That Kind of Promise

XII

Where you went out the back door of that house there was a stone water trough in the weeds by the side of the house. A galvanized pipe come off the roof and the trough stayed pretty much full and I remember stoppin there one time and squattin down and lookin at it and I got to thinkin about it. I dont know how long it had been there. A hundred years. Two hundred. You could see the chisel marks in the stone. It was hewed out of solid rock and it was about six foot long and maybe a foot and a half wide and about that deep. Just chiseled out of the rock. And I got to thinkin about the man that done that. That country had not had a time of peace much of any length at all that I knew of. I've read a little of the history of it since and I ain't sure it ever had one. But this man had set down with a hammer and chisel and carved out a stone water trough to last ten thousand years. Why was that? What was it that he had faith in? It wasnt that nothin would change. Which is what you might think, I suppose. He had to know bettern that. I've thought about it a good deal. I thought about it after I left there with that house blown to pieces. I'm goin to say that water trough is there yet. It would of took somethin to move it, I can tell you that. So I think about him settin there with his hammer and his chisel, maybe just a hour or two after supper, I dont know. And I have to say that the only thing I can think is that there was some sort of promise in his heart. And I dont have no intentions of carvin a stone water trough. But I would like to be able to make that kind of promise. I think that's what I would like most of all.

No Country For Old Men
--Cormac McCarthy

I just finished this book today, on loan to me from a friend and am left in wonder. This book was a great departure from what I've been reading lately, but has me filled with questions that are yet to be answered. The book itself presents as a drug deal gone bad on the Texas/Mexico border, but has found a way to get to me.

The exert from above is from Sheriff Bell who finds himself at the end of a career as he goes about questioning himself as to the legacy that he has grown to leave. As a reader sucked into the story, I can't help but ask myself the same. I'm yet to turn 34, 9/10 for those interested & longing to send gifts, but events in my life beg me to wonder.

Cam just finished his first week of school today. I'm proud to say that he still considers me his pal. I plan on trying to retain the top spot as long as he'll let me. For some reason I feel obliged to leave that ball in his court. I've got 3 daughters too, but for some reason I know that a large part of the legacy that I'm to leave behind will be molded by the man my son turns out to be.

I reflect on me & my dad. I feel a tinge of guilt about the words that will follow. He lost his cousin a few weeks back & while I talked with him on the phone about it, he told me that he'll have to find another 'runnin' buddy' since he had just lost his. I'm now officially jealous of a dead man & probably owe him an apology.

But the past remains there, with no way to be changed, but only to be learned from. I hope that I do it well. Too many exchange the unlimited potential of their tomorrows for their hopelessly limited yesterdays.

I have no idea what the next day holds for me or the next 5 minutes for that matter.

I dont have no intentions of carvin a stone water trough. But I would like to be able to make that kind of promise. I think that's what I would like most of all.