Most Days I Saunter

Most days I saunter blissfully through the streets of my hometown,

singing hymns and changing diapers,

measuring the cream and sugar of my love.

Most days I stroll down State Street

on National Skirt Day, cheering the Badgers, smiling at Catfish,

and craving a Plaza with cheese.

Most days my transgressions remain buried like my Father and my Son,

frozen in my youth by a biting winter wind,

drowned in ten thousand lakes of The Glenlivet and

unnumbered boots of Bitberger.

But there are fugitive moments of sobriety

when the wind’s teeth forbid my forgetfulness,

when I’m violently awakened from my lollygagging by Leonard Cohen’s growl,

when I’m forced to ruminate cud and bile.

If I chew long enough, I can even remember their names.

I silently recite His Prayer;

not the version I learned as a child,

but the translation I need as a man:

“And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us…”

I’m led away from temptation,

delivered into the arms of the unwritten.

-C. Holm
1/25/13

Happy Birthday, Grayson!

A letter to my Grayson on your first birthday:

Dear Grayson,

One year ago today, at 5:02 am, after just under 24 hours of labor, my greatest joy personified entered this world with a yawp!  (That would be you!)

Up until this moment, your mom and I had wondered endlessly about the person you would be, who you would look like, who you would act like... we didn't even know your gender.  Mom was certain you were a girl, as was the majority of the family.  Being a contrarian, I insisted you were a boy.  I had the pleasure of announcing to your mom that I was right.  She double-checked anyway.

Those very first moments of your life were filled with joy!  Your mom had worked so bravely and with such courage to bring you into this world.  We both cried as she held you against her chest.  After a few minutes, I quickly bounded down the hallway to the waiting room where your grandparents and other family were waiting eagerly to meet you.  I announced your name with pride: Grayson Calvin Schauffert Holm.  Everyone  was thrilled!  We hugged and kissed and laughed.  It is one of my favorite memories of that day.

The rest of the day, though, was quite stressful, but not at all because of you.  Your mother had some complications, and the hospital staff didn't catch it until the situation had become serious.  All of us were working on very little sleep, which made decisions all the more difficult.  You, though, are the main reason we made it through that morning.  You were a perfect baby about it all and through it all.  You patiently waited (and slept) while your mother gathered her strength.  You were kind and loving, and I have the pictures to prove it.  You even took to nursing with ease.  (I think you get that from me...)

The next 364 days have been but a blur.  It seems like yesterday we were charting your diapers to make sure you were getting the right amount of nutrition, and it seems like an eternity ago that you sat up for the first time.  I guess this is because I can't imagine life without you anymore, and the memories are growing fainter by the day.  We've had one year with you smiling at us (always smiling), the center of our attention and our world.  Your mom and I have become better people because of you, better partners to each other, and we are learning every day how to be better parents.

On this first birthday, YOU are our gift, and you are a gift to the whole world.  Everyone who meets you walks away a happier person with a little more love in their hearts.  Thank you for being you!

I love you, Grayson.

Happy First Birthday!

Love,
Dad

Labor Pains

One year ago today, at this very time, Stacy and I were checking into the birth center at United Hospital in St. Paul, excited to welcome Grayson into the world.

Stacy woke me up around 5:30 in the morning on Sept. 30, 2012.  She felt like she might be in labor, and she feared that she may have wet the bed.  This being our first pregnancy, Stacy was uncertain if her water had broken or not... one look at the puddle in our bed, and I was sure that it had!  Despite the intensity of the moment, both Stacy and I were relatively calm.  Stacy took a shower while I made her some breakfast (PB&J).  We gathered our things into the overnight bag, kenneled the dog and hit the road.  We even stopped for Caribou along the way.

I don't remember if we called family on the way or if we waited to get to the hospital, but I know that we informed the family relatively quickly.  We also called our doula, who arrived at the hospital around 9:30 or so.  Everyone was so very excited!  We knew that Grayson was coming into the world soon, and given the fact that labor started early on the 30th, we assumed that Grayson would be a September baby.  I was so sure of this fact that I ran to the local gas station to buy a newspaper for his baby book.

As we all know now, Grayson waited until October to come into this world.  September 30th would be one of the longest days of my life, one filled will much joy and anticipation, some frustrations, and very little sleep.  Thinking back to a year ago today, my heart smiles a bit in my chest... so many dreams started to become reality on that day, and my life hasn't been the same since.

The best part about the 30th, though, was watching Stacy labor.  She was so strong, so very brave throughout the process.  She was patient, and she was kind.  She never once yelled at me for doing this to her!  She rarely got discouraged.  Most of all, she exuded love the whole time.  Love for me, and love for our son.

The best part about Grayson waiting a day to come into this world: he gave us a day to celebrate his mom!

Happy Labor Day, Stacy!

In the Dark

This past week it has dawned on me that I will spend the next 6 months or so waking up in the dark.  Or, more to the point, it hasn't dawned on me... and that is a problem.

I love living in Minnesota.  I love the seasons we experience.  I love our long summer days, where the sun doesn't set until close to 10:00 PM.  I love freshly fallen snow, and the crispness of winter air.  I enjoy cooler evenings up north in the late spring, perfect for sweatshirts and shorts.  I love lots of things about this great state.

I hate waking up in the dark.

The human body is hardwired to be awake when the sun is up and asleep when the sun goes down.  Our sleeping patterns are based on this fact.  Our minds and bodies function better with a little vitamin D.  This is one of the reasons that people who work the 3rd shift have such a difficult time switching their body clocks... we are simply designed to sleep at night.

This morning, all I wanted to do was stay in bed.  Sure, I was up later last night.  Sons of Anarchy is on a 90-minute-per-episode kick right now, and I didn't get home from choir rehearsal until close to 9:00.  Couple that with some household chores, and I was up past 11:30.  This wouldn't be too bad in the summer time.  6 hours of sleep is pretty healthy for most people, and if the sun is up and the birds are chirping, I have little problem getting out of bed.  This morning, though, I was shrouded in darkness.  My alarm was clearly telling me it was time to get up, but my body was stuck on the fact that the sun was still sleeping... and if the sun is still sleeping, why shouldn't I be?

I also know that it will only get worse before it gets better.  As November and December approach, I know that there will be whole days where I wouldn't see the sun unless I intentionally look for it!  I will drop Grayson off at daycare in the dark, arrive at work before the sun rises, and I will stay at my desk until after the sun has set...

So if I'm a bit cranky, know that it isn't you (probably).  It is just the fact that I haven't felt the rays of wonderful sun on my face in over a month...  I promise to be in a better mood come April.

I'm Back

When I started this project just over four months ago, I knew there would be some days/nights that were more challenging than others, days in which it would be a struggle to find the time and energy to write something.  For the last month or so, I've been fighting those battles on a regular basis, missing days, then trying to make up days, writing in fits and starts.  This has only exacerbated the energy problem.

I had given up for a bit.  Maybe I needed a break.  Maybe I just thought that 3+ months was a valiant effort...

Over the weekend, though, I had a bit of a change of heart, or at least a change of mind.

I'm going to accept my transgressions, my missed days.  They are there.  I can't do anything to change them. I can, however, do something about today.  I want to write today.

So I'm back.  I'm going to make a concerted effort to write every day.  I may even decide that I want to write for yesterday, but I'm not going to let the gravity of my missed days prevent me from doing what I've promised to do today: write.  My goal was not to write 365 pieces; my goal was to write more often, to write on a daily basis.  If I get to 365, I'll be thrilled, but if I give up because I've missed a few weeks, then I'll regret that.

No regrets here.  Just writing.

Happy Birthday, Stacy!

Today is my wife's birthday!  In looking back at all my blog posts, I realize that I haven't written much about her, so today feels like the perfect day to expound on the love of my life.

I met my wife in high school, during my senior year, third period art class with Mr. Clerx.  Stacy was a sophomore, but art class was an elective, so all grades were represented.  I don't remember my very first impression of her; I'm sure we all went around the room and introduced ourselves during the first day of class, but I do remember the first time I really took note of her.  Early during the semester, our assignment was to create a drawing in felt-tip pen/marker without ever lifting the pen from the page, and we were encouraged to not look down at what we were drawing.  Stacy volunteered (or was volunteered) to be the model for the day.

She sat on a metal stool in the center of the room.  I was off to her right side.  Her long, blond hair was braided.  Her blue eyes were larger than life, as if she hadn't quite fully grown into her face.  She had a smile that wasn't too revealing; I assumed she was hiding a little secret behind it, but she was probably just nervous to be the center of attention.  I couldn't take my eyes off her, and it had little to do with the assignment at hand.  I knew very little about her, but I knew that I wanted to know more.

The next day, I made sure I grabbed the easel next to hers, and I began to learn as much as I could about her.  We quickly struck up a friendship, and I quickly learned that she had a boyfriend.

High school came and went.  There were a few moments where Stacy and I kissed, but we never officially dated.  There were plenty of nights spent at coffee shops, conversing about things we assumed were deep.  Stacy had an old soul, especially for a sophomore, and that sat perfectly well with me.  Then I went off to college.  Stacy and I wrote letters, some of which I still have today (as does she).  I was still very smitten with her, but the distance, and her pesky boyfriend, got in the way.  We grew apart.  We lost touch.  But I always kept a picture of her hidden away in a random picture frame, some symbol of my adolescence that I clung to...

Stacy went off to college too.  She continued her passion for art and pursued a degree in interior design, a surprisingly practical application for her creativity.  After college, she followed her boyfriend (same one) to Chicago, where she got her first job as a designer.  Making little money, and getting fed up with a lack of commitment from the man she had been dating for about seven years at this point, Stacy decided to move back to Minnesota, eventually getting a job at Corporate Express.  It was here that she met her first husband.  They got married in 2005, bought a house in New Brighton, and got a wonderful dog (Bella).  Along the way, Stacy worked in Golden Valley and Eden Prairie.

But I didn't know any of this.  We hadn't spoken since the summer after my freshman year at UW.  It was now 2008.  I was getting a divorce, and I was looking to reclaim my identity, so I went to the internet, and I started to look up friends from high school.  I remembered Stacy fondly; I was pretty excited when I found her MySpace page.  Yes... there was a time when MySpace was a strong alternative to Facebook.  She told me later that she truly hesitated to accept my friend request; I think we both had a sense where this might lead.  When we met up for the first time in over ten years, I found out she was also getting divorced (or at least starting down that road).  That first conversation lasted over six hours on a work night, and during that time, I found out just how ridiculously close we were to each other, all through our ten year hiatus.

Her old boyfriend went to UW, too.  He lived on the same block I did, and Stacy visited him every other week.  Her job in Chicago was on the same main road as my in-law's house in Hinsdale, IL.  That job in Golden Valley?  Her office window looked out onto my apartment balcony.  The house she bought with her first husband?  Two miles north of the house I bought with my first wife; we shared a grocery store, a gas station and a coffee shop.  Stacy's job in Eden Prairie was down the road from the job I held at the time we re-met; we lunched at the same places.  In all this time, we never ran into each other... not until the time was right.

And when the time was right, we hit it off.  Stacy was still gorgeous, but she had grown into a woman, leaving behind the awkward teenage years.  I guess I also shed some awkwardness (and gained new idiosyncrasies along the way).  She was intelligent, compassionate, and kind.  She was dedicated to her job, but also dedicated to enjoying life.  She enjoyed music, food, wine.  She liked going to car shows.  She wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty.

She is still all of these things, and more: she is the most nurturing mother I could hope for our son.  She is great with money.  She is selfless with her possessions.  She is spiritual (much deeper than we thought we were back in high school).  She loves the outdoors in small, non-tented doses.  She loves dogs.  She loves me.

To complete the circle of circumstance and near collisions, as we were moving into the house we bought three years ago, with a wedding to plan and Grayson just a possibility of love, I was going through some things I had stored at my mother's house.  High school stuff.  Old projects, assignments and report cards.  There was a roll of over-sized paper, and buried inside that bundle of artwork was the drawing I made during third period art class of a beautiful, young sophomore.  It is now framed in our family room.

I couldn't be a luckier man, husband or father.  Stacy is the love of my life, and she makes me happier than I thought ever possible.

Happy birthday, Stacy!  I hope you feel as celebrated as you deserve to be today and every day.

Saturday

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Password Management

I hate passwords.  More accurately, I hate password maintenance policies.

I understand the significance of passwords, and the ever important need of strong passwords.  Almost all of my personal information is stored online in one way or another; my health records, bank statements, emails, photos, etc.  Any combination of these can provide access to even more information over time.  Password-cracking programs have grown sophisticated over the years, and increased processor speeds mean even a basic laptop is capable of cracking a simple password in a matter of hours.

I get it.  I need a strong password.  I even get why I need to change them from time to time, and why I need different passwords for different sites.

But it is just SO difficult to remember which passwords I use for various sites.  And it becomes even more difficult to remember which passwords I've used in the past.

My company, like almost all companies, has a policy on how long passwords need to be, how many different kinds of characters they need to have, and how infrequently I can reuse passwords.  I won't post the actual policy here; I would hate to offer hackers any real visibility into the nature of passwords at my company, but I assure you that the rules are complex.

I had to change my password today to comply with the policy.  No... it isn't 12345.  That would be the combination to the air vault in Spaceballs.  

Since changing my password this morning, I have already forgotten to type it a handful of times.  I keep trying my last one.  I usually get to the point just before I hit enter when I realize I changed it.

My backspace key is getting a workout.  Having Monday off for Labor Day, it will probably take me all of next week before the new password becomes rote.

Just in time for me to change it again.

Grayson: First Blood

As a parent, you are theoretically aware that certain things will most certainly happen throughout the course of your child's life.  They will walk and talk.  They will go to school.  They will learn to drive, then they will get into a car accident.  They will fall in love (hopefully) and have their heart broken.  They will learn and grow; they will make mistakes.  They will fall.  They will scrape a knee.  They will bleed.

But nothing can quite prepare you to see their blood for the first time.

Last night, Stacy and I were preparing to head out to the State Fair for a second time this year.  We were going to take Grayson back, so he could see some things he hadn't seen yet, and so we could see some things we didn't get a chance to look at with a full family in tow.  I was trying, as quickly as possible, to change into some shorts and pack Grayson's diaper bag.  Stacy was upstairs changing.  I did what I've done a hundred times; I put Grayson down on the floor of the family room in front of his toys.  I didn't think twice about him.  I was on the couch about to put on my shoes when I caught him from the corner of my eye toppling over an inflated cylinder (with bells that jingle as you roll it).

Grayson fell face first into the carpet.  I think his pacifier may have been in his mouth.  He stopped his fall with his teeth.  There was a slight pause.  Then he began to cry, face still buried in the carpet.  Stacy had come back downstairs by now, and she picked him up to comfort him.  At this point, neither of us thought he had hurt himself.  I'm sure he falls at least twice a day.

But then I looked at his face.  There was blood on both sides of his mouth.  His gums were bloody.  One of his front teeth looked off, but it might have just been the blood.  I tried not to panic.  After we cleaned him up a bit and gave him some ibuprofen, I called our dentist.  I was reassured that these things happen, and that his teeth are probably just fine.  Even better, our dentist will be up north this weekend should we need to have Grayson checked out.  (I love Dr. Pink by the way... great dentist.  Crimson Dental in Maple Grove.)

So we can check a new milestone off the list.  Grayson: First Blood - August 29, 2013.

I think we all survived.

Wednesday... or Tuesday. I'm behind!

I threw this particular post up on Wednesday as a placeholder.  I failed to do even that on Tuesday.

The week has quickly flown by, every night seeming busier than the last.  It really just boils down to the fact that I haven't carved out time during my evenings to write anything.  By the time I'm able to sit down and write, my eyes are heavy, and all I want to do is veg out or go to sleep.

I'm hoping that I can get back on track this weekend, but we are headed to the fair tonight then up to the lake tomorrow, so who knows when I will find time.

I think I'm 3 posts behind, but I'll double-check.

Overall, though, I think I've managed to accomplish my goal, at least for the first 3+ months.  I'm writing almost every day, and I feel good about that.

The Smell of Death

Today, the temperature reached 98 degrees in the Twin Cities setting a record high for this date that had lasted 65 years (1948).  With the heat index, it felt closer to 110 degrees.  The low for the day was 79 degrees.  This is my way of saying today was HOT!  It was the kind of heat that takes your breath away, and it makes me so thankful that I can afford air conditioning.

But not everyone can afford it, nor do they have the means to stay cool.  Heat-related illnesses were reported throughout the state today, and I wouldn't be surprises if a few people actually died from it.

Animals are no strangers to heat-related deaths.  Including some sort of small animal that made its way into my attic but couldn't make its way back out.

Stacy and I got home to find the upstairs bathroom permeated with a stench that can only be brought about by rotting and heat.  It was stronger closer to the ceiling.  Something had clearly died in the attic, and the heat wave was cooking it in the rafters.

Our first thought was something crawled into our vent stack, so I climbed up on the roof, covered in black shingles, while the air temperature was still well above 90 degrees.  Much to my dismay, I didn't find anything but a clear pipe.  I went back inside, grabbed a glass of water, and I mentally prepared for the task ahead of me.

I was heading up into the attic.

When temps push 100 degrees outside, even a well-ventilated attic will get into the 120s and 130s.  Because we have blown fiberglass insulation in our attic, I needed to make sure I was covered head to toe before I went up there.  I put on some jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and some gloves.  I wriggled my way up a ladder in my closet through the access point and into the sauna of darkness.  Our roof pitch isn't tall enough for me to stand, so I crawled from the access point to the ceiling above the bathroom.  The insulation not only kept the searing heat from my house, it also kept any odors at bay... this is both good (in that I didn't throw up in my attic) and bad (in that I couldn't use my nose to locate the carcass).

After searching for maybe only 10 minutes, I had to get out of there.  I was a puddle of sweat, and I couldn't catch my breath.  I was unable to find whatever had died buried in the insulation.  The only thing I can do for the rest of tonight is bring some coal into the bathroom to act as an odor-eater.  

Pray for me that I'm able to find it without tearing into my ceiling.  Pray for the soul of this little creature that it act as a warning to its family and friends.  Pray for this heat wave to pass...

Date Night

Saturday night, Stacy and I were surprised with a date night!  I don't remember how long it had been since we had gone out for a nice dinner, just the two of us... we made last-minute reservations at 8:00 for Sunsets in Wayzata (pronounced why-Zet-ah for those of you out of state).  We ate outside on the patio, our table facing Wayzata Bay on Lake Minnetonka.  I had a ribeye; Stacy had shrimp.  Adult beverages were consumed, and we actually had an adult conversation that lasted longer than a few minutes.  It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

How did this come about?  I have a very flexible mother and aunt!

Stacy and I will be taking a trip in October to visit my sister, Jen in New York City.  Even though Jen has lived there for five years already, we haven't been out to see her yet for a whole host of reasons (excuses).  The trip is long overdue.  My mother and aunt have agreed to watch Grayson while we are away, but they had not yet experienced the joy of an overnight with Mr. G.  A few weeks back, they asked to have a trial run or two before our trip.  Stacy and I agreed that this was a wonderful idea for many reasons, one of which being a free date night.

Looking over our calendar, even though we were doing the fair, Saturday was the best night for everyone involved, especially if we wanted to do a second trial run.  I just forgot one simple thing: I tell my mom.  Oops.  Walking around the fair in the morning, my mother-in-law asked me what Stacy and I were doing that evening sans child.  It took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about, but it dawned on me.  Then it hit me that I hadn't confirmed in any way, shape or form yet.  Bad son.  As soon as I got my mom on the phone, though, she (and especially my aunt) were thrilled to get a chance to take Grayson for the night.

I'm so blessed to have such a wonderful family (both sides) who live close and love Grayson so much.

The night went off without a hitch.

Someone remind me to schedule trial run #2 in advance....

Grayson's First Fair!

Here is Grayson entering the fair:

Here is Grayson waiting for roasted corn on the cob!  (Breakfast of champions!):

Grayson taking a much-earned late morning nap!:

Grayson watching his Grandfather's alma mater's marching band start the afternoon parade outside the dairy building.  (Malts and Sundaes were had...):

Grayson couldn't leave the fair without getting some cheese curds!:

Grayson had a wonderful day, as did the whole family.  His favorite part of the fair was definitely the horses. He was enthralled with such large, beautiful animals.  He may just ride them one day, as his mother did when she was younger.  He also met a goat named Drake who was ultra charming.

His second favorite part of the fair?  People-watching... of course.

My favorite part of the fair?  Watching my son take in all the sights, sounds and smells... a perfect day!

Poker Night

Anyone who knows me knows that I love playing cards.  Any cards.  My grandmother, Gigi, taught me various kinds of solitaire as a child.  I watched my mother play 500 as a kid.  My dad played gin rummy, and my uncle taught me cribbage.  I like just about any kind of card game you can imagine.  But I really enjoy playing poker.  There are so many things you have to consider when playing poker; there is math with odds and implied odds.  There is psychology with reading other players, posturing and just the fatigue that comes with keeping your head in the game at all times.  I don't play often enough to be good, but I'm not bad, and most times I play, I come out ahead.

Tonight, Stacy watched Grayson while I went to the local casino to play Limit Texas Hold 'Em.  I'm proud to say I was up tonight.  A whole $29 up, but up is still up!  This wasn't always the case, though.  The night had plenty of ups and downs for me.  I haven't played in a while, and my ability to read the table is rusty.  Even the fact that I ended up on the night, I still couldn't read the table consistently.

Early in the night, I was playing well.  I was able to disguise my hands, identify bad players, and bluff a few pots too.  (Bluffing is more challenging in limit poker because you can't make large bet to get a player off a hand... you have to sell your bluff the whole way.)  Soon, though, my cards went cold, the bad players were replaced by better players, and I had lost most of my table presence.  I was quickly becoming the mark at the table, the person that everyone takes a shot at, and I did little to protect myself from it.

Basically, I had resigned myself to being down for the night.  In truly bad form, I decided I was going to take a flier.  I had a decent hand to disguise, 8-7 suited, but there were some pre-flop raises in front of me, so I knew that I was going to be up against some bigger hands.  Mentally, I was done playing cards, and I had committed myself to seeing this out.  The flop came K-8-7 with two hearts (not my suit).  Betting ensued.  I caught enough to be dangerous.  I could only lose at the moment to pocket Ks, 8s or 7s.  The turn came up the 6 of diamonds, making a possible straight on the board.  With two pair, and so much money in the pot, I was committed to calling and seeing the river.  The river was the 4 of hearts.  My two pair looked miserably weak.  There was a flush on the board; any 5 would have made a straight.  And I was still losing to Ks, 8s, or 7s... plus anyone with a K and any other card on the board.

I knew I was dead.  I was last to act.  The first guy bet out.  The second guy called.  I made the call of $6 out of pure frustration at this point.  I had resigned to losing, and I had resigned to walking away at this point.  The bettor didn't even show his cards.  He mucked his bluff.  The next guy turned over big slick (A-K).  I was shocked.  I couldn't believe that I had won.  I flipped over my cards, called my hand, and raked in the pot.  It was one of the worst hands I played all night, and I managed to win my largest pot.  This got me back to even and better... after tipping the dealer, I was up $29 for the night.  I had just played my button.  It was time to go home.

Sometimes, it is better to be lucky than good.

The Great Minnesota Get-Together!

As a Minnesotan, I know that summer is coming to an end when the State Fair begins.  As someone who lives in Roseville (is that a Rosevillian or a Rosevillite?), I know that the State Fair has begun when my commute time on Hwy 36 triples!  I don't even think about going to Rosedale, Target or Rainbow during this 12 day stretch....

Yesterday, the State Fair began.  Over a million people will attend the fair.  Last year, 1,788,512 people attended.  Stacy and I were two of them.  Grayson attended in-utero, so it was really like 1,788.512.5 attended last year!

Tomorrow, Grayson will attend for the first time as a whole person, and I can't wait to see the look on his face as he takes in the smells of everything being fried and sees a horse for the first time.  I'm hoping that the Fair becomes an annual tradition for him.  I can't wait to see him go down the green slide for the first time (probably a bit young for that yet, but within the next few years, he will take a trip down it).  In a few years, he will taste a corn dog and a pronto pup; he will have to decide if he will stick with one or the other for the rest of his life, or maybe he will enjoy them for their nuanced differences.  There will be Martha's cookies, a bucket of french fries... all the milk he can drink.  We will also have to stop by Ole's Canoles just to say hello to an old friend.

Looking forward to reporting on his first trip tomorrow evening.  Until then, avoid Snelling.

Nursery Rhymes... SOOOO Creepy

I'm finding myself in a rut where I'm a half day behind... maybe I can catch up this weekend.  Basically, I created this post last night (8/21), but am writing it this morning (8/22).

Last night, Stacy and I were having dinner and feeding Grayson.  We've discovered how much Grayson enjoys music, so we've been alternating between pop songs and children's songs.  Last night was nursery rhymes on Pandora.  (What a wonderful invention: Pandora.com)

Most of the songs that came up were very familiar to Stacy and I.  We sung them as children, and, save for a different key or a syncopated rhythm, they are just as we remembered them.  As an adult, though, I'm paying attention to the lyrics and the themes of these songs.  I'm a bit mortified by what I'm hearing.  So much loss, depth, fear.

     Ring around the rosy/
     a pocket full of posies/
     Ashes to ashes/
     We all fall down

Wow.  Just wow.  Here kids!  Life goes on like you know it, having fun, but be sure to carry some flowers so you don't stink nearly as bad when you die... because we all die, and you will too someday!

One of my favorite childhood memories is my mother singing to me before bed.  The song I always remember her singing (and can still hear in my head to this day) is You Are My Sunshine.  The melody is sweet and tender; my mother's voice was always soft and pure.  As a child, I found great comfort in this song, and when it came on Pandora last night, I began to sing it to my son.  But this song was clearly written before stalking laws were prevalent.  Written in 1940 by a former governor of Louisiana, You Are My Sunshine juxtaposes a sweet melody with lyrics that are riddled with guilt and loss.

The whole lyrics can be found here, but I want to highlight one verse in particular:
     I'll always love you/
     And make you happy/
     If you will only say the same/
     But if you leave me/
     To love another/
     You'll regret it all some day

It reminds me of the scene in Wedding Crashers where Gloria Cleary says to Jeremy Gray in her creepiest voice, "Don't ever leave me... because I'll find you!"

I think for dinner tonight, we will just listen to heavy metal backwards; I think it will have less of a negative impact on Grayson...

Hot Summer Nights

After Stacy finished nursing Grayson and put him to bed, the two of us sat outside on our front porch drinking chilled beverages and watching Delilah scan the yard for signs of life.

I've never been one to do this in the heat of summer.  I prefer fall evenings with a little nip in the air.  Last night was probably one of the worst nights to try something like this; the temperature had settled into the high 70s, but the humidity from the day only seemed to be worse as the air cooled.  It was like sitting in a sauna that had been shut off about an hour ago.

Oddly,though, I found the whole experience refreshing.  Stacy and I actually got to talk about our days.  Delilah seemed to have fun.  It felt, in many ways, like a meditation... like my personal sweat lodge.  I guess when the air gets that thick, everything just slows down a bit.

I might have to suggest it again tonight.

I'll write something later

It's later, and I'm writing something.  I'm not writing something of substance, but I'm writing.

I saw an interesting post on Buzzfeed.com today, sponsored by Virgin Mobile, so it can be taken with a grain of salt... 15 Creepiest Facebook Graph Searches.  For those that aren't aware, Facebook recently rolled out a search function that allows you to use plain English to probe the depths of public information on the site and the private information that your friends allow you to see.

I think I'm going to review my likes and purge them!

Read the article.  It truly is creepy.

Zipper Merge

Everyone who's lived in Minnesota for any length of time knows that the state has two seasons: winter and road construction.  Both seem to last longer than they should, and both make driving pretty miserable.

Road construction makes trips to the lake a game of Russian Roulette.  Technology has made this game a little more predictable, but you still take a risk of getting stuck in traffic you don't expect.  Driving home today, Stacy and I were presented with two main options, neither of which seemed pleasant, but one looked like it had just a few minutes of delay at the point where construction started.  We chose this option.

Hwy 10, through Anoka, is down to one lane for a handful of miles.  Once you get down to one lane, though, traffic moves pretty well.  There are signs that warn you of the lane closure, but there are also signs that advise you to continue in the lane until it ends.

This concept is called the zipper merge.  It is widely publicized by MNDOT.  You can read about it here: http://www.dot.state.mn.us/zippermerge/

I wish that the driver of a late 2000s Chevy Suburban heeded this advice.

When I approached the point of merge, the cars in front of me behaved like they should.  It's as if they all passed kindergarten; they took turns.  One car from the right, then one from the left.  Everyone had to wait just a second, but everyone got on their way.  Then it was my turn.  The Suburban in the right lane (the lane that continued) hugged the bumper of the car in front of him.  I had my blinker on, and I figured he would yield.  I was wrong.  He almost ran me (and Stacy, Delilah and Grayson) off the road.

I honked hoping it would do something.  It didn't.  I was left to live with my frustration and disgust.  What can you do?

Then Pandora played the ukulele version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, as if it knew I needed to calm down.

We made it safely home.

I can only hope the owner of that Suburban reads this post...

Perfect Day

We are up north this weekend, and today was the perfect day. 

I had the pleasure of waking up with my son, bonding for a time before everyone else got up. I had a chocolate pastry for breakfast with a few cups of coffee. We relaxed for the morning, made lunch, then took a cruise on the pontoon under slightly cloudy skies. 

I took a nap!

There was a block party where I got to meet a lot of the neighbors around the lake. Appetizers were aplenty. We grilled chicken for dinner, then Stacy and I met friends for ice cream at a traditional candy shop and ice cream parlor.  

We capped off the night with a cocktail at the local bar. 

Ahhhh....

Gut Punch

When I was in the 6th grade, I was being bullied by a kid.  He was pushing me, shoving me, blocking my path.  Pretty typical for bullying, and nothing too horrific, but it felt awful at the time.  One day in class, we were lining up for something, and he lined up behind me.  Almost immediately, the shoving began.  I had put up with this for weeks now, and I had reached a boiling point.  I quickly spun around with a clenched fist, and I hit him square in the stomach.

I audibly knocked the wind out of him.  Ugh.  And I thoroughly pissed him off.

He threw me to the grown and started pounding on me.

The teacher quickly broke it up, and we were sent to the Principal's office.  After much finagling, and some outright lying, this kid and I convinced Paul Scharest that it was all a big misunderstanding.  We avoided detention, and it seemed like, to a degree, we had reached a tenuous truce.  It was the first time I had hit somebody, and it was the first time I had stood up to a bully.

I got punched in the gut today.  I'm still trying to catch my breath.

I received word about the internal position for which I had applied.  I didn't get the position.  Turns out, as far as I'm told, nobody did.  This team received word yesterday that they would not be allowed to fill any open positions for the remainder of the year, and they aren't even sure if they will be able to fill them next year.

To say I'm disappointed is a bit of an understatement.  Part of me wishes they had just chosen the other candidate.  I know that sounds weird, but I guess I would have preferred to lose to something other than a shift in budget; at least that way, I would know that it was in my control.  The thing that most upsets me is the fact that I was allowed to go so far down the process.  Obviously decisions come down when they come down, and I'm sure the hiring manager had no idea two weeks ago when they started the interview process... but it seems odd to me that I would go through the rigors of interviewing only to have the position remain open.

I still have a job, and today is Friday, so it isn't all clouds around here, but I'm staggered.  I've had the wind knocked out of me.

Hopefully a weekend up north will help me breathe again.

Feeding Yourself

Grayson fed himself for the first time tonight.  More accurately, we let him play with the spoon.  I purchased a bowl with a suction cup on the bottom to prevent it from being flung across the room.  I want to paint the dining room, but I don't necessarily want to paint it in carrots.

The bowl stayed in place.  This was cool.  The food, however, made it all over Grayson and the highchair.  Stacy was smart enough to remove Grayson's shirt first, but an immediate bath was mandatory as soon as dinner was done.

Overall, I would say that the first venture into self-feeding was a success.  Grayson had decent hand-eye coordination.  He even got the correct end of the spoon most of the time.  I don't, however, think this will be an every meal thing right away.  For every spoonful, there was also a handful.  I guess we taught him well how to eat finger food.  Now we just have to teach him that pureed turkey is NOT finger food.

Enjoying this ride called parenthood...

Calm on the outside...

I heard a rumor that today was the day that a decision was being made about the job for which I applied.  I'm trying my hardest to remain calm, to project an attitude of so-be-it-ness.  I've done the best I can do, and if that isn't good enough, then there must have been a better candidate.

But I want this job.  Badly.  I think I'd make a great fit.

So my Joe Cool exterior is merely a facade, a projection of confidence and nonchalance.  Inside, I'm freaking out.  My stomach is a mess.  I'm twitchy.  I keep checking the internal job-posting site for updates to my status.  I just want to know.

I have a difficult time being patient, but patience is all I have.

So I'll wait.  Maybe there will be news sometime tomorrow.  It will be challenging to remain focused at work.

Is my face turning red?  Or am I still pretending to the world that I'm the pinnacle of calm?

Interview Update

My day today was hectic, so much so that I forgot I drove into work today.  I took the bus all the way to my park and ride, walked up to where I normally parked, then ran back to the bus I just got off so I could take it all the way back downtown.  I added an extra hour to my commute.

I had meetings at 7:00, 8:30, 10:00, 12:00, 1:00 and 2:00 with interviews at 8:00, 9:00 and 11:00.  I barely got around to answering emails today.  It's no wonder I forgot where I left my car.  (One of these days, I'll write about the time in college when I lost my car.)

Despite my absentmindedness at the end of the day, I think I was spot on for my interviews.  Of the three I had today, I nailed the last two, and I think I did pretty well in my first.

The decision will come down soon.  Rumor has it the interviewers are meeting tomorrow.  They've promised to let me know by the end of the week.  I'll keep everyone posted, but I like my chances when I am the last candidate to interview; good or bad, they are comparing me against everyone else with the thought in their heads that it's decision time.

Hopefully I will remember where I put my car tomorrow.

Interviewing

When I was hired at Target last December, I knew that I was being hired for a project-funded role.  This meant that my job had a fixed duration; once the project was done, I would need to find something else to do at Target.  I am very much a full-time Target employee with an annual salary like most at headquarters... I was just hired into a role that had a defined end date.  Target is committed to me as a team member, and this role is just the first in what I hope will be a long career at Target.

I was hired in Dec.  It was a 12-18 month role.  WAS.

Projects change; scope gets shifted, and time lines get truncated.  If all goes as currently planned, my project will be complete sometime in September or October.

This means that I've been looking for my next opportunity for a few months or so, but in earnest over the last 4 weeks.  My manager has been great, encouraging me to meet with a host of people, but it is the the people I know from outside of work that have led to the most promising leads.

Tomorrow morning, one of those leads is paying off.  I have three interviews: 8:00, 9:00 and 11:00.  These are face-to-face discussions, and I think I'm well qualified for the role.  I just have to convince three people of this fact.

I'm not nervous.  I rarely am for an interview.  I just don't see the purpose of getting all worked up and edgy.  I am full of energy, though.  I'm hoping to get a good night's sleep.

I should know within a week or so whether I will get this job or have to continue looking... I'll keep you posted.

Falling Behind

This concept of writing every day is tough.  Grayson was sick last week; this sapped all of his energy, but it also sapped his parents' energy!

Friday, I went to bed at 9:30.  Saturday, it was 9:15.  Last night (tonight by the date stamp on this post), even though Grayson was in bed by 8:30 (and Stacy put him down), I was too tired to think, let alone write.  I willfully put it off.

I'm caught up now, save for the one post I still have lingering from a few weeks ago, but I'm feeling pretty guilty about it.  The whole intent of my experiment was to carve out time every day to write something, regardless of quality.  Lately, I've been failing to do that.  For those of you who checked my blog without the prompting of a link on Facebook, you were greeted with placeholder posts.  This was my way of cheating the timestamps; even when I edit a post, the original timestamp appears in the header of the post.  Certainly the "last edited" date will reflect when I made my last change, but at first glance, it will appear as though I wrote every day.

This is my third post this morning.  (After a 7:00am conference call, work has been a bit slow...)

One thing that I'm learning about grandiose proclamations that span a good deal of time: sometimes life gets in the way!

Yesterday's sermon dealt with faith, and the church has been actively engaged in thought around forgiveness. So I'm forgiving myself for not living up to my pledge to carve out time, recognizing that I'm doing the best I can to live up to the spirit of my promise to carve out time to write, and I'm taking it on faith that I will continue to work toward this goal for the next 9 months.

That's right... I'm only 3 months into this endeavor.  Pray for me... 

Cousins

Today, Grayson went to the park with his two cousins, Logan and Brynn.  Grayson went on a swing for the first time, and he went down his first slide (in Daddy's lap, of course).  After the park and some naps, the cousins came over to our place to splash around in our kiddie pool.  The water was frigid, fresh out of the hose, but the kids seemed to have lots of fun.  Nana and I made dinner for everyone, and we watched an Elmo movie on DVD.  It was a great day!

I can already tell that all three kids are going to have tons of fun as they grow older.  Even though we don't live in the same state, the cousins come up often enough that they will see each other a handful of times every year.  Logan, the oldest at three and a half years, is already interacting with Grayson, and G is fascinated with an older version of himself.  When they play together, they have the same laugh.  As they grow older, I know that they will be trouble!  I can only begin to imagine what they will be like as teenagers up at the lake chasing dogs and frogs, fishing, swimming, and generally terrorizing the neighborhood.  Brynn will fit in nicely, sandwiched between the two in age; she is already trying to do everything her older brother does.  No fear.

This doesn't even account for Grayson's older cousin in Illinois (Belle) or any future cousins he may have.

I'm jealous.  I only have two cousins.  The one that is closest in age to me has never really spent time around my side of the family; divorce was the primary culprit there.  My other cousin is much younger than me, and she lives in Ohio.  Even though I saw her once or twice a year, we are something like 13 years apart in age, so she wasn't exactly a partner in crime for me.

I've heard that cousins are your closest friends growing up.  I can already see that with Grayson and the gang.  I'm looking forward to the next 18+ years of watching them grow and play, and challenge each other and their parents.

Today was just another glimpse.

Pre-Season

The NFL just entered the first full week of pre-season football, and the sports media world is happy once again.

Football is the most popular sport in America by far; a regular season game between two random teams gets better TV ratings than the finals of any other sport in the country.  Only soccer seems more loved worldwide.  Because of this passion for football, throngs of Americans tune into sports radio to hear about the tiniest snippets of  information about their favorite teams.  Turn the channel to ESPN or the NFL Network, and I promise you will see a story about any prominent player and how his relationship status is affecting his play within 15 minutes.

Pre-season is the primer.  The games are "meaningless," in the fact that wins and losses do not factor into any standings.  Starters never play a full game.  Some superstars might not play a single snap of football during the pre-season; the main fear from teams is the risk of injury during meaningless games.  The main point of pre-season football seems to be the evaluation of a handful of players that are on the borderline of making the team... but even the majority of these decisions are made primarily based on practice.

The real point of pre-season football, from a team and league perspective, is to make 4 extra games worth of  money.

You see, despite the fact these games mean nothing, and despite the fact that most starters don't play a full game (tonight for the Vikings, the starting offense played two snaps), the NFL charges full, regular season prices for the tickets.

Yep.  Less than half the product.  All the cash outlay.

For any fan that purchases single-game tickets, this isn't a big deal, but the NFL is smart.  The NFL realizes that pre-season tickets are harder to sell, so they tie these tickets to other, more popular tickets.  If you want to buy season tickets, you are forced to buy pre-season tickets with them.  Post-season tickets, though, are extra; they are not included in your season ticket package, and the often cost double (or more).  Also, some teams will tie pre-season tickets to popular single-game tickets during the regular season.  Do you want to see the Packers at Vikings during the regular season?  There are "single" game tickets available for purchase... but you have to buy at least one pre-season ticket as well.

There are three more weeks of games before they begin to count... unless you are counting the dollars flying out of your bank account.  Like the players getting into game shape, though, the fans have an opportunity to try out new cheers or bathroom line strategies.

I just wish I could do it at half price.

Sick Kid

Stacy and I were supposed to have dinner with the old gang tonight. A few years back a group of 9 started a dinner club. The basic premise was a new restaurant every month recommended by a member of the group. Tonight, we were getting the gang back together. 

Grayson made other plans. He was ruining a fever. 

Plans change. We felt as though we couldn't leaveJimk 

I Think I'm Crazy

I downloaded an app yesterday. I have over 150 on my phone, so the act of downloading an app isn't reason for alarm. I'll listen to arguments about the number of apps though...

The crazy comes with the kind of app I downloaded: a fitness app. Specifically, I now have C25K. Couch to 5K. (I'm writing this on my couch right now.)  for those that know me, they know I'm not a runner. I'm far from it. My experiences with running are painful memories. I have bad knees, so the impact isn't easy. I have scars on my right hip from a run/sprint. 

No word yet on whether I'll use the app. Maybe yoga is more my speed. But I'm considering it. Befriending my enemy. 

Maybe I'll be competitive in my next 5K...

Cheaters Always Win

I read an interesting article today in the USAToday, not necessarily well-written, but an intriguing argument.  The gist of the theorem: MLB players will continue to use performance-enhancing drugs because the rewards far outweigh the penalties.  A-Rod, even after serving a potential 211 game suspension, will stand to make an additional $60M+.  Nelson Cruz will be a free agent after a 50 game suspension; he stands to sign a multi-year, multi-million dollar contract.  These contracts are based on statistics.  Numbers.  Production.  Performance.  Enhanced with drugs.  The kicker: these contracts are guaranteed. 

Why wouldn't you cheat?  You get fame and notoriety.  You get swimming pools filled with cash.  You risk your health, to a degree, but you have all this money to spend on top-notch medical care after you retire.  Sure... your "manhood" may get smaller, but that will always look small next to the stacks of cash on your nightstand.

When I was in high school, I took pre-calculus and calculus from the same teacher.  Mr. Skie.  He was a great teacher, and he had a tried and true method to get students to understand the subject matter.  In fact, he even encouraged his students to call him at home with math questions.  He spent years refining his grading policy.  It was simple.  There were three tests each quarter worth 40 points each.  He also gave you 20 points for homework automatically, but he took away points when assignments were not complete.  You could not, however, lose any more than 6 points a quarter for missing assignments. 

He guaranteed his students 14 points.  You could spit in his face, and you wouldn't lose more than 6 points.  (You'd probably get detention though.) 

As long as you got at least 116 of 120 points on tests, you would still receive a mathematical A.  If you managed to get 112 points on tests, you were guaranteed an A-.

I used this to my advantage.  I rarely did my homework.  In fact, I only did so much as was needed to understand the math lessons.  This was probably his point all along; as long as you knew the material, you should be able to receive an A.

Mr. Skie, though, was irked by my lack of effort and the apparent ease with which I comprehended calculus.  (I can't even complete a simple derivative today.)  My parents often came home from conferences demanding that I do more homework.

My response was simple: what more did they want from me than an A?  If Mr. Skie was so upset about it, he should change his grading policies.  He should make the penalties for not completing homework more punitive. 

Until then, I would continue to bend the rules to my benefit.

Until MLB makes the penalties stronger with longer suspensions and greater fines (or limiting the amount of future contracts to a league minimum), players will continue to be incentivize to use PEDs.  For them, it pays to cheat.

Gaining Perspective

I heard a caller on a talk radio show say something to the effect that with age comes perspective.  The host seemed to agree, as if perspective is something that can be learned or earned over time.  In this sense, perspective seems equal to experience or, better yet, wisdom.  They were trying to answer the question of whether it is better to burn out or fade away, and the consensus seemed to be that youth was in the moment, but that age gained perspective to reach to proper conclusion that it is better to fade away.

I certainly hope that, over time, I gain experience and wisdom.  I like to think that now that I'm 35, I make better decisions than when I was 25.  Or 20, 18, 15. 

But experience and wisdom aren't perspective.  They are one or more perspectives.

By definition, perspective is a vantage point; it is the angle by which an object or situation is viewed.  Just ask any artist, any photographer.  In fact, artistic perspective is just about the only kind of perspective that is learned over time.  I remember pulling out rulers in art class, drawing perspective lines that met at an infinite horizon.  When I joined these lines with perfect vertical lines, I got a pretty realistic streetscape.  Yay for me.  This wasn't wisdom; it was hardly art.

Perspective in life is something that every person possesses regardless of age, experience or wisdom.  My perspective is uniquely mine at this point in space and time.  It is different than Stacy's or Grayson's, but theirs is no less valid or correct than mine.  To disregard their perspective as anything less than mine because they are younger (yes... I married a younger woman) is pretentious at best. To dismiss theirs now would be to dismiss my current perspective tomorrow... and I think my perspective is pretty valid right now.

I didn't have the time to call into the radio show and offer my perspective on perspectives... so I have this blog, and my perspective is this:

We all have perspectives; it isn't something that is gathered over time.  It is just something that changes over time.  At this moment in time, I'd prefer to fade away. 

Tomorrow, though, I might prefer to burn out. 

Both will be valid to me in the moment, and that is all that matters.



 

Sunburn

Sunburn is nature's hangover.  You have to pay for the fun you had the day before.

Sure... we have sunscreen.  It is a wonderful invention, but it is rarely as effective as you think.  Personally, I forget to reapply as the day wears on... I think I'm fine.  My skin feels warm, but that is the point of being in the sun, right?

Today was a sneaky day... the sun was warm, but the clouds were just thick enough where the sun wasn't too bright.  AND there was a breeze.  I didn't put on nearly enough sunscreen.  My neck is a bit crisp today.

The worst part about it, though... Grayson got his first sunburn.  It isn't bad, but he certainly has a rosy glow to his cheeks and nose.

The good news is that he doesn't seem bothered by it.  It isn't bad at all, and it will be gone by Tuesday for sure.  Of all the firsts we've been tracking (first "mama", first banana, first time rolling over), this is one that probably won't make the baby book.  It is, however, something that will happen more, especially with summers at the lake.

Welcome to your first summer "hangover."  I still think the boat ride was worth it.

Something I Haven't Done in a Long Time

Today: I read. 

Okay, so I read every day. I read headlines and the occasional article. I read countless emails and a handful of blog posts/buzz feeds. I read every day. 

But I rarely read a book. For pleasure. 

Today, the extended family took a boat ride around the lakes; Stacy and Grayson took a nap. Delilah laid at my feet. I got to sit on the deck and read a book (hardcover!). I was able to pick up the book I referenced about 8 weeks ago: "Tell My Sons."  I had read the forward and a handful of pages, no more than two at a time, but I hadn't really gotten to sit down with the book. 

In about an hour, I was able to read about 50 pages. I never was a speed reader, but I'm clearly rusty. Regardless, I was able to get into a rhythm, to sense the author's style, to see themes develop. The first few chapters are both heart-wrenching and awe-inspiring. I can't wait to carve out time to read more. Knowing now that the author recently lost his battle with cancer, I'm even more intrigued to we how he ends the book, his message to his sons. I want to see if he stays true to his word that the book would act as a reference later in life. 

The lesson I learned today: I can still enjoy reading. 

Up North

This is more status update than blog post. I'll claim it's because I'm mobile, but it has more to do with it already being 11:00. 

We are up north this weekend. Left the cities around 7:00. Made great time. It's a full house this weekend: Nana and Papa, uncle Brian and aunt Erica, cousins Logan and Brynn. And, or course, Delilah. 

Time for bed. The lake and a car show tomorrow. Papa gets to show off his 1965 LeMans. 

3 Big Things Today

1. Grayson discontinued his cranial cap.  That's right.  G won't be wearing a helmet anymore.  His head is as close to perfect as we are going to get it, and he has reached an age where the helmet would less effective.  Basically, his head's growth rate has slowed significantly.  This is a huge day for him, and for us as parents.  I can't count the number of times I've been asked why G had a helmet... was it because he has seizures?  I understand why people ask, but it gets tiring trying to explain that your son is normal, that he doesn't have a neurological or mental disorder that requires him to protect his head.  No more.  G gets to feel the wind in his hair (and the edge of the coffee table on his forehead).

2. Gay marriage became a thing in Minnesota today.  I've written enough about this in the past, so I won't write much... but this is a big day.  Starting at midnight, 42 couples were married at Minneapolis City Hall by the mayor.  Crowds cheered.  Couples kissed.  Love was recognized, honored and celebrated.  Yay.  I can't wait to see more couples get married.  I have a feeling in 50 years, people will look back on this day the way they look back on Rosa Parks today.  Also, yay to Rhode Island.  Same thing; different state.

3.  Grayson was born 10 months ago.  This means that he has officially spent more time outside the womb than he spent in it.  I can't believe how much he has changed and grown, especially over the last 2 months.  He is about ready to walk; you can see his mind churning, working to figure out how he is going to get around.  Talking is also around the corned.  Life will change.  Again.  Loving every minute of it.

Night of History

As the clock strikes midnight and today becomes tomorrow, the State of Minnesota will marry dozens of gay couples, maybe hundreds, in courtrooms, churches and secular places. 

Note this day. (Or August 1). It is the first step after bigotry left our state

A Lesson in Civil Disobedience

Back to American Experience...

When you spend two hours a day, five days a week with a group of students and a couple of teachers, you grow comfortable with each other.  You don't necessarily like everyone, but you take comfort in the certainty of their actions; you know what to expect from them, and you tend to act and react in certain patterns.  The teachers are a part of this interaction, and with one of my teachers in particular, I had build up quite the rapport.

Mary Peterson, Peetie for short, and I liked to verbally spar.  I was a punk of a kid, always pushing the boundaries of respect, believing that the rules were for everyone else around me, but I was above them in some grand way.  Mary (and I would call her that to her face in front of other students) seemed both to thrive off of my general disrespect and be horribly annoyed by it.  She once called me Timone (from the Lion King), and I quickly snapped back that she was Pumba, the wild boar.  She turned a wonderful shade of red after that one.

Late in the year, we were studying the 1960s, specifically Martin Luther King, Jr. and his brand of civil disobedience.  To drive this lesson home, Peetie called a pop quiz one day.  The rules were simple: everything off your desk, no talking, 10 minutes.  When the quiz was passed out, it was on material we hadn't yet covered in class.  I raised my hand, but I wasn't called on to ask my question.  So I asked it anyway.  Immediately, Mary threw me out of the class, told me to wait in the hallway.  There was murmuring from my classmates, but they were quickly snapped at to be quiet. 

I waited out in the hall, fuming, for 10 minutes, while the rest of the class tried in vain to answer questions to which they hadn't been taught the answers.  At the end of the quiz, Mary called me back from the hall, and she asked me to stand in front of the class.

She apologized for not cluing me in (she wanted an honest reaction), but the quiz was a fake.  The real lesson was to prove to the class how difficult it was to stand up to authority, even when you knew that wrong was being inflicted.  There were about 60 students in the class, and none of them stood up for me.  I was innocent this time... I swear.  Mrs. Peterson drove the point home.  I still remember being hurt by her actions, but dumbfounded by the lack of action from my classmates.  I wonder what I would have done had the roles been reversed.  Who I have spoke up and risked my precious grade?

I'd like to think I would have... if for no other reason that to try to take Peetie down another notch.  I really was a punk of a teenager.

Django

Stacy and unjust finished watching Django Unchained. I'm still in a bit of shock... not because I abhor violence in movies, but because parts of the movie were downright cheesy. I understand it was a nod to the spaghetti westerns of old which had a cartoonish nature about their violence (and a black & white sense of justice), but I believe that had more to do with a lack of special effects than a desire to be cheesy. Cheese was simply the consequence. 

Parts if the film were brilliant. Christop Waltz deserved his Oscar. The soundtrack was typically wonderful. The opening sequence was riveting. I also enjoyed the cameos; Don Johnson as Big Daddy was pretty fun to see. 

I'm still left with an uneasy feeling a out the film, though. Maybe it's because I feel as though it was just Tarantino's excuse to use the "N" word a thousand times (I'd love to do a word count on the script). Maybe it was the crazy way Jamie Foxx made his horse dance at the end... I heard someone describe the movie as the best film they had ever seen. For me, it wasn't even the best film Tarantino has made. 

Oh, and the blood was over the top; a six shooter is not capable of throwing a body across a room, and a rifle doesn't blow up a torso from 150 yards out. 

I've Put This Off Long Enough

When I was a junior in high school, I enrolled in a class called the American Experience.  It was a double block class that was a combination of English and History taught by two teachers.  The assignments intertwined, and the grades were combined.  It was worth double the credits, thus it offered double the risk and reward.  The class wasn't quite advanced placement, but it was an honors course (to a degree). 

One of the most important aspects of AmEx was time management, or so the teachers would have their students believe.  I'm sure this was true for most students.  In order to prove their point, the teachers (I had Mrs. Grengs and Mrs. Peterson) created an assignment that's sole purpose was to prevent procrastination and force students to work over time.  AmEx had 7 themes.  I can't recall them today, but I'm sure they made sense at the time.  The assignment was to collect articles from the local newspaper, clip five articles for each theme, write a summary of each article and how it related to the particular theme, then write a summary of each section/theme.  All of the articles had to be bound.  250 points were possible.  No late assignments would be accepted.  If you were sick, you'd better make sure that your parents turned it in for you.  To ensure that no begging would happen, Grengs and Peterson took the day off.

I laughed at the assignment, thinking it would be easy.  I decided to wait until the night before the assignment to begin.

That evening, I worked until about 8:00.  I got home, showered to get the smell of grease off me (more about my first job later), and I grabbed the stack of newspapers my family had received over the last week or so.  After the first hour, realizing that I didn't have a way to bind my project, I brewed a pot of coffee.  I found construction paper.  I punched holes in 42 pages (5 articles times 7 themes plus 5 theme summaries and a front and back cover).  I bound the pages with shoe laces, and I began to look for my 35 articles.  After about 10 or so, I brewed another pot of coffee.  And another.

By 3:00am, I was half way through my fourth pot.  I couldn't see straight.  I was jittery.  I decided to go to sleep, if only for a few hours.  My alarm went off at 5:00.  It was a Wednesday, so I had barbershop rehearsal at 6:30.  I worked for another half hour or so before rehearsal, then I worked for another few minutes before I remembered that I had a pre-calculus exam first period.  Obviously, I hadn't studied.

AmEx was during second and third periods.  I still had a ways to go on my project, but it wasn't due until the end of third period.  The substitute put on some movie; I don't remember which, but it wasn't The Lion King (more on that later).  All I remember was asking Winnie Brodt to help me search for articles.  I handed her a stack of newspapers; she clipped, and I wrote summaries.  I wrote my last summary as the movie ended and the dismissal bell rang.  I tied the shoe laces, and I dropped my project on the cart, turning it in.

I immediately went to the nurse's office to sleep.  I was jittery and nauseous.  I missed choir fourth period.  I was fried.

I got a 245/250.  An A. 

I learned that procrastination isn't the end of the world, even if you feel like your world is ending as soon as you're done.

My uncle

I had a 45 minute conversation with my uncle, Lawrence tonight. It was a good conversation. He even thanked me for it at the end. 

Lawrence is my father's youngest brother. He is in his mid 50s. He works as a janitor. He has autism. 

For Lawrence, this means that he focuses on a small group of things, trying to become an expert in them. It also means that he doesn't form many conclusions on his own, but those he does form become ingrained. 

Tonight we talked about Detroit and bankruptcy. We talked about wearing a helmet every time he rides is motorcycle. We talked about DWIs. We talked about pensions  and retirements and trusts. 

Then the conversation came full circle: Lawrence thinks that Detroit just needs to raise the fines for DWIs. In his mind, this just proves the point that Detroit can easily solve its problems. We discussed that this was not possible, there aren't enough arrests to make up 18B in shortfalls. 

But math like that isn't his strong suit. I'm sure we will go over it again soon

Weekends Aren't What They Used To Be

Now that I have a kid, weekends aren't what they used to be. 

When I was in college, the only day that wasn't the weekend was Tuesday. We partied often, but even in college, Friday and Saturday had a magic all their own. Friday nights started at 9:00. They went until at least 2:00. Saturdays, especially in the fall, started with pre-game  parties as early as 8:00. There was almost always a nap. Then the party would pick back up until the bars closed  

After college, weekends actually became two (okay, maybe three) days long. Evenings started earlier. Nights ended a bit sooner. The partying remained vigilant, though.  

Now, Fridays start at 5:30. I'm lucky if they last until 10:00. Saturdays are devoted to getting as much done around the house as possible, often rendering the evening short too. Sundays you try to get as much done that got left over from Saturday. Unless it is football season. Then I watch football for as long as possible. 

Tonight is no different. Happy Friday everyone!  I'm heading to bed. 

Exhausted

As I mentioned last night, I was exhausted by the time I found time to write.  I had the pleasure of spending the evening with Grayson.  I thoroughly enjoy the father/son bonding time, but it is tiring.  As I've stated before, I do not know how single parents manage to function.

Grayson is reaching the phase of childhood where he needs to be able to see me at all times.  The interaction is wonderful!  He is fully engaged with me, what I'm doing, and the environment around him.  You can tell that he is soaking in as much information as possible, and, because he is mobile, he wants to explore the environment around him.  I think it is this desire to learn that makes him want to stay awake.

He was as tired as I was last night, but he refused to go to sleep.  This meant that he was up past 9:00.  This also meant that I was able to finally make dinner for myself at 9:02.  Stacy arrived home shortly thereafter; by the time we were done talking about our days, it was 10:30, and I was soooo ready for bed.

I cheated a bit with the blog.  This means that I still owe one more post from the weekend and a second one today.  I think one of those posts will explore my love/hate relationship with procrastination...

Wiener/Danger

I'm not much of a political mind; I understand major issues and how I think people should vote on them, but I never ran for student government nor do I go door to door on behalf of local candidates. 

I watched the West Wing, and I love the references that Dulè Hill makes on Psych to his old character, Charlie, but I'm not Aaron Sorkin by any means. 

I'll tell you what I do know, though. When you get caught sexting, stop. Plain and simple rule, really. I'm not the guy that goes around judging or telling others how to live their lives... But this is just common sense. And don't use a cheesy alias like Carlos Danger. The only things In danger are  Wiener's career and his marriage. 

Maybe it's time to go back to a flip phone (sans camera), and to place bug sweeps on all exits. 

Or you could just stop sending pictures of your genitalia to women you don't know, even if you don't fully understand the value of your reputation. 

Having a catch

I've never called it having a catch. That phrase was made known to me when I watched "Field of Dreams."  I've always called it playing catch. 

Anyhoo... My son has started to play catch. Or more accurately, he's learned to have a catch. Have daddy catch. He will lean over the back of the couch (his new trick), and he will hurl an object in my direction. I pick it up, hand it back, and then he giggles as he repeats the project. 

I can't begin to describe how elated this makes me. His laugh, his wanting to interact with me, his strong left arm. I'm smiling just thinking of it. I can't wait to play agin tomorrow. 

A Case of the Mondays

I can't believe the Royal Baby is a boy!  Just kidding.  I'm not blogging about the royal family.  Ever.

I have a case of the Monday's, or more accurately, I had a case.  My day started out fine.  The alarm felt a little early, and I had an awfully hard time leaving Grayson at daycare today, but there wasn't anything jolting about it.  My first meeting wasn't until 10:00 even.  Then I realized that I had a 2 hours meeting at the end of my day.

Ugh.

What made it worse was the fact that the meeting had the audacity to run long.  I had been doing the pee-pee dance in my conference room chair for about 30 minutes, but that and the other 90 minutes I offered up didn't seem to satiate the facilitators.  They had question after question, an additional 20 minutes worth.  Then the bus ride took longer (after I found the nearest restroom).  Then the lines at the grocery store were long.  Then the mustard had expired. 

I was grumpy, and I was starting to take it out on my wife.  Until she set me straight.  Then I looked at my son, and he smiled at me from his highchair.  Then we sat on a blanket outside as a family.  Then there was beer.  Okay... the beer came somewhere after the smile but before the blanket.

So I guess this is a bit of an apology to my wife and a thank you to my son.

I think I'm ready for the rest of the week.

Oops!

So the weekend kinda got away from me.  I missed two days in a row, but it was mostly because I was so busy enjoying the weekend.

I got to spend all day Saturday with Grayson... just the two of us!  We didn't do much, but it was special to have a whole day with him to hang out and bond.

Sunday I got up early to play guitar at church, then Stacy and I spent the day with Grayson shopping and playing.  The saga of the iPhone is now complete.  We went to the Apple Store yesterday to get a replacement.  Everything is restored, backed up, and back to normal.

Despite being busy this weekend, I still feel a little guilty for not blogging.  I'll make it up with double posts for a few days this week.  I'm still on pace to hit 365 posts for the year, and I'm staying true to the spirit of my self-inflicted challenge of writing every day.  I now have 72 posts for 74 days.  I've only missed 4 days total, so I'm feeling pretty good about my progress.

Another post is coming later today.  Enjoy your Monday!

Memories Restored

After almost two months, all of the photos and videos from Stacy's iPhone are safe and secure.  We received word this week that the second data recovery company was able to retrieve every single file from the phone.  It arrived via FedEx today, and it is currently stored in two locations; there will be a third location tomorrow.

I was on the fence about whether the recovery was worth the cost.  After watching the video of my son say "mama" for the first time, I know it was worth every penny.  These memories are precious, and they are priceless.

We basically spent about $.30 per photo/video.  When we were in the hospital, a professional photographer showed up and offered to sell us some service.  We thought we were getting more photos than we received... but when it boils down to it, we spent almost $20 per photo from her.  Those pictures are important, but not nearly as personal or intimate as the ones from the phone. 

As far as I'm concerned, we got a steal on 6+ months of memories.  Stacy and I couldn't be happier with our purchase.

Thinking About Giving Up Facebook

I've been a casual Facebook user since about 2001, when I was a grad student at St. Kate's, and Facebook was still reserved for .edu email addresses.  Back then, it was refreshingly romantic and new.  Your circle of friends were only those people you went to class with; there were no parents or co-workers.  There were no random people from your past.  There were only people you knew and interacted with in the non-virtual world too.

A lot has changed in the past 10+ years.  Facebook has reached over 1,000,000,000 users.  My aunts and uncles are on there... old acquaintances who barely said in the first place... people from all aspects of my life.

I've had two odd experiences today.  First, someone that I'm "friends" with asked me why I accepted her friend request years ago.  I couldn't even figure out who she was anymore, and she wouldn't share details with me.  It was clear she went to my high school given our mutual friends, but I had to go to my yearbook to figure out who she was.  I've since unfriended her.  Odd that unfriend is now a common verb.  Second, I made what I thought was an innocent post today.  Turns out I offended someone.  In this world of political correctness, it has become harder and harder to not offend someone, and with the instant access and decreasing attention spans, with people needing info now so they can make snap judgments moments before now, just about anything you type can be taken in a way you didn't intent.

Sometimes these offenses are grounded and founded.  Other times, I just think people are looking for an argument. 

If my world weren't so connected already, I'd just delete my account.  I don't think I'm ready to pull that trigger yet, but I'm considering stopping all status updates for a while.  We will see. 

Obviously, I'll still post this blog entry there.  Grrr.

Cars with Glitches

I was at the local liquor store today.  I'm there often enough where the staff recognizes me, but not so often that they know me by name.  They are good folk.  The guy who rung me up today noticed that I drove up in a Volvo.  Turns out he owns one too.

My car is a 2005 Volvo S40.  It was the first full year of a new design; they released it as a 2004.5.  The clerk owned a 2006.  Very similar cars.  As he was running my debit card, he asked me how I liked my car.

I love my car.  I really do.  It was the first new car I ever purchased.  I remember, as a teen, my dad would tell me that there is nothing better than a new car and the satisfaction you get from buying one.  He was right.  To this day, I'm still happy with my purchase.

But it is time to consider putting it to bed and getting something else.  Over the last 2 years, I've had a host of problems that needed attention and money.  I still have some of them; my truck won't open when I want it to, but it often opens when I put the car in drive.  The clerk has the same problems.  All of them.  And I'm sure he has a few others that I haven't discovered yet.  (Maybe its the other way around.)

It will probably be another year before I buy something different.  My commute to the bus stop is short; the engine runs well.  I have new tires.

But soon, I will buy something different.

Daycareless Day

Aunt Kate, Uncle Jerry and Cousin Belle are in town (with Sammie, the terrier mix).  They haven't been in town since Christmas, which means they haven' seen Grayson in over six months.

That's a bit of an eternity.

So Aunt Kate asked if they could spend a whole day with G-Man, and Stacy and I were happy to oblige.  I dropped Grayson off at Grandma's house a little before 7:00am.  They spent all day playing, shopping, eating, swimming and napping.  It sounded like everyone had a fabulous day. 

After work, Stacy and I joined everyone for dinner: steaks, potatoes, fruit salad and sangria.  Grayson was all smiles, as he got passed around and cuddled.  He played cards in Uncle Jerry's lap; Belle fed him... even Sammie gave him some kisses.  (I forgive her youthful exuberance for knocking him over at one point.)

All of this brings a smile to my face.  I recognize just how blessed I am (we are) to have both sides of our family close by and to be surrounded with such love.  They say it takes village... I've found mine.

Chasing Classic Cars

I just finished watching an episode of "Chasing Classic Cars" on Velocity.  The show is really just about a man who loves all kinds of classic cars, especially Ferraris.  He makes a living buying and selling rare vehicles, and acting as a broker for people who want to do the same.  It is a good living, but what makes this guy so special is that he truly loves cars.  It is his passion, and it shows. 

Tonight's episode focused on a 1955 AC Ace.  That's okay; I hadn't heard of it either.  It's British, and it cost about USD$2700 new.  The episode would have been just fine if our main guy was buying it, selling it, auctioning it off... but what made this episode something to write about is the fact that our guy was restoring it on behalf of a son.  The son was buying it for his father because this was his father's car.  Not the same model that his dad owned; this was the car his father ordered new in Jan. 1955.  His father raced the car for that year, winning 5 races before he blew the engine and couldn't afford to repair it.  His father had to sell the car for far less than he paid for it.

Our car guy heard the story, found it, bought it, restored it and sold it to the son.  The son gave it to his dad.  Everyone (including Stacy and I) cried.

The thought that ran through my head is this: I pray that I will be a good-enough father to Grayson that he feels compelled to do something similar for me.  I don't necessarily want a car; maybe he can't afford that.  But I hope that I've done enough for him, and raised him right enough, that he thinks to do something so meaningful for me. 

If Grayson does, I will know that I succeeded as a father.

Mission Trips

Yesterday 12 youth and 2 adults from my church embarked on a week-long mission trip to NYC.  I believe this is their 2nd year in a row going to New York where they will be partnering with various organization throughout their stay.  It sounds like a pretty cool trip.

One of the first things I ever did with my youth group was take a mission trip.  I was 13, going into the 7th grade.  We headed east too, just not to a place as populated or urban as NYC.  We went to a small town in West Virginia.  There were about 10 kids and 2 adults crammed into a 15 passenger van.  If I remember correctly, we stayed in the basement of a UCC church in Chicago for the drive down.  We listened to "I Wanna Drive a Zamboni" incessantly.  On cassette.  There were not such things as CD players in rental vans back in 1991, let alone iPods which would be unleashed 10 years later.

Our mission was to clean up a rundown daycare center in the thick of the Appalachian Mountains.  We had a blast.  We shaved odd shapes into our hair, which we dyed with Kool-Aid.  We tore down old structures and burned them.  We cleaned.  We painted.  We bonded.  Some of us even picked up local accents.

But my biggest memory of the trip was discovering just how allergic I was to grass pollen.  One of the maintenance staff at the center had just mowed half of a field.  The other half was chest high on me at the time.  The local dog had gotten loose; it was big, white, fluffy... a working dog, though.  I felt it my duty to chase and corral  the beast.  S/he led me through the freshly mowed grass and into section that had yet to be cut.  The chase exhausted me, so I laid down for a nap.

When I awoke, I couldn't open my eyes, and my breathing was pretty strained.  This panicked my youth director, so we hopped in the rental van and made our way to the nearest ER.  The drive panicked me.  In my memory, the ER was over an hour away (it was probably within 30 minutes), and we had to drive through winding mountain roads to get there.  My youth director seemed to be in a hurry (understandably), and I couldn't see, so it felt like I was on a roller coaster blindfolded.

I'm here and writing this, so everything turned out fine, but I don't run through fields like that anymore.  That mission trip taught me a lot of things.  I like to think I helped out a ton of kids, but most importantly, I learned a ton about myself, and I bonded with a group of kids that would be some of my closest friends for the next 6 years or so.  I'm still friends with some of them today.

I hope our current youth have a similar experience this trip, minus any visits to the ER.

Selling Furniture

Stacy has a degree in interior design rooted in her love of mid-century modern.  She has been a designer for the longest time, but her most recent role is primarily focused on selling furniture to businesses.

Her job comes with a discount.  She loves furniture.  We buy furniture.

This means we have extra furniture lying around, but especially now that we have a child we don't have a place for the extra stuff.  Craigslist can be wonderful, but it can also be frustrating.  Selling to friends can be worse though. 

We sold a couch today to a family friend, but we also sold it to her about 4 weeks ago.  It just took that long for us to figure out a way to get it to her.  More accurately, it took that long for me to get fed up with having to store an extra couch.  She was supposed to arrange transportation, but I ended up borrowing my father-in-law's truck and hauled the couch across the city myself.

Not ideal, but I'm excited to have the floor space back. 

Now if I could only clear out the furniture from my side of the garage!