body so that it was around her bottom. I pulled. I pullllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllled.

She moved, but she stiffened even more.

I pullllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllled.

She moved some more and I got her just to the edge of the back seat, right there at the door.

I am winning, I thought.

Wrong.

That’s when Cocoa stiffened even more and put her big paws on the car door and pushed back. She pushhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhed.

And I pullllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllled.

Finally, I won. She rolled out onto the ground.

I wonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

I felt so good. Man, I wonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

But, as I was walking Cocoa into the petrinarian’s office where all of the people were sitting, laughing at us, with their dogs and cats, Cocoa looked up at me with those lazy eyes, her tongue hanging out and a smile on her face.

“Wait until next time,” she said.

POST SCRIPT: We’ve not ventured again to the petrinarian, but Cocoa has a new attitude about riding in my truck, especially if she is allowed to sit up front with me. We do have another dog now, Buddy, who is my constant traveling companion. Buddy is a big black dog with a softness in both her eyes and her spirit that is wonderful. Chloe is no longer at our farm. We have loaned her out to a good friend who badly wanted a very nice dog to care for at his home.