Herkimer!

About a year ago, two of my three brothers and I took a 2 and 1/2 week vacation to the East coast. Originally we had planned to visit our 'mother land'--The Netherlands--however, when fuel prices started their way up the escalator we decided to try something different. Something we had never done before. All of us are very fond of driving and road trips but the thought of driving all the way out to the friggin' other side of the country was a bit much. So, instead we found some last minute deals to D.C. which we thought would be a nice place to start a road trip.

We had a few 'must see' spots picked out like, Gettysburgh, Cooperstown, New York City, and of course, upstate New York to view the foliage. Other than that we had no real itinerary. We're all pretty good at wingin' it.

The original plan had us renting a Jeep. (Jeeps are manly ya know ;) Well, original plans rarely come to fruition do they? All that was left when we stepped into the rental pickup point was...a minivan!! Yeah, also quite manly. As it turned out though, it was great. Although it was never a point we had to prove, it seems that it's not illegal to drive with both sliding doors open. Even on the freeway! Anyway, as luck would have it, or more specifically, as it is when you're the youngest sibling, I got the back seat most of the time which was really fine with me since I was also in possession of a New York Atlas and Gazetteer. Yay. I love maps. So as we're bookin' along the backroads of nowhere, I shouted out from the back seat, "Herkimer!" To which, both of my brothers slowly turned their heads in my direction and and said, "What??!!" Maybe that was a question that they regret to this day. "Herkimer! (which is the name of a small town we had just passed.) Doesn't that sound like something New Yawkahs would say? I mean, c'mon! Hukimah. Her-kimer flattop, Her-kimer gooovin' up slowly..." I could sing the whole thing here for ya but, you know. Or not. Ah, but I digress. So even now, a year later, when I want to let one of my brothers know I'm thinking about them I'll either text the word or leave it on their voicemail--'Herkimer!"

By the way, if you're really bored you might want to read more. The trip was a first for us in many ways, not the least of which was our first foray into blogging. Here it is

a leaf

The wind which had coursed through my veins for the past few weeks finally got the best of me. Try as I might, with all my might, I could hold on no longer. So let go I did and had I but known what a ride I was in for, I'd have done so much sooner. On the wind I spun and twirled and danced with delight to a destination unknown. And in the midst of my dizzying fall, me in all my color, I glanced back to see the others left hanging. Green. With envy.

And Sometimes...

...I SUCK AT BLOGGING!!!

Sometimes I think too much

Sometimes I feel too little

Sometimes I'm tired

Sometimes I'm tired of being tired

Sometimes I hide away

Sometimes I let my mind wander

Sometimes I think of you

Sometimes I cry

Sometimes I'm melancholy

Sometimes I'm just plain cheesy

Sometimes I'm full of longing

Sometimes I'm content

Sometimes my heart is singing

Sometimes it just hurts

Sometimes you think you know me

Sometimes I wish you did

Sometimes I crave solitude

Sometimes I am lonely

Sometimes I understand you

Sometimes I'm confused

Sometimes I'm inspired

Sometimes I am paralyzed



Sometimes I am all of these all in one day...like today.

Summer and what it looks like when it's winding down....














































...in my little world.

The Post In Which I Feebly Try To Describe The Indescribable

I have this friend, her name is Steph.

I don't even know if I can begin to do justice to even a portion of what she means to me, but I'm going to give it a fair shake right here and now, because she has inspired me to.

She doesn't know it, but this morning as I was reading (a practice she has unwittingly thrust me into) I looked over at my nightstand and there, perched atop a stack of books that, before I knew her, would simply not have been there, I eyed a little blue booklet. It's a booklet she gave me once when I came to visit her. It's beautiful. You know what's beautiful about it? It is completely handmade by her. She made the paper. She bound it with silky blue ribbon. She attached a handmade ornament on the front. She then filled it with some of her favorite quotes by people like Shakespeare, Thoreau, Frost and even Dave Barry. All of them handwritten in, I might add, beautiful sweeping cursive penmanship the likes I've never seen. I'm not exaggerating when I say it's an absolute keepsake! And you know what makes it a keepsake? It's what moved me this morning when I saw it, to hold it in my hands and read it through twice and be warmed by this thought: It's a piece of her. She put thought and effort into every last detail of it. Right down to the fact that she left the last few pages empty so that I might finish it with my favorite quotes. That's just how she is. She cares well.

Have I mentioned that she's funny? Or smart? Or pretty? Or real? Or compassionate? Or witty? Or more wonderfully different than anybody that I know?? Well then, let me mention that NOW! This woman has a perspective that is...well, indescribable. One of my favorite things she has ever said about herself to me is this, "I rarely have a bad hour, much less a bad day." And I've found it to be absolutely true. This one thing about her has, more than almost any other thing, been my saving grace. It's not that I never have a bad hour or a bad day anymore, but somehow when I'm getting down, I think of her and I can't help but smile (if not laugh) with delight, and it pulls me out of almost certain doldrums. She is the smile of God!...with attitude. It's not a benign, or slapped-on smile either. It is as real as her soul because that's where it comes from. There's nothing fake about it. Even without knowing it at times, she has this way of finding something good about a person and accentuating it. She would probably deny that, but that's because she has a tendency not to see herself the way I do. I guess that's only fair because I have the same tendency when it comes to how she sees me. She builds me up when life tries to tear me down. Did I mention that she's amazing?

I would be remiss if I didn't say that she loves her God with all her heart and coming in at a close second are her two spectacular girls. There's nothing more precious than the way she calls them 'baby'. Nothing.(I love them both and they are darlings.) I've been lucky enough to witness both of her first loves first hand. One of my favorite pictures of her is planted at that spot in my heart where I hide things that I treasure. Suffice it to say that I've seen parts of her soul...And I am in awe. I cherish and treasure (CAT;) her more than mere words can describe.

However, there is one thing that I simply hate and it is this: She lives so damn far away!! I'm a communicative kind of a guy (just ask her how many ridiculous text messages she gets every stinkin' day!!) and there's something that emails and texts and even phone calls can't deliver. I think a good friendship deserves that one thing: presence. I hope to experience it again soon.

Very soon.

Just...A Little

My youngest son is 12 years old. In many ways he's a lot like most 12 year old boys. He loves baseball (Gee, I bet you didn't see that one coming!), he's the catcher because "I'm in on every single play." He loves soccer, he gets queasy at the thought of girls, and he could eat pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

In many ways he very, very different from most 12 year old boys. He's a voracious reader. I'm talkin' serious here. I got him the full set of The Chronicles of Narnia for Christmas (767 pages), he had it read in 3 days. And if that's not crazy enough, he LOVES to read history books. I mean history text books. He knows more about what's going on in the world than almost anyone I know. Last year his sister headed of to college at Washington State and one night late in the fall we got a phone call from her. She asked to speak to her brother (who was 11 at the time) to ask him the name of a particular General in a battle in the Civil War. His quote to her was: "You need to pay better attention! Everybody knows it was General such and such !" He had read her entire senior History text book the year prior-just for fun-he says.

He also loves politics. Sometimes when I have to leave him home while I run quickly to the store I'll let him watch TV to wile away the time. Invariably, when I get home I can see him flipping back and forth between CNN and Fox News. He loves the stuff! He can tell you all 9 of the Justices on the Supreme Court and who they were appointed by. He can tell you who voted which way on many major trials and who was the swing vote and on and on. Justice is in his soul. He and I argue vehemently on many political issues. I sometimes play the devil's advocate just to see if he's thought out his position. He's a bright boy. While other boys are playing X-Box or Gamecube, he's thinking about whether the U.N. is a viable entity. Seriously.

Not long ago he amazed even me when were driving down the road. He was looking out the window, seemingly counting clouds rush by, when he astonished me with this: "Dad, did you know that the fifth amendment basically says you can remain silent as to not incriminate yourself, and the fifth commandment basically says you should always tell the truth. Right? Well don't you think it would be better if more people, instead of invoking the fifth amendment (yes, this is how he speaks), knew they had to invoke the fifth commandment? (long silence)...Ironic, don't you think?"

He aspires to be a judge someday. Pretty cool don't you think?

Full Circle

I'm lucky enough to have a job where I get to ride around, both doors open, wind in my hair, gawking and imagining and generally being curious about many things. I get to be a moving part in a mostly fixed world. Houses, roads, ocean, sky all fixed in their positions and me, wandering through, fixing my gaze on the other movements.

Today I saw a little boy in a red baseball cap, riding his bike with his baseball glove slid onto his handlebars. I couldn't help but wonder where he was headed. What would happen when he got there? How would he remember today? I imagined the rest of his day and thought, Ahh, now that's the life!

Then I saw two men, probably in their late 50's early 60's, driving in a beat-up old Chevy truck. Fishing poles jutting out over the edge. Rubber boots and tackle boxes lined up neatly under the cab window. I found myself wanting to know where their fishing hole would be today. What a great day to go fishing! I pictured a few spots I would choose if I were them. I wondered if the fishing was really the point today. I thought to myself, Ahh, now that's the life!

Later I saw a man and his son in an enclosed tractor out in a field, pulling a 5 bottom rollover plow. The dad was standing next to his son, who was driving. It seemed he was pointing at gauges and controls and explaining to his boy what each gauge indicated and what the levers were for. A father and a son. A teacher and a pupil. What a sweet relationship that might be, I thought. And once again my loudest thought cried out, Ahh, now that's the life!

Still later, I saw man and a woman that must have been 80 years old, if a day. They were shuffling slowly down a quiet street. Hand in hand. Stopping more than starting. Every flower seemed to spark a new conversation. I couldn't help but stop and take it all in. I was curious about their pace. Were they going slow because they wanted to or because they had to, I wondered. Does pace even matter when you're holding hands? Wouldn't it be nice not to care, I asked myself. And then I answered, Ahh, now that's the life!

.... and suddenly I could feel a pair of eyes behind me. It was a little boy on a bike, it could've been me. He was staring at me with his eyes glazed over and mouth agape in wonder as if to say, 'I wonder what his day is like. Driving around with his doors wide open, wind in his hair and generally getting to be curious about life.' I thought to myself, Ahh, now THIS is the life!

Are You Ready...

...Okay. Here goes. For the past three mornings I've come here to try to articulate things that are going on inside, but I just couldn't get them from down here (pointing at chest), to up here (pointing to space between ears).

Sadness is a part of life. It just is. Just like learning to hate brussel sprouts as a kid, is. Happiness is also a part of life. I 'm sure of it. In the same way as having to listen to your mom say, "They're good for you! Now eat them!", is.

So.

My previous post (since deleted) essentially said--I'm sad. It was a simple statement of fact. I could have just as easily said that I hate brussel sprouts, but then all three of you would have finally been convinced of that suspicion you've had all along--this guy has totally lost it! But really I haven't. Let me explain it.

The first part of my sad state has to do with my daughter heading back to school. It seems like just a few weeks ago that she came home for the summer. I had so looked forward to summer so we could reconnect and spend some time together--just to be. Well, she got a good job that kept her quite busy and, of course, she has a pile of friends that filled in the waking hours between. Suffice it to say we didn't spend much time together at all, and the times we did get were either hurried or one of us seemed preoccupied, and now she's all the way across the state at school.

Secondly, yet more prominently, there was Sam. Sam is a friend of mine that is dying of cancer. He has been a friend of mine for the past four years. Another mutual friend of ours, Mark, had a great idea. An idea spurred by a comment from his mom at a funeral last year. She slid up next to Mark and whispered, "Isn't it funny how many people will take a day off to go to someone's funeral but how few of the same people would take a half hour to visit when the man was still alive?" It struck a chord with Mark. He decided not to let our friend Sam go without knowing who he impacted and how. He threw a party for Sam and even put an ad in the local paper telling any and all who cared that Sam was not doing well and could stand a little encouragement. Well, the party was a huge success. There were cakes that said, 'We Love You Sam", there were balloons, there were cards to sign and all tolled there were probably around 200 people there. Each one armed with a hug or a handshake or a kiss. While Sam's body is becoming frail and his outward strength diminished, his spirit is bouyed and his eyes shone like the sun.

So, in essence, I was sad that I was sad. There is SO much to be glad about. I have a beautiful-beyond-belief daughter, and I have friends that let me be significant to them and they actually kind of like me.

Now I'm happy.

I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song...

I write songs. In my mind, not on paper. Little cheesy, schmaltzy, strange ones. No really. I have this propensity for making up really dumb songs about anything and everything that might be going on in my mind at any given moment. They're not particularly good, mostly, since I can't read or write a lick of music. Actually, they're more than likely, terrible. Did I mention that they're schmaltzy. I think I did. Anyway, I find it to be a therapeutic way to release things out of my head and heart. Oh, and then I sing them. To myself.

For instance, tonight as I was leaving my ex-wife's house after dropping off my boys, I started singing a song I'll call "If You Only Knew". I sing a different variation of it almost every time I drive away. "Whether heading east or west it matters not to me, a road that winds the least is best because it brings you straight to me..." or something like, "Even when the sky is clear my heart's a deeper blue, whenever I turn from here and drive away from you..." or, "In the windshield I love the distance, when I see you waiting in it. In the mirror I hate the distance, when I see you fading in it." I don't know that I'll ever sing these songs in front of another person (just writing them here is difficult) but, I do want my kids to know that this is a part of who I am. I mean, I'm all grown up and doing fine and I'm not a walking basket case, but there are parts of every day that make me miss them. So at the behest of several of my friends and family members I'm going to start journaling these things. Here are my questions to you: If and when you journal, how do you do it? Who are you addressing? What is your goal? (ie: future reference, creative release, mental excercise, etc.) If you don't journal, why not?

You know me. Simply curious. Or should that be...curiously simple?

Just Me...that's all

When I started this blog I wasn't really sure why I did it other than to prove to myself that there was actually something going on in this fogged up head of mine. I don't know what you come here to read or to see, but today you're going to a little peek behind the curtain. More than just my mind, a piece of my heart. Here goes.

There's one thing I desperately, desperately want from this life. Well, they're actually two, but I'd have to put them side by side because one is completely empty without the other. To be fully known, and to be fully loved.

I use the word 'desperately' not in the sense that I would do anything to attain this want, but because it seems to be at the root of everything I do. I'm like a walking resume. Visible to all. I've got to have my shit together. If I do certain things, if I seem a certain way, if I am likable, if I'm successful, if I'm confident, or capable, or good at something, then maybe, just maybe, someone will notice. And if they notice, there's an outside chance that I'll be interesting enough that they may want to know me. And if they start to know me, who knows, maybe they'll start to love me... And that's where the dilemma begins for me. You see, the line that follows 'if they start to know me' never reads 'maybe they'll start to love me'. No. That line always reads 'if they start to know me, really know me, they'll never love me. Because I can't have both. If they love me it's only because they don't fully know me. If they know me, how can they love me?' I tend not to trust what people see in me. What do they see that I don't? What don't they see that I so clearly see?

So the curtain goes up and the little man behind it begins to find new ways to blow the smoke and project my voice and to construct new mirrors so I'll seem larger than I will ever be. I don't want you to see the scars and the broken dreams and the tears and the scared little boy whose heart aches to be loved. I want you to be confident that I've got my shit together, that I can handle it, that I'm capable and full of answers and strong and successful because after all, that's what everyone's looking for. But really... Sometimes all I really want is a hand to hold and for someone to whisper this in my ear-"I know who you are...AND I love you because of it."

Let's Jump In!

Last week my son and I went to this creek to hike and and explore and generally just be boys. When we first reached the creek we noticed this manmade 'bridge' to a safe spot in the middle, so we carefully inched our way across, being very careful not to get wet. The water was cold after all. Cold enough to take your breath away at first. As we meandered our way up toward the waterfall at the head of this creek, we found that it was going to be impossible to navigate our way up and stay completely dry. Not that we didn't try. We would stand at a crossing point and point out ways we could possibly make it. "If we step on that little gray rock and then stretch across to that ugly dark one...." "No, no, dad. See that one just barely under the water? Step there then jump to that log and then across to that ugly dark one..." Well, it wasn't long before we abandoned our efforts to stay dry. And when I say abandoned, I mean reckless abandon. Before long we were pushing each other off rocks and finding ourselves completely submerged in freezing cold creek water. And you know what? We got a few bumps and scrapes from the rocks, but after a while the water wasn't that cold. Really. We soaked it in.

I showed my son this picture a couple of days later. He laughed and said, "Look at how careful I'm being! Remember at the beginning how much work we put into not getting wet?! That's ridiculous, the getting wet was the funnest part!" It's funny, I think, how many times I need to re-learn this life lesson for myself. How much effort I put forth into not getting wet. Not having my breath stolen from me. Wanting to stay in control. The rocks are sharp, I don't want to get hurt. The water's cold and harsh, but you know what? After a while you not only get used to it, it's refreshing. I'm jumping back in with reckless abandon, because the getting wet is truly the funnest part.

huh?...

Well, it's been a while hasn't it? Yep. I know.

Tomorrow.

I promise.

I Forget

Every perfect now and then I get to feel like a child while being an adult. It takes some forgetting to get there, but you can make it happen. Forgetting that your age has nothing to do with how much child is left in you. Forgetting that what others think of you has nothing to do with who you really are. That only God knows who you really are. Or maybe it takes remembering. Remembering to stop and lay in the grass and watch clouds change into a hundred different animals in a matter of minutes, just for you. Oh, and the way the grass makes you itch and how much you don't care that it does. For that matter, you don't much care about anything but that very moment. You are lost in your imagination and there's no guilt or anguish for as far as you can see. Just blue sky, clouds and you.

When did we forget? Is is safer not to savor? Maybe I'm just childish, but I'm going to savor this day, this life.

Little Boy Thoughts

There's a lot of little boy in me, still. I recognized him this morning at church through the fuzziness that tears make when they hang there on the edge of my eye. I was missing my dad. He took us kids to church for the first sixteen or so years of our lives. Never mind that he did it religiously, he did it faithfully. I saw how much my lack of respect for this faithfulness hurt him sometimes. It made me sad.

What I wouldn't give to have him put his arm around me and let me know that I'm doing okay. This father thing is the hardest thing I've ever done. I would put my arm around him and tell him that he did well by me. With the perspective I've gained since being a dad myself, I would tell him how much I admire him now.

The little boy in me will never stop missing him. I have my dad's eyes, and right now they're full of tears.

Somewhere Between

One of my goals in life is to find balance. I know it seems like a rather vague goal. I mean, how does one measure balance? (Just ask that one-legged waitress at IHOP!) Seriously though. Notice. There in the parenthesis is something semi-laughable followed by 'seriously though'. Balance. I have to admit, though, that it's rarely that simple.

On any given day you can find me somewhere between galavant and mosey. Between ecstatic and depressed. Between pensive and thoughtless. Between Iraq and a hard place. (See! There I go again!) Between holding back tears and knee slapping. Between prayer and cursing. Between poetic and idiotic. Between careful and wreckless. Between selfless and self-absorbed. Between real and wannabe. Between useful tool and and useless fool. Between here and there. So, what's my point?? I find myself sliding around on these continuums sometimes at a pace that makes me dizzy. Can that be? Does balance make you dizzy? I don't know, I'm just curious.

A Day Just Like Any Other

If you know me at all, you know that I have a thing for words. A turn of phrase. A pun. A spoonerism. You name it, it's up here in this echo chamber I affectionately call my brain. Granted, it's not always the most calculated or well thought out mechanism in the world. Sometimes I just spew words without thinking that the person hearing them doesn't necessarily have the same thought patterns as me. It can be embarrassing. For instance, today I went into the coffee shop I go to everyday. I mean, EVERY day. So, of course, I figure these people know me pretty well, right? Well, actually I did it without thinking. I walked up to the girl behind the display case full of cookies, muffins and other assorted pastries and said, "I'll have one of those big dickersnoodles." Loud enough so that every soul in the place could hear it plainly. Seriously. I don't know if I've ever seen a brighter red face in my whole life. Oh, and the girl's face was red too!


It's been fairly nice and warm these days so I've been driving with both of my doors open. Feels good! Today as I returned back to my truck after a short conversation with a customer, there were two swallows sitting on the steering wheel. Now, I don't speak swallow fluently, but here's what I heard. Swallow 1: "So this is what it looks like...I bet it's cool being able to drive." Swallow 2: "Yeah! Wouldn't it be great?! I mean, no wind to fight, no getting wet, no cats to contend with? S1:"Can you imagine just pushing that pedal thingy down there and moving without effort? Look! There's a worm! We could squish worms!! S2:What do you suppose the pilot of this...whatever it is, dreams about while he's driving? Uh oh! Here he comes...I'll meet ya on the wire!" ...
...I jumped back into my seat and wondered what it would be like to fly.


The island I deliver on has oodles (there's a scientific word for ya!) of deer. Not just oodles, mind you, but oodles AND oodles! Which is kind of weird now that I think about it. How did all these deer get here? Late night bridge crossings and clandestine rendevous? Anyway! People here are very much into gardening. Not simply vegetable gardens either. I'm talking full-fledged (is there such a thing as half-fledged?) exotic flower gardens. Nothing spells the end to an exotic flower garden like an oodle or so of deer. Especially the famished-after-all-that-latenight-clandestining-deer. So, every effort is made to keep those pesky deer out. Last week I met up with one such effort. It's called a motion sensitive sprinkler! Don't read it again, I'll write it again...motion sensitive sprinkler! I happened upon it at the most inopportune time. Yep. I had a 75 pound package in my arms which, as luck would have it, blocked most of my vision. So there I am, happily making my way toward the front door when suddenly...pfffffft!!! I am mistaken as a deer by the friggin' idiotic moron sprinkler. I had no idea what was happening! Something was angry and I was getting wet! I couldn't see a thing. I dropped the package right there and bolted for the truck! No way I'm hanging around to get peed on by a...who the heck knows what??!!

If it weren't for all those packages my job would be nothing but fun and games :)

Promise

Today was a typical springtime day in the Pacific Northwet. Rain squall. Wind. Another rain squall. Then suddenly, brilliant, piercing sunshine that had been patiently waiting it's turn to show off...and that was just the first five minutes of the day. I loved it! I used to think that fall was my favorite season, but on days like today I've decided not to decide. The fall has it's gale force winds and dancing leaves and thunderheads. The spring has it's zephyr winds and bursting buds and winsomeness as counterparts, but spring carries with it one thing fall doesn't. Promise. The dark days of autumn are a precursor to the even darker days of winter, and around here that means: dismal. Ahh, but spring! Spring taps you on the shoulder and says, "You thought today was something? Wait 'til tomorrow!" That sounds good to me.

And, like the weather, my mind was busy if not equally unpredictable today.

I drove by the house where my friend Chuck used to live. It was about a year ago that Chuck decided his life wasn't worth living anymore. He parked his truck around the back side of the shed, hooked up a hose to the exhaust pipe and ran it into the cab of the truck and started it up. He was a seemingly happy man. Loved his wife and kids and grandkids. There were no outside indications that he was distraught, but I can't help but think he must have been. The last time I talked to him he was his usual, jovial self. I didn't know it was the last time I would talk to him. You rarely do. It made me wonder who I saw for the last time today, and do they feel promise?

My friend Mikey has a new, artificial femur (not that he ever had an old, artificial one...) If you've read my blog before, you'll probably remember Mikey. About a month or so ago he found out that the chemotherapy treatments he'd endured did absolutely nothing to decrease or even stagnate the growth of a cancerous tumor in his knee so he had to go in and have surgery. They removed the tumor, most of his knee, and 80 percent of his femur. He lost a lot of weight and is looking very pale but, that's to be expected, they said. He is using crutches to get around and is already back to working in the kitchen at the new cafe. I got to talk to him for a few minutes today. I made him laugh...that made me smile.

The last few mornings as I threw the covers off and planted my feet on the floor, I found myself singing a line from a Jackson Browne song that goes, "...I get up and do it again, amen." because sometimes the repetition of my life is a little bit tiring. But, today as I was thinking, I realized that had I not done this thing that I do day in and day out, I wouldn't have even known Chuck. At least not that well. And although it was sad, there would be no missing him today. I wouldn't know Mikey well enough to pray for (and ask for prayer for) him. We wouldn't have shared that laugh today. So, tomorrow, when my feet hit the floor, I'll change my tune slightly and I'll sing, "thank you, I get to get up and do it again, amen."

I promise.

The Injustice Of It

When I was a kid, one of our Saturday chores was pulling weeds. I hated it! While it's still not my favorite pastime, I know it needs to be done or soon my house will simply be known as ' the one behind the dandelions'. I remember back in those childhood days quite often saying, "that's not fair, why should I have to pull weeds?" To which my dad would reply, "nobody said life was fair." I'm not sure if it was his favorite saying or just a kneejerk response. I suppose with seven kids all clamoring and questioning the inequities of life, you've got to come up with a mantra and stick with it. But I digress in a forward manner (hmm, maybe that's the technical way to say "Back To The Future!? :) As I was pulling weeds I thought back on my week and some of the substance of it that struck me in one way or another, and my dad's words rang true in my ears once again.

A friend of mine pulled me into her office, with an expression that can only be described as -- beaming! "Check this out!", she said, pointing to her computer monitor in delight. She'd told me a couple of weeks ago that she and her husband were having a baby, so I sort of knew what to expect. It was an ultrasound picture of a baby. "Now check this out!" , she said. To me it looked like the very same picture, but remember, I'm a guy. "Twins!!" , she shouted. She was so excited and I was very happy for them, having known them since they moved here as newlyweds not long ago...fast forward to a few hours later. A different friend of mine was informed that she was never going to be able to have children. Never. Zero percent chance, according to her doctor. She's in her early 30's, not married, and a complete natural with kids by all accounts.
There are no words of condolence that can fill a hole so deep in despair. Words are empty and they echo in the cavern of hollow feelings. My God, how can this be fair? How can a woman who is more fit than others, seemingly, be made to suffer like this? Unfair!

Last night after my softball game, my nephew invited me to celebrate his 19th birthday with him and his family at home with cake and ice cream. This is my nephew that has been semi-attached at the hip to my daughter since birth. They're 3 weeks apart. Of course, I went. During the course of the evening, my daughter made her way over to her step-dad. The man my ex-wife married a year ago. She sidled up next to him, put her arm around him and remained there for the next ten minutes while I ate cake and ice cream. He's a good man. He loves her mom and her brothers. She should love him. That's how she is--she loves people and she's easy to love. But still. I couldn't help but feel the sting. Was he there when she was born? Did he rock her to sleep? Did he ever cry with her? Does he know the names of her dolls? Does he pace the floors at night when she's out later than normal? What right does he have to that arm around his shoulder? What right?! That's so unfair!

Open your dictionary to the word 'average'. There you'll see a picture of me. Blue eyes, a little too much gray at the temples, too much nose, a few wrinkles. Nothing fancy. Oh sure, there are a few things I can do that might be slightly above average (just don't ask me what they are), but those are certainly offset by the things that I do that are below average. Which lands me where I took off...average. I don't mind being average most of the time. It's a pretty cool gig, actually. You don't get your picture in the paper. Cops don't pull you over and ask you for your autograph. You wait in line at Applebee's unaccosted. Nobody even cares that you're the King of Average. Life is grand in averageland...except for this: The King of The Universe died instead of me. He didn't do anything wrong. It was me. He pretended to be average...no, he agreed to be criminal, so I wouldn't have to die. He didn't fight, or kick, or squirm. He did that for me. There has never been a more atrocious injustice, a more unfair act committed than this, ever. And I don't balk. I don't shake my head in disbelief. I act as if it was owed me. If I can live with this injustice, then I certainly can live with all the others. After all..."nobody said life was fair."

What's In A Moment?

I've heard it said that life is nothing more than millions of moments strung together. Some more significant than others. I believe that there is something significant in every moment if you pay close enough attention.

Today as I ate my lunch at the edge of the sound, with my feet sticking out in the wind, I pondered on some of my most recent happenings and picked out a few that made me smile.

Here they are:

A week ago my oldest brother got married in a small, intimate and charming ceremony at my sister's house. There were maybe 40 people there all tolled and 30 of those were members of our extended family. Siblings and their spouses and some of their kids and my mom. Both my brother and his new wife each have a daughter. They-the daughters- were each responsible for the lighting of one single candle which represented themselves as part of the union of their parents' lives. While everyone's eyes were focused on them, I looked past them to the tears welling and the lips quivering on my brother and his bride. There, suddenly, was a moment. The two of them simultaneously acknowledging the forever-ness of their new found love and wrapping their girls up tightly in it.

My son is 12 years old and plays little league baseball. He mostly plays catcher and LOVES it! From his roost behind homeplate he can see everything that happens on the field and is accutely aware of what needs to happen next. He would have it no other way. He is the field general and his personality suits the position to a Tee. Well, before the season began, his coach pulled him aside and told him he wanted him to pitch a little this year. He was not happy. "Dad" he said, "all you get to do is throw the ball and let people hit it. How fun is that?!" I told him if the coach wanted him to pitch, then he needed to pitch. So we've been practicing in the back yard. I pitched when I was his age so I feel like I can at least be a little helpful. He's actually very accurate and skilled, although he can't get much speed on the ball. So. Thursday night his team is ahead by 10 or so runs and the coach puts him in in the 5th inning. The first batter to face him is a boy he considers one of his best friends. First pitch...smacked into center field for a double. Next batter. Second pitch...right down the middle...smacked to right for a single. All this time, I'm nervously pacing back and forth behind the backstop, saying nothing. He got the next two batters to ground out (one of them a spectacular grab by my son--I might add!) and it's down to the potential last out. First pitch...strike one! Second pitch...swing and a miss! And then, suddenly there was a moment. My boy looks at me, gives me a little smirk, fidgets with the ball in his glove, and fires! It's a curveball that misses the plate by 6 inches but the batter swings and strikes out. As he walked triumphantly off the mound, my son looked at me and shrugged his shoulders as if to say--what did you expect??

Today I got a simple text message from my daughter that said, 'Happy Cinco de Mayo padre!" If that's not a moment then I don't know....

Tonight my middle son decided to stay at his mom's so he could be there when his sister gets home from college. It will be in the middle of the night, but he'll be on pins and needles waiting for her. As I was pulling down the driveway to leave, he came back to the truck and leaned on my open window and quitely said, "Good luck at your game tonight, dad." A huge moment for me.

Life does happen a moment a time. I'm finally learning how to pay close attention.