A Unexpected Saturday Cry

My mother's wonderful husband, James, is the most thoughtful, genuine person in the world.  He retired early and has been critical to the maintenance of my mother's estate.  But forget administration (bills, cars, mortgage, headstone, etc), he's been an emotional rock.  I lost a mother, but he lost a wife.  I lost a mother, but he lost the companion he planned to spend the rest of his life with - traveling, talking, watching tv, growing old.  He's young and full of energy.  My grandmother and I both agreed to understand if he needs to move on (in that way), but good luck finding another Brenda E :-)

Anyway, he put together the most amazing scrapbooks (yes plural, 3).  Stuff we all take for granted (sort of) - birthday cards, mother's day cards, postcards, etc.  My mother apparently kept them all.  I'll curse her packrat ways when I head to Columbus this summer to clean the basement (back yard fire, anyone?), but right now, I'm reeling from that post-cry headache.  That would be two-and-a-half major cries and 3 mini cries.  It was tough; the postcards were especially killer.  I did do lots with my mother, but we regrettably never got to leave the country together; it was a dream we shared.  I came up short on that one mom, next lifetime.

I also made a decision today.  There is this picture I love.  It is of me and my mother at her 50th birthday party.  My eyes are closed and I am smiling terribly, my mother looks and is tipsy, and there are beer cans and packs of cigarettes laying in the open, but I keep coming back to this picture.  Judgers be damned.  I'm framing it (in this nice picture frame I received from Marie B); this picture is too honest an expression of love between mother and son to be stowed away.  My mom's cute outfit and tight hug over pack of Newports and can of Bud Light.

Only Moments Stand Out

Only moments stand out
shout
pout
tell me what it's all about
got love running, running, running without a spout
doubt?
no... not at all, i'll say it loud
specifics?  I can't my mind's a cloud
chess pieces, cutlery ... regain balance in the crowd


left, right, sit, compose or get held tight?
safe and 81, but in GPS we must rely
danger is fun, don't deny ... otherwise, why put up with this guy?


he'll put up with you, keep talking and he'll do anything you want him to
drive slow, take it slow forgo speeding on a mountain road
extended ten illustrated fucking sensory overload


and he's putting on a show, entertaining wishing he could see that glow
but knowledge that this only will grow... and grow and grow
no ... not 13... your silly ... slow your roll
better yet don't, we all kids, just don't tell ... and I won't

Ten Min

you

in a place that's grey and cool with no shoes

no blues, no guilt and no rules

no speeches and nerves and no snooze

no expectations, judgments just cake and eat too

boundaries just crossed and in print

words are the path to exit

clear the mind of the explicit

turn the path back toward the legit

and watch face move from smile to surprise and then squint

keep swinging to exhaust the bullpen

wave and say goodbye, friend

sleep, wake then start all again

Forgiveness for King James?

I'm a typical Ohioan.  I have typical, irrational Ohio pride.  I got emotional in a debate when law school buddies tried to call Ohio a filler state.  I often brag in conversation about the number of electoral votes the buckeye state has.  I often share, on death ears, Ohio's many firsts and random claim-to-fames - ATM machine, Wendy's, Limited Companies, Neil Armstrong and John Glenn, Football Hall of Fame, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, 7 U.S. Presidents!, and The Ohio State University.

But then there are the lows... The Departure....  Yes I said it.  The Departure.

LeBron.  He left us.  People grow up and leave Ohio.  I am blogging from my apartment in Princeton and left Ohio, promptly after graduating from Kenyon and don't see a return on the horizon.  So why can't LeBron leave?  He embarrassed us.  Betrayal is harsh, but embarrassment and immaturity is fair.  Yet, he is one of the best basketball players in the world, maybe in history and doesn't he represent Ohio wherever he is... Shouldn't we still claim him and brag on his accomplishments?  I find myself denying his skills and find myself, again, rooting against him.  I will NEVER be a Miami Heat fan, forget it, but... consider the following chat exchange with KY... is the heart softening? 

CJ: know I've no love for Miami. Though I am starting to feel bad for LeBron and like that he's responding to the critics re: his leadership. Only time will tell. 

KY: I want Miami to lose too, but I'm also feeling a little bad for LeBron. If they win because of him, then I will give him more respect. 

Father's Day

This occasion, holiday if you will, has always come with a conflict of emotions.  I understand the importance of Father's Day, but only came to appreciate it in the last couple of years.  Unfortunately, my father passed in 2006.  Prior to his death, fathers' days came and went, often, without notice, incident or phone call.  Ironically, if I did remember the holiday, I called my mother to wish her a happy father's day.  She did pick up the slack.  She certainly deserved the honor.  My mother took me to a basketball court, we played.  We played as best she could, she couldn't play.  If I got a flat tire, I didn't really know how to fix it, my mother didn't really either, but we would flip the bike over in the driveway and do our best with a butter knife.  There are so many more incidents and stories, but this isn't meant to be a tribute.  I'll save that for my mother's day entry.  This is about my father and how I could have been a better son.  Relationships are mutual.  Check out the actual definition, very interesting:

1. the way in which two or more objects, concepts or people are connected, or the state of being connected.
2. the state of being connected by blood or marriage.

We were connected by blood, but were not in the "state" of connection.  I think there is more I could have done to maintain that relationship, I wish there is more I had done.  I was angry at my father for many years, then I became indifferent.  I wish I had remained angry.  Perhaps anger would have forced the phone into my hand ----- birthdays, holidays, special occasions ----- we could have hashed it out and grown into something, but the thought never crossed my mind; we often went years, YEARS without talking.  That hardly gave me pause.

And then the phone rang.  It was him and I was glad to hear his voice and what he wanted to tell me.  He wanted to tell me he was proud of me.  He also wanted my brother's number.  He didn't say he was sick.  We chatted for a bit.  I was suspicious.  I called my mother.  Either she knew or soon found out that he was sick.  I finally got angry.  Anger turned to care. I called my brother to tell him to connect with dad.  I called my father again a week later.  He said he was fine.  A week later he was in the hospital, a week later he fell into a coma, a week later I was making right to life and burial decisions.  That was it.

Now, on Father's Day I think of him.  Now on Father's Day, I think to call my grandfather, uncles, friends ... anyone who should be appreciated on this day.  Now, I think of my father often.  I remember him for his laugh, his charm, his demands of excellence, his stories, his lessons.  Admittedly, there aren't many memories, but the memories are powerful, honest, funny (for the good and bad) and a bonding opportunity for my brother and cousins.

Happy Father's Day, dad.  Just remembering you today.

fellas, fellas...

So.  Apparently.  There.  Is.  No.  Hope.

I've long suspected this.  I'm mid-30 and have lots and lots of married friends.  I know and have heard what it is like.  Everyone knows the rules:  the woman rules.  But you think it subsides at some point.  Everyone does.  But does it?  Maybe, but here is a story from just tonight.

Out to drinks with two coworkers.  One 62 and awesome.  Totally cool guy.  Well-established.  Professional.  Two kids, one grad school, one finishing undergrad.

We planned drinks last week.  I joked: we are totally on for Tuesday, make sure to tell your wife.  He was like, definitely.

Tonight.  We get delayed in the office.  We always do.  No big deal, we were all busy.  We leave the office after 7 and head to get martinis.  Apologies all around; we client-service guys always hate to make plans with our co-workers because we often cancel or have to make them wait.  No matter, everyone had plenty to keep busy, plus all evenings were cleared ---- one properly told his wife, other guy said his wife wouldn't be home until 9:30 PM.

Martini one --- talking, gossiping.  Martini two --- make it dirt[ier] --- slurring, evangelizing, losing track of time... At 8:45 we said we should get the bill.  Then.  The.  Phone. Rings.  My other co-worker and I knew, just knew it was his wife.  I excuse myself to the bathroom.  Knew I needed to.  Return to the table - "you didn't tell your wife, did you?"  "Nope, I thought I'd beat her home... she's a little pissed."  As we paid the bill, we talked a little bit about it.  He wasn't in big trouble, but the conversation was "normal."  He wasn't 62 any more; he was just one of the guys.  It was no show.  He's been married to the same woman since his twenties.  He doesn't go out often, at all, and wondered why she would be so upset.  He's 62 and will still have to head home to explain.  He's 62 and still doesn't have the answer.  And. It.  Hit. Me.  And. I. Understand.

PS.  New facts in today.  I know he doesn't read my blog, so it must have been guilt setting in.  Clarification.  His wife was not upset that he was out for drinks with the boys, she was upset that he didn't put dinner in the oven, as promised.

Double Down

Want to put more effort toward the following:

• savings account/spending smarter, with more discipline
• exercising
• smiling
• pursuing my one
• reading for leisure
• reading for academic and career improvement
• being more socially active
• learning something new:  cooking
• acting with confidence
• doing whatever I do with conviction and purpose
• reading this post regularly and evaluating my progress/standing honestly
• saying yes
• saying no

One More Time

If I can't fight it, I can't write it, too excited
Felt almost knighted with what's provided
Reality, day-dreams and imagination coincided
But there is too many cops, man, hood is blighted
Thought the flame was out, but wind relighted
I don't smoke, but it's a cuban... so why not try it?
It's fluid like hydrogen and oxygen 2-parts-to-1, reunited
There, I typed it --- goodnight, kid.

Things I Never Want to See

Was out running errands yesterday, returning from the dry cleaner when I walked by the Priest of my parish.  He was walking down the street, carrying his white robe and ... gasp... smoking a cigarette.  Priests are human too, I know.  I mean I've had beers with priests, confided very person things and received very real, down-to-earth advisement, but this was just shocking.  It wasn't even a fresh, new, smoke, it was an old cigarette that needed to be de-ashed.  Not right.    I saw him at mass today and totally saw him in a different light.  I'm sure I'll soon get over it, but it sparked the thought ---- what else do I never want to see.... A few things:

• parents/grandparents making out
• men walking around unbashfully naked in the locker room at the gym
• toilet contents of someone I am dating
• negative bank balance
• swarm of bees
• a broken arm/leg
• maggots crawling around nasty trash on a hot day
• a bat or bird in my apartment (or any closed space with me)

Anyway, this was a slow random first entry.  But it ... is... a... return.  Finally having a personal computer (new MacBook Pro, score!) will allow increased sharing of random thoughts and hopefully better content resulting from more practice.

I've few readers now anyway, so hopefully I can mix it up and let loose.  Hopefully.  We shall *see*