I do the majority of the cooking for my family. Over the years, I've learned to enjoy cooking and the experimentation that comes with it. Stacy doesn't necessarily like to cook, so it just worked out that I do most of the cooking. Before children (and this habit has clung to life since Grayson was born), cooking started with shopping. I would make 4-5 trips to the grocery store every week, buying just enough for a meal or two, getting inspired by what I saw when I shopped.
Some creations work out beautifully. Others are edible. Occasionally, my creations fail miserably. Stacy is a great sport about it, often hiding her discontent with the final product. But I can tell. Before I serve something new, I joke that if it is bad, I've got $20 and Domino's on speed dial; an acceptable dinner is always just 30 minutes away. I've yet to actually call for a pizza; there is always something in the pantry I can whip up (or a frozen pizza in the freezer), but the joke remains.
Tonight, I made steak, spinach and herb butter pinwheels for dinner. I paired it with cheddar garlic mashed potatoes and roasted balsamic asparagus. The pinwheels were awful. The meat tasted overcooked even though is was rare, and the butter melted away, but never really melted into the meat. Stacy was a good sport; we both tried our best to like the steak. But midway through the meal, I spoke up and said I thought it was horrible. Stacy simply said that she wasn't sure she could finish it.
Thank goodness I made extra mashed potatoes.... otherwise I was going to have to call the pizza guy.
Hopefully my next experiment goes better.
6.30.2013
6.29.2013
Every Boy Should Have a Puppy
The first dog I remember meeting (and probably the first dog I ever met) was my grandfather's miniature poodle named Chico. I got to see Chico a few times a year, every Christmas and a weekend stay here or there. Chico was a good dog, obedient. He was good with children, and he lived until he was over 20 years old, blind, deaf and arthritic.
A few times a year, though, wasn't enough for me. I wanted a dog of my own. I wanted puppy kisses waking me up in the morning, and I wanted a playmate to throw a ball to whenever I wanted. The only problem was my mother; she didn't care for dogs, or at least didn't care for the idea of having to look after something else that may run through the neighborhood.
When I was about 10 years old, I found a German Sheppard named Charlie wandering down Iona Lane. Charlie was friendly; he allowed me to approach him and pet him. I had been taught how to approach dogs. I brought him into the backyard, and I gave him water. His collar had a phone number. We called it, and about 30 minutes later, after I had chased Charlie around the yard, a woman in her 20s or 30s pulled up in a brand new, white 1988 Pontiac Trans Am 20th anniversary addition.
I begged again for a dog, but I was denied. I was told that when I was an adult, with a house of my own, I could get a dog. Until then, the matter was closed.
So I grew up. I graduated college. I remember sitting in a TGIF on a Friday evening (ironic, I know), on a date with the woman who would become my first wife. We talked about dogs. We talked about Chico and Charlie. We talked about her phobia of dogs, and how she would never own one. I remember consciously choosing to love her and give up my dream for a dog that night, that a relationship was more important than a dog... that if I married her, I would probably never own a dog.
But life is funny, and every boy should own a dog.
I'm married to a dog lover now. 3 months after we bought our house, we bought an 8-week-old puppy. She is sleeping on the floor behind me as I type this, and she is dreaming of something, growling in her sleep, woofing at a bunny or a duck. Delilah is a dream come true. She is loyal, obedient, and loving. She hogs the bed a bit, and her breath is something awful, but she is always there for me. Delilah will be 3 years old in another month or so.
Every time I look at her and think for more than a second, I'm reminded of the odd twists of fate in life, and I'm reminded that a boy should never give up on his dreams.
A few times a year, though, wasn't enough for me. I wanted a dog of my own. I wanted puppy kisses waking me up in the morning, and I wanted a playmate to throw a ball to whenever I wanted. The only problem was my mother; she didn't care for dogs, or at least didn't care for the idea of having to look after something else that may run through the neighborhood.
When I was about 10 years old, I found a German Sheppard named Charlie wandering down Iona Lane. Charlie was friendly; he allowed me to approach him and pet him. I had been taught how to approach dogs. I brought him into the backyard, and I gave him water. His collar had a phone number. We called it, and about 30 minutes later, after I had chased Charlie around the yard, a woman in her 20s or 30s pulled up in a brand new, white 1988 Pontiac Trans Am 20th anniversary addition.
I begged again for a dog, but I was denied. I was told that when I was an adult, with a house of my own, I could get a dog. Until then, the matter was closed.
So I grew up. I graduated college. I remember sitting in a TGIF on a Friday evening (ironic, I know), on a date with the woman who would become my first wife. We talked about dogs. We talked about Chico and Charlie. We talked about her phobia of dogs, and how she would never own one. I remember consciously choosing to love her and give up my dream for a dog that night, that a relationship was more important than a dog... that if I married her, I would probably never own a dog.
But life is funny, and every boy should own a dog.
I'm married to a dog lover now. 3 months after we bought our house, we bought an 8-week-old puppy. She is sleeping on the floor behind me as I type this, and she is dreaming of something, growling in her sleep, woofing at a bunny or a duck. Delilah is a dream come true. She is loyal, obedient, and loving. She hogs the bed a bit, and her breath is something awful, but she is always there for me. Delilah will be 3 years old in another month or so.
Every time I look at her and think for more than a second, I'm reminded of the odd twists of fate in life, and I'm reminded that a boy should never give up on his dreams.
6.28.2013
iPhone Update
It's looking grim for the iPhone data.
After 3 weeks and a 20% deposit, DataRetrieval was unable to recover any data from the iPhone.
I have to admit, I'm extremely disappointed. I thought for sure if we just threw some money at the problem, we'd be able to recover the data from the phone. Apparently, DataRetrieval can't.
All hope is not lost. We will still send it to at least another retrieval place, and I think I still have the option of reformatting the phone and trying to recover ghost data.
But the prognosis isn't great.
Oh well... accidents happen. More importantly, lessons have been learned. Back up your memories!
After 3 weeks and a 20% deposit, DataRetrieval was unable to recover any data from the iPhone.
I have to admit, I'm extremely disappointed. I thought for sure if we just threw some money at the problem, we'd be able to recover the data from the phone. Apparently, DataRetrieval can't.
All hope is not lost. We will still send it to at least another retrieval place, and I think I still have the option of reformatting the phone and trying to recover ghost data.
But the prognosis isn't great.
Oh well... accidents happen. More importantly, lessons have been learned. Back up your memories!
6.27.2013
Call for Summer Music Suggestions
I spent most of my day reviewing and revising a PowerPoint deck for a meeting (important) I'm co-facilitating on Monday. When I need to zone out and get large chunks of work done, especially when it comes to editing, revising writing, I turn on the tunes. I have roughly 4000 songs loaded onto my iPhone; this is the equivalent of a few days of playback.
I had an epiphany today while working: the majority of the songs I own are depressing.
Dylan, Cash, Tina & the B-Sides, Ray Lamontagne, Tom Waits, the Indigo Girls, Gin Blossoms, Counting Crows... the vast majority of it is simply born from sadness.
This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Tons of the greatest art has been born from the greatest tragedies. Heck, most of anything I've created that's worth something at all has its roots in the most challenging moments of my life. I enjoy a good song (or poem or painting) that deals with difficult emotions. That is one of the ways I process feelings.
But this is summer. And I'm working. And I don't want to be pulled down those kinds of rabbit holes while the sun is shining (and I'm stuck inside).
I'm looking for suggestions. Please recommend something upbeat, positive, but not too pop/bubblegum.
Who are you listening to this summer? Who should I be listening to?
(Your suggestions don't need to be current, but that helps.)
My appreciated.
I had an epiphany today while working: the majority of the songs I own are depressing.
Dylan, Cash, Tina & the B-Sides, Ray Lamontagne, Tom Waits, the Indigo Girls, Gin Blossoms, Counting Crows... the vast majority of it is simply born from sadness.
This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Tons of the greatest art has been born from the greatest tragedies. Heck, most of anything I've created that's worth something at all has its roots in the most challenging moments of my life. I enjoy a good song (or poem or painting) that deals with difficult emotions. That is one of the ways I process feelings.
But this is summer. And I'm working. And I don't want to be pulled down those kinds of rabbit holes while the sun is shining (and I'm stuck inside).
I'm looking for suggestions. Please recommend something upbeat, positive, but not too pop/bubblegum.
Who are you listening to this summer? Who should I be listening to?
(Your suggestions don't need to be current, but that helps.)
My appreciated.
6.26.2013
Contradictions Make the World Go 'Round
I'm finding myself with little motivation to write today. It's not that there isn't plenty to write about; it is that there is almost too much to write about. I'm overwhelmed by it, and I'm exhausted from all the thinking I did today.
I could write about Aaron Hernandez being arrested for murder.
I could write about Zimmerman's lawyer telling a knock-knock joke during opening statements.
I could talk about the ridiculous humidity today, and how wearing a suit while waiting for the bus is not my idea of a good time.
I could write about a courageous woman in Texas and the Republican Majority's attempt to cheat the system in Austin.
I could write about the historical significance of today's Supreme Court rulings, what they will mean for same-sex marriage in this country, and how Michelle Bachmann continues to shock and amaze me with her fundamental misunderstanding of separation of church and state.
The thought, though, that keeps sticking with me, revolves around the decisions handed down today by SCOTUS. Not their significance; time will march on, and their value will be measured by people who aren't even born yet. I want to write about what I understand to be one of the legal cruxes the decisions were based upon, and how the majority seemed to contradict themselves... at least to a layman.
Both decisions seemed to start with an examination of Article III which governs the threshold for the Court to hear cases and rule on them. This, in and of itself, makes sense to me. I want my Supreme Court to ensure they are following the constitution, hearing cases they have the authority to hear, and ruling accordingly. In refusing to rule on California's Prop 8 (and in essence affirming the Federal District Court's ruling abolishing Prop 8), the majority opinion argued that parts of Article III were not met, namely, the plaintiff couldn't prove real injury. I took this to mean that they weren't legally obligated to do anything; therefore, regardless of the outcome, they would be unaffected.
This also made sense to me; if the highest court in the land is going to offer a ruling, it had better impact the people bringing it to the court. They also suggested that the group of people bringing forth the case didn't have the authority to bring the case, again relating to a lack of injury. The proponents of Prop 8 didn't have the right or obligation to enforce the law in question; therefore, they wouldn't be affected in a real way should it be upheld or struck down. In essence, if any part of Article III isn't met, then the case shouldn't be ruled upon.
On the case of DOMA's constitutionality, the Article III argument is buried in the dissension, and this is what I find so contradictory. According to Scalia (and who am I to argue with a Justice), Article III insists that their must be a conflict to be resolved. In the case before the court, both the plaintiff and the defendant agreed with the lower court's ruling. There was no more conflict. The Majority said that this, in essence, didn't matter, because it was prudent for the court to hear and rule on the case. Even though parts of Article III were not met, the Majority opinion said that most of it was there, and this is an important issue; they should rule on the merits and render an opinion.
I agree with the outcomes in both cases. I wish they ruled on Prop 8, made sweeping statements that outlined the inequality of denying same-sex couples the right to marry. It doesn't matter; their opinion basically did that for California... many suits will follow I'm sure.
What is baffling to me is how on the same day with basically the same 5-4 majority, one opinion said all of Article III must be met, and the other said as long as most portions are met, and as long as it seems to be an important issue, then the court has an obligation to hear the case.
I'm not a legal scholar or historian... but this just seems weird to me. How can you have it both ways? And did the court overstep its bounds?
I could write about Aaron Hernandez being arrested for murder.
I could write about Zimmerman's lawyer telling a knock-knock joke during opening statements.
I could talk about the ridiculous humidity today, and how wearing a suit while waiting for the bus is not my idea of a good time.
I could write about a courageous woman in Texas and the Republican Majority's attempt to cheat the system in Austin.
I could write about the historical significance of today's Supreme Court rulings, what they will mean for same-sex marriage in this country, and how Michelle Bachmann continues to shock and amaze me with her fundamental misunderstanding of separation of church and state.
The thought, though, that keeps sticking with me, revolves around the decisions handed down today by SCOTUS. Not their significance; time will march on, and their value will be measured by people who aren't even born yet. I want to write about what I understand to be one of the legal cruxes the decisions were based upon, and how the majority seemed to contradict themselves... at least to a layman.
Both decisions seemed to start with an examination of Article III which governs the threshold for the Court to hear cases and rule on them. This, in and of itself, makes sense to me. I want my Supreme Court to ensure they are following the constitution, hearing cases they have the authority to hear, and ruling accordingly. In refusing to rule on California's Prop 8 (and in essence affirming the Federal District Court's ruling abolishing Prop 8), the majority opinion argued that parts of Article III were not met, namely, the plaintiff couldn't prove real injury. I took this to mean that they weren't legally obligated to do anything; therefore, regardless of the outcome, they would be unaffected.
This also made sense to me; if the highest court in the land is going to offer a ruling, it had better impact the people bringing it to the court. They also suggested that the group of people bringing forth the case didn't have the authority to bring the case, again relating to a lack of injury. The proponents of Prop 8 didn't have the right or obligation to enforce the law in question; therefore, they wouldn't be affected in a real way should it be upheld or struck down. In essence, if any part of Article III isn't met, then the case shouldn't be ruled upon.
On the case of DOMA's constitutionality, the Article III argument is buried in the dissension, and this is what I find so contradictory. According to Scalia (and who am I to argue with a Justice), Article III insists that their must be a conflict to be resolved. In the case before the court, both the plaintiff and the defendant agreed with the lower court's ruling. There was no more conflict. The Majority said that this, in essence, didn't matter, because it was prudent for the court to hear and rule on the case. Even though parts of Article III were not met, the Majority opinion said that most of it was there, and this is an important issue; they should rule on the merits and render an opinion.
I agree with the outcomes in both cases. I wish they ruled on Prop 8, made sweeping statements that outlined the inequality of denying same-sex couples the right to marry. It doesn't matter; their opinion basically did that for California... many suits will follow I'm sure.
What is baffling to me is how on the same day with basically the same 5-4 majority, one opinion said all of Article III must be met, and the other said as long as most portions are met, and as long as it seems to be an important issue, then the court has an obligation to hear the case.
I'm not a legal scholar or historian... but this just seems weird to me. How can you have it both ways? And did the court overstep its bounds?
6.25.2013
"How do you make God laugh? You make a plan..."
It's a line from one of my favorite movies, Kicking and Screaming. It's Noah Baumbach's first film, starring Eric Stoltz, Parker Posey, others. I saw it first when I was in college, considering the ramifications of graduating, getting a job, growing up. It was the perfect film to harness the angst of a pending alumnus.
There are hundreds of brilliant lines in that film, and hundreds more when you watch it for the 10th time, but the quote above has stuck with me. It isn't funny in the context of the film, but it sums up the fear the characters are trying to overcome. It spoke to me about the futile nature of trying to control the outcomes in life.
But it also spoke to me about the importance of making God laugh.
Which brings me to mowing the lawn (of all things). I'm allergic to pollen, especially grass pollen, so I hate mowing the lawn. It is one of the evil necessities of owning a house. I've learned to deal with it. I take a Claritin before I begin; I wash my face after I'm done, and I make sure to change shirts when I get back in the house. Despite these precautions, I avoid mowing the lawn. I put it off for as long as possible, but when I mow, I expect everything to go according to plan.
Oops.
Two falls ago, I forgot to empty the gas tank, so last spring, my mower was gummed up. I thought about cleaning it, but even working in top form, it would take me hours to finish the job. My family chipped in and put money towards a riding mower for my birthday. All last summer it worked beautifully. I cut my mowing time by 66%. I did everything I should to winterize it, and this spring, it fired up just fine. I was able to cut the lawn easily, and I was able to do it with a tall boy in the cup holder.
Everything according to plan. Until I ran over a little chuck of garden fencing.
I punctured a hole in the front tire. I've tried to repair it to no avail. It will hold air for 30 minutes or so, long enough to mow the front or back yard. I've borrowed an air compressor from my father-in-law. Now I need to figure out how to jack up the tractor, remove the wheel, and get the tire repaired professionally.
I still wash my face when I come in, but I just have to stop midway through the job to re-inflate the tire. I made a plan. God laughed. I've adjusted my plan, and I think God is laughing harder.
It's a line from one of my favorite movies, Kicking and Screaming. It's Noah Baumbach's first film, starring Eric Stoltz, Parker Posey, others. I saw it first when I was in college, considering the ramifications of graduating, getting a job, growing up. It was the perfect film to harness the angst of a pending alumnus.
There are hundreds of brilliant lines in that film, and hundreds more when you watch it for the 10th time, but the quote above has stuck with me. It isn't funny in the context of the film, but it sums up the fear the characters are trying to overcome. It spoke to me about the futile nature of trying to control the outcomes in life.
But it also spoke to me about the importance of making God laugh.
Which brings me to mowing the lawn (of all things). I'm allergic to pollen, especially grass pollen, so I hate mowing the lawn. It is one of the evil necessities of owning a house. I've learned to deal with it. I take a Claritin before I begin; I wash my face after I'm done, and I make sure to change shirts when I get back in the house. Despite these precautions, I avoid mowing the lawn. I put it off for as long as possible, but when I mow, I expect everything to go according to plan.
Oops.
Two falls ago, I forgot to empty the gas tank, so last spring, my mower was gummed up. I thought about cleaning it, but even working in top form, it would take me hours to finish the job. My family chipped in and put money towards a riding mower for my birthday. All last summer it worked beautifully. I cut my mowing time by 66%. I did everything I should to winterize it, and this spring, it fired up just fine. I was able to cut the lawn easily, and I was able to do it with a tall boy in the cup holder.
Everything according to plan. Until I ran over a little chuck of garden fencing.
I punctured a hole in the front tire. I've tried to repair it to no avail. It will hold air for 30 minutes or so, long enough to mow the front or back yard. I've borrowed an air compressor from my father-in-law. Now I need to figure out how to jack up the tractor, remove the wheel, and get the tire repaired professionally.
I still wash my face when I come in, but I just have to stop midway through the job to re-inflate the tire. I made a plan. God laughed. I've adjusted my plan, and I think God is laughing harder.
6.24.2013
Two Puppies Are Better Than One
I hear that every divorce is different. Mine was cordial for a while; there were some phone calls, an email here or there. Then we sold the house. All our assets were completely divided. Emails got shorter. Eventually, my ex-wife changed her phone number, moved states and blocked me on social media (not that we were facebook friends anymore). Maybe I deserve to be disavowed; maybe she can't handle that I moved on. Regardless of the reason, we have no contact, and we probably never will. I'm fine with that... finally... at least at the moment.
My friend has been divorced for about a decade. He and his ex still see each other from time to time. They live in the same neighborhood, and when someone's car breaks down, the other is willing to offer a ride. They aren't best friends, but they recognize the past they shared, and they honor that.
Stacy is facebook friends with her ex. As is her parents, her sister, and many of her friends. She has a key to his house. He has one to ours. When we bought a desk (a 275 pound desk), he helped me move it. When we got married, he watched Delilah for four days. I've actually had a beer with him when Stacy wasn't around, and Stacy exchanges texts with him on a regular basis. Even though their divorce has been final for quite some time, they remain friends. They (we) share custody of their dog, Bella. The custody agreement is fluid (and by no means in writing). It started off with every other week, then became every third week. Now we get Bella whenever we ask, like when Grayson was born; we wanted Bella to get used to a baby being around. More often, though, we get Bella when Stacy's ex is out of town. We dog-sit for each other.
Every divorce is different.
I'm just lucky that I get to be around a second, awesome dog whenever my ex-husband goes out of town.
My friend has been divorced for about a decade. He and his ex still see each other from time to time. They live in the same neighborhood, and when someone's car breaks down, the other is willing to offer a ride. They aren't best friends, but they recognize the past they shared, and they honor that.
Stacy is facebook friends with her ex. As is her parents, her sister, and many of her friends. She has a key to his house. He has one to ours. When we bought a desk (a 275 pound desk), he helped me move it. When we got married, he watched Delilah for four days. I've actually had a beer with him when Stacy wasn't around, and Stacy exchanges texts with him on a regular basis. Even though their divorce has been final for quite some time, they remain friends. They (we) share custody of their dog, Bella. The custody agreement is fluid (and by no means in writing). It started off with every other week, then became every third week. Now we get Bella whenever we ask, like when Grayson was born; we wanted Bella to get used to a baby being around. More often, though, we get Bella when Stacy's ex is out of town. We dog-sit for each other.
Every divorce is different.
I'm just lucky that I get to be around a second, awesome dog whenever my ex-husband goes out of town.
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