Silence. Dark silence. Enveloping. Infinite. Dark and quiet, but somehow crystal clear. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to smell or taste. Nothing for the senses except the feel of the silence, the utter lack of sensation leaving a feeling of being shrouded in something that isn't even there! Consumed by the lack of any perception. Swallowed by the pure emptiness, and left with nothing but the thoughts inside your head. Silent thoughts. Dark thoughts. There is no up. There is no down. No right, no wrong, no good, no bad. There is nothing but soul, pure essence revealed in the mirror of self. Your true self. Unfiltered and unadulterated. Pure. Soul. Take it down to the real you. Not the face or the body or the clothes, the car, or the house. The real you, the true you is not beneath all that. The real you is beyond all that. Out there in the infinite dark silence, after you stop noticing the lack of anything, you start noticing what is real. That's the easy part. The hard part is to remember what is real, once you leave the silence and darkness behind.
But maybe you can't totally leave it behind. The silence. The darkness. It has been suggested that in various forms these voids are everywhere and that they in fact give our world it's definition. Without the space between the words on this page there are no words, just letters. Without the rests and rhythms in music there is no melody, just noise. Without darkness, there is no light, no end, no new day. And, it is in these empty spaces, as vast as the empty space in the universe itself and as minute as the space between an atom's particles, that pure potential and possibility exist. Think about it. If nothing is there now, than anything could be there later. Pure potential. Anything is possible. In the silence you will find pure potential. In the darkness you will find that anything is possible. You will find your true self, your real self, your soul. A blank page, a story waiting to be written, a canvas ready to be painted, a vessel wanting to be filled.
Peace to the Planet...and everything "in between"
Post script- no, I'm not stoned. Yes, I've been exploring meditation and eastern philosophy/religion.
But speaking of being stoned and empty spaces, made me think of Pink Floyd's "Empty Spaces" from "The Wall"
Here are the lyrics and then animation segment on the movie. If you haven't seen the movie, well, you should. Then you'll need to watch it a few more times. It's that brilliant. It's that mind bending. It's that fucked up. Oh, so if you haven't seen it, you will find out why we called this segment "the Fucking Flowers" and, fair warning, the imagery is powerfully disturbing even in the context of the movie; out of context it may seem scary and insane. But sometimes that's the pure potential that fills the empty spaces.
Empty Spaces - Roger Waters
What shall we use to fill the empty spaces
Where waves of hunger roar?
Shall we set out across the sea of faces
In search of more and more applause?
Shall we buy a new guitar?
Shall we drive a more powerful car?
Shall we work straight through the night?
Shall we get into fights?
Leave the lights on?
Drop bombs?
Do tours of the east?
contract diseases?
Bury bones?
Break up homes?
Send flowers by phone?
Take to drink?
Go to shrinks?
Give up meat?
Rarely sleep?
Keep people as pets?
Train dogs?
Race rats?
Fill the attic with cash?
Bury treasure?
Store up leisure?
But never relax at all
With our backs to the wall.
empty spaces animation segment from Pink Floyd's The Wall
Yeah. And then there's Young Lust. I need a dirty woman. You know, as pure potential. To fill. The empty. Spaces.
young lust-next cut from Pink Floyd's The Wall
Collect call for Mrs. Floyd from Mr. Floyd. Will you accept the charges?
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Red Sox and Haiku
boston.com recently asked fans to submit poetic homages to Fenway and the Red Sox in the form of Haiku. Since these are two of my favorite things combined, I couldn't resist.
Red Sox haiku
red sox haiku #2
What would Daisuke Matsuzaka and Hedeki Okajima think?
Peace to the Planet and to Red Sox Nation...
Red Sox haiku
These photos were taken during a late Sept game in 2006, my two oldest children experiencing Fenway for the first time. I can't remember who they played (Toronto?) but I remember they won and Papi set the record (later extended) for home runs hit by a Red Sox player in one season-maybe 51 or 52 at the time. The Sox were out of the race by then but it was one of the best days of my life
What would Daisuke Matsuzaka and Hedeki Okajima think?
Peace to the Planet and to Red Sox Nation...
Saturday, April 14, 2012
An Old Movie
It's almost like watching a favorite old movie for the first time in many years. You know all the scenes, and all the lines. You know the actors and the outcome. Something approaching deja vu, but not quite, because while the scenes and characters are familiar and the same, the effect they bring about is now distorted through the lens of time.
That's a bit of the feeling I have had, moving back to my home town.
It's kind of funny, because it's not like I was gone a long time. Only a year and a half. But the town I moved back to is not the town I left when I moved out after my marriage fell apart. It is more like the town I left when I moved away for college twenty four (gulp) years ago. Wait. That's not right. A quick consultation with my calculator tells me that it has been more than twenty seven (bigger gulp) years since I left for college. But I digress. What I am trying to relate is that I not only moved back to town, I moved back in time.
This came to me as I was walking around town one evening, no kids at home and nothing better to do than get some fresh air and exercise under the starry sky. That's when the movie metaphor hit me, it almost felt like I was on a set; same streets, same sky, same houses, even some of the same characters, but a different time. It reminded me of when I was a teen, walking or riding my bike on these same streets under the same sky. Going to or from my job at the Inn in town or a friend's house. The buildings are still there but the friends are gone, most of them any way. And those that stayed or returned, like me, are now different people. Aged and distorted like one of those time lapse effects in a show on Discovery or National Geographic; a bud springs from a dormant patch of earth or a seemingly dead branch on a tree, and quickly it explodes in size and color like a fourth of July firework. Just as quickly ( and also like those fireworks) the colors fade from the petals as they first wither and droop and then they fall away.
I feel lucky. I feel like possibly, this is the sequel to that favorite old movie, the rare sequel that's better than the original. The second segment in the flower time lapse; after the beautiful but short lived flower has dried and blown away. If I'm lucky, it's the part where fruit is born and seeds are sewn and a new cycle/sequel begins. Same earth. Same tree. Same Place. But a new seed, a new flower, a new fruit, a new life in a new time. But it feels like an old time.
-epilog-
Maybe you can tell from the change in tone midway through this post, but I had started it late last Fall right after I moved back and didn't get to finish, so I decided to come back to it now; and the result is a bit uneven. I think what I was originally going for was an attempt to convey the surreal aspect of moving back to my hometown, the same yet different, and how it felt like so much time had passed when in reality it was a lot of life that had passed during only a brief time. When I began writing again I jumped (maybe a little too hard) on the movie metaphor, milking it so hard as to obscure the original thought. Oh well.
Coincidentally if not ironically (always easy to mix or confuse them) Vermont native Jay Craven was in town just recently filming a few scenes for an upcoming movie "Northern Borders" based on the great book by Vermont author Howard Frank Mosher. Kind of a coming of age story of a boy on his grandparents farm in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom. (Craven also produced "Where the Rivers Flow North" and "A Stranger in theKingdom" both also based on books by Mosher.) Kinda cool. It was filmed at the train station just down the street from my childhood home, where I spent a lot of time, sold a lot of lemonade to the tourists, conductors and the engineer of the train and risked derailing the train every time we placed a penny on the track to see it get flattened.
Peace to the Planet...
That's a bit of the feeling I have had, moving back to my home town.
It's kind of funny, because it's not like I was gone a long time. Only a year and a half. But the town I moved back to is not the town I left when I moved out after my marriage fell apart. It is more like the town I left when I moved away for college twenty four (gulp) years ago. Wait. That's not right. A quick consultation with my calculator tells me that it has been more than twenty seven (bigger gulp) years since I left for college. But I digress. What I am trying to relate is that I not only moved back to town, I moved back in time.
This came to me as I was walking around town one evening, no kids at home and nothing better to do than get some fresh air and exercise under the starry sky. That's when the movie metaphor hit me, it almost felt like I was on a set; same streets, same sky, same houses, even some of the same characters, but a different time. It reminded me of when I was a teen, walking or riding my bike on these same streets under the same sky. Going to or from my job at the Inn in town or a friend's house. The buildings are still there but the friends are gone, most of them any way. And those that stayed or returned, like me, are now different people. Aged and distorted like one of those time lapse effects in a show on Discovery or National Geographic; a bud springs from a dormant patch of earth or a seemingly dead branch on a tree, and quickly it explodes in size and color like a fourth of July firework. Just as quickly ( and also like those fireworks) the colors fade from the petals as they first wither and droop and then they fall away.
I feel lucky. I feel like possibly, this is the sequel to that favorite old movie, the rare sequel that's better than the original. The second segment in the flower time lapse; after the beautiful but short lived flower has dried and blown away. If I'm lucky, it's the part where fruit is born and seeds are sewn and a new cycle/sequel begins. Same earth. Same tree. Same Place. But a new seed, a new flower, a new fruit, a new life in a new time. But it feels like an old time.
-epilog-
Maybe you can tell from the change in tone midway through this post, but I had started it late last Fall right after I moved back and didn't get to finish, so I decided to come back to it now; and the result is a bit uneven. I think what I was originally going for was an attempt to convey the surreal aspect of moving back to my hometown, the same yet different, and how it felt like so much time had passed when in reality it was a lot of life that had passed during only a brief time. When I began writing again I jumped (maybe a little too hard) on the movie metaphor, milking it so hard as to obscure the original thought. Oh well.
Coincidentally if not ironically (always easy to mix or confuse them) Vermont native Jay Craven was in town just recently filming a few scenes for an upcoming movie "Northern Borders" based on the great book by Vermont author Howard Frank Mosher. Kind of a coming of age story of a boy on his grandparents farm in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom. (Craven also produced "Where the Rivers Flow North" and "A Stranger in theKingdom" both also based on books by Mosher.) Kinda cool. It was filmed at the train station just down the street from my childhood home, where I spent a lot of time, sold a lot of lemonade to the tourists, conductors and the engineer of the train and risked derailing the train every time we placed a penny on the track to see it get flattened.
Peace to the Planet...
Friday, April 13, 2012
I h8 txtng
Maybe it's because I just don't get it. Maybe it's because of the role it played in my marriage falling apart, real or imagined, literally or symbolically. Maybe it's because when I am around people texting, it feels a little like someone whispering to someone else while I'm standing right there, not being let in on their little secret. Whatever. No matter the reason, I can't stand the whole texting thing and am irked by people being so attached to it as a form of communication.
Maybe I actually get it a little more than I used to. It started to dawn on me a few years ago at work, when I would notice teens and pre-teens enter the store with their parents, eyes and thumbs glued to their device, clearly messaging back and forth. Sometimes the whole group would be walking around like zombies, eyes aglaze and thumbs ablaze, texting away. (I often imagined them texting each other while standing right next to each other instead of talking {omg, how cute is this ring?---rly? h8 it, roflmao@u}).
Maybe I can kind of understand texting's ability to communicate for a quick informational check in, like "need milk while ur out" or "b back soon"( ...wait, that would actually be- brb)etc. Call me old fashioned but isn't it just as easy to call and speak, or leave a voicemail? OK, so not always, I can understand that. But to carry on a back and forth conversation, ongoing, for ten or fifteen minutes? Maybe more? Some people say we are more connected because of technology, but how is that more connected than having a conversation? Again, why not call and have that chat, so you can hear a voice, they can hear yours, getting more meaning, and more connected, by actually hearing the words spoken instead of reading them on a screen? Getting back to my point, I started to realize a big reason why people text when observing kids texting with parents around; texting allows people to have a private "conversation" in public. Kids could find out where the party is going to be, or who got busted in school or who slept with who, without being overheard, and, just as good, without having to (gasp!) wait until the next free moment or even the next day (!) to get the goods. And I certainly realize that it's not just kids doing it for this reason, it was simply the circumstance that brought on the revelation for me.
Maybe I'm am a little more tuned in, a little more sensitive, and a little more resentful because of how texting symbolized the beginning of the end of my marriage. The ex seemed to use it as a way to distance me. It also enhanced the jealousy and paranoia I felt since I seldom received and never sent her any texts, and I would always get vague and or evasive answers when I would ask who she was texting all the time. So I admit to, and own a strong personal distaste for texting.
But with it's popularity and ubiquity, I have started to grudgingly accept it. I even stoop to its use on occasion myself. Not on my phone, I don't have a plan and my phone is just a phone dammit! but I got an ipad recently and I do use the messaging feature to communicate with the ex when I have info to share about the kids or whatever, but I either don't want to have a conversation with her or I just don't want to hear her voice! (Ahhh, new enlightenment on why people may use it!)
Or maybe it's when shit like the following happens:
Twelve year old son gets picked up at school, tells me "I need to go take some pictures for my (really big, really important) report (due tomorrow)." We don't have a camera with us but he tells me he can use his phone. "You know how to get the pictures uploaded?" I ask "100% sure?" Yup. "You've done it before?" Yup. Ok. So we go and take the necessary photos. 8pm that evening "Dad? I can't get the pictures off my phone." "What? I thought...blah blah blah" "Oh yeah, that was my old phone" Great. I try unsuccessfully to get the job done, and the wheels start turning, how can we do this? I know! We can send them as pix messages to his sister, who has an iphone, and she can then e-mail them back to me and we can print from there. One minor step in between though. Due to responsibility and trust issues (time+access+12 year old=porn trouble) there is a text and data block on my son's phone. Like I said, a minor step online and the block is removed, pix messages sent, e-mailed back, and printed. 9:30pm- Project complete-hooray!
Son goes off to read and then to bed while I do basically the same. Although nodding off while reading, I am then unable to fall asleep. Thinking back through the day, I remember that I didn't turn the text and data block back on. Rather proud of myself for not completely forgetting about it, I log into my account online to do the block and I notice 57 messages in the usage category. Hmmmm. I check it out, knowing none are from my line, and that there should have been only five or six from the photos sent. The detail portion shows the other fifty or so messages, sent and received, nearly all to and from the same number. Over the course of an hour. From 9:00 - 10:00pm. A little shocked (and a lot pissed) at how he couldn't resist the temptation, almost as soon as it presented itself, I checked his phone, curious to found out who he had been texting with (and yes, what subjects were discussed). I was neither surprised, nor pissed when I found out who (an ex-girlfriend {already? he's 12!}) or what (typical teen pre-teen, boy, girl, post break up pre get back together stuff) was discussed. I was pissed (but not shocked) to find out that the message count was now in the 90's and he had been at it until after 11pm. Steady. For an hour and a half after going to "read" and a half hour after goodnight, sleep tight, lights out.
I don't care so much about the back and forth with a girl, that's pretty "age appropriate" as they say, although there is a time and a place for it and I'm not sure alone in your bedroom at 11pm is either for a twelve year old. But I can deal with that. It's the fact that, literally, within minutes of the block being removed he started doing what he knew he shouldn't. And then lied, begging off to read and go to bed, while actually texting the whole time.
So maybe it's a trusting issue not a texting issue. Or maybe that's just another reason Y I H8 TXTNG.
And then there's those who use their blue-tooth thingies in public, so you think they're talking, you know, to you. Don't even get me started on them. That's a (rant) blog for another day.
Peace 2 the Planet....
Maybe I actually get it a little more than I used to. It started to dawn on me a few years ago at work, when I would notice teens and pre-teens enter the store with their parents, eyes and thumbs glued to their device, clearly messaging back and forth. Sometimes the whole group would be walking around like zombies, eyes aglaze and thumbs ablaze, texting away. (I often imagined them texting each other while standing right next to each other instead of talking {omg, how cute is this ring?---rly? h8 it, roflmao@u}).
Maybe I can kind of understand texting's ability to communicate for a quick informational check in, like "need milk while ur out" or "b back soon"( ...wait, that would actually be- brb)etc. Call me old fashioned but isn't it just as easy to call and speak, or leave a voicemail? OK, so not always, I can understand that. But to carry on a back and forth conversation, ongoing, for ten or fifteen minutes? Maybe more? Some people say we are more connected because of technology, but how is that more connected than having a conversation? Again, why not call and have that chat, so you can hear a voice, they can hear yours, getting more meaning, and more connected, by actually hearing the words spoken instead of reading them on a screen? Getting back to my point, I started to realize a big reason why people text when observing kids texting with parents around; texting allows people to have a private "conversation" in public. Kids could find out where the party is going to be, or who got busted in school or who slept with who, without being overheard, and, just as good, without having to (gasp!) wait until the next free moment or even the next day (!) to get the goods. And I certainly realize that it's not just kids doing it for this reason, it was simply the circumstance that brought on the revelation for me.
Maybe I'm am a little more tuned in, a little more sensitive, and a little more resentful because of how texting symbolized the beginning of the end of my marriage. The ex seemed to use it as a way to distance me. It also enhanced the jealousy and paranoia I felt since I seldom received and never sent her any texts, and I would always get vague and or evasive answers when I would ask who she was texting all the time. So I admit to, and own a strong personal distaste for texting.
But with it's popularity and ubiquity, I have started to grudgingly accept it. I even stoop to its use on occasion myself. Not on my phone, I don't have a plan and my phone is just a phone dammit! but I got an ipad recently and I do use the messaging feature to communicate with the ex when I have info to share about the kids or whatever, but I either don't want to have a conversation with her or I just don't want to hear her voice! (Ahhh, new enlightenment on why people may use it!)
Or maybe it's when shit like the following happens:
Twelve year old son gets picked up at school, tells me "I need to go take some pictures for my (really big, really important) report (due tomorrow)." We don't have a camera with us but he tells me he can use his phone. "You know how to get the pictures uploaded?" I ask "100% sure?" Yup. "You've done it before?" Yup. Ok. So we go and take the necessary photos. 8pm that evening "Dad? I can't get the pictures off my phone." "What? I thought...blah blah blah" "Oh yeah, that was my old phone" Great. I try unsuccessfully to get the job done, and the wheels start turning, how can we do this? I know! We can send them as pix messages to his sister, who has an iphone, and she can then e-mail them back to me and we can print from there. One minor step in between though. Due to responsibility and trust issues (time+access+12 year old=porn trouble) there is a text and data block on my son's phone. Like I said, a minor step online and the block is removed, pix messages sent, e-mailed back, and printed. 9:30pm- Project complete-hooray!
Son goes off to read and then to bed while I do basically the same. Although nodding off while reading, I am then unable to fall asleep. Thinking back through the day, I remember that I didn't turn the text and data block back on. Rather proud of myself for not completely forgetting about it, I log into my account online to do the block and I notice 57 messages in the usage category. Hmmmm. I check it out, knowing none are from my line, and that there should have been only five or six from the photos sent. The detail portion shows the other fifty or so messages, sent and received, nearly all to and from the same number. Over the course of an hour. From 9:00 - 10:00pm. A little shocked (and a lot pissed) at how he couldn't resist the temptation, almost as soon as it presented itself, I checked his phone, curious to found out who he had been texting with (and yes, what subjects were discussed). I was neither surprised, nor pissed when I found out who (an ex-girlfriend {already? he's 12!}) or what (typical teen pre-teen, boy, girl, post break up pre get back together stuff) was discussed. I was pissed (but not shocked) to find out that the message count was now in the 90's and he had been at it until after 11pm. Steady. For an hour and a half after going to "read" and a half hour after goodnight, sleep tight, lights out.
I don't care so much about the back and forth with a girl, that's pretty "age appropriate" as they say, although there is a time and a place for it and I'm not sure alone in your bedroom at 11pm is either for a twelve year old. But I can deal with that. It's the fact that, literally, within minutes of the block being removed he started doing what he knew he shouldn't. And then lied, begging off to read and go to bed, while actually texting the whole time.
So maybe it's a trusting issue not a texting issue. Or maybe that's just another reason Y I H8 TXTNG.
And then there's those who use their blue-tooth thingies in public, so you think they're talking, you know, to you. Don't even get me started on them. That's a (rant) blog for another day.
Peace 2 the Planet....
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Decisions, decisions
When one is faced with life's most difficult dilemmas, one must choose wisely and carefully. Slowly and thoughtfully. With great care and deliberation. And when all else fails, when you are faced with a difficult either or decision you can always revert to alternative methods. Like flipping a coin. Or eenie-meenie, miney-mo. Or
rock, paper, scissors. Which my son used to call rock, paper, scissors, shoe. When I first asked him about the shoe he was sure and steadfast in his reply; "That's what it's called- Rock, Paper, Scissors, SHOE!" he insisted. When he demonstrated as he said this I realized what he had heard and said as SHOE, was really SHOOT, and that was how he was taught to play. (instead of saying GO! we always said SHOOT!) Not sure if he ever tried to "throw" a shoe or not....
I was reminded of this when I came across a sign with the following quote which I thought was pretty funny, it was not attributed to anyone but I sure wish I had come up with it.
Here goes:
"I understand that scissors can beat paper, and I get how rock can beat scissors, but there is no way that paper can beat rock. Paper is supposed to magically wrap around a rock and make it immobile? Why can't paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors. Why can't paper do this to people? Why aren't sheets of college ruled notebook paper constantly suffocating students as they attempt to take notes in class? I'll tell you why, because paper can't beat anybody, a rock would tear it up in two seconds. When I play rock, paper, scissors, I always choose rock. Then when somebody claims to have beaten me with their paper, I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, 'Oh, Sorry, I thought paper would protect you.'"
Not sure but maybe this could work in the political arena, or global affairs perhaps. Actually maybe that's the problem....hmmmm....
Peace to the Planet...
rock, paper, scissors. Which my son used to call rock, paper, scissors, shoe. When I first asked him about the shoe he was sure and steadfast in his reply; "That's what it's called- Rock, Paper, Scissors, SHOE!" he insisted. When he demonstrated as he said this I realized what he had heard and said as SHOE, was really SHOOT, and that was how he was taught to play. (instead of saying GO! we always said SHOOT!) Not sure if he ever tried to "throw" a shoe or not....
I was reminded of this when I came across a sign with the following quote which I thought was pretty funny, it was not attributed to anyone but I sure wish I had come up with it.
Here goes:
"I understand that scissors can beat paper, and I get how rock can beat scissors, but there is no way that paper can beat rock. Paper is supposed to magically wrap around a rock and make it immobile? Why can't paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors. Why can't paper do this to people? Why aren't sheets of college ruled notebook paper constantly suffocating students as they attempt to take notes in class? I'll tell you why, because paper can't beat anybody, a rock would tear it up in two seconds. When I play rock, paper, scissors, I always choose rock. Then when somebody claims to have beaten me with their paper, I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, 'Oh, Sorry, I thought paper would protect you.'"
Not sure but maybe this could work in the political arena, or global affairs perhaps. Actually maybe that's the problem....hmmmm....
Peace to the Planet...
Saturday, March 10, 2012
A Pain in the Ass
I am single. Technically I've been single for over a year, since my divorce was finalized last February. Even longer factoring in the time from when my marriage/relationship ended. And while I have been missing some companionship and dated a bit over the last year I have just now started to feel truly single. Two events brought this to light; one, a sort of awakening, the other, a stark realization.
The awakening happened after (a weak, lonely moment) I started exploring online matchmaking. "See who's out there!" the banner ad excitedly flashed. Yes, I had been alternately warned by family-"Don't bother with that- you'll find somebody..." and encouraged by friends "Dude, a friend of mine signed up and he says all the women on there just want to get laid!" So while I was a little apprehensive, I was definitely curious, and since my social network is pretty minimal and I'm not a "Hey, how you doin'?" pickup kind of guy, I figured -what the fuck, why not "see who's out there"? Of course to "see who's out there" you have to fill out the questionnaire and write a paragraph or two about you and what you look for in a mate. Or at least I thought you had to do this. After about an hour of detailing my preferences on everything from religion to politics to kids and pets, drinking, smoking, hobbies, books, music and movies I realized I could have just done a quick search based on my preferences on as few as one or as many as twenty or so criteria. Oh well, it was kind of a pain in the ass, but I had signed up. At least for the basic deal (also known as FREE) but if I really wanted to show my commitment (already!?!) to my search it was recommended that I enroll in the premium plan, for a monthly fee. Uhhhhhh, no. I believe I showed as much commitment as I could by putting my photo on my profile. Now that's commitment. Seriously. I realized this when I finally did search for some matches in my area and ended up recognizing a few (small town, shallow dating pool). It immediately dawned on me that my face might also be showing up in their searches. Not sure how I felt about this, but just to find out, I searched using my characteristics, and sure enough, there I was, face to face with...myself. And about five hundred other guys. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, at least I had showed up. On the other hand, now it was out there. Now I was out there. On yet another hand, I think I stacked up pretty well with my competition, if I do say so myself. You know, if you're into bald guys with beards.
So anyways, back to the ladies. After searching around, reading profiles and receiving a few electronic "winks", the awakening sort of happened. I may have been technically single for a while but I guess I still felt attached. Not in a "Gee, I hope we get back together" way but in a still battered and getting over it kind of way. As I searched faces online and on the street (she's cute, hmmmm no ring...) I no longer felt that attachment. Until then I had thought I was single, now I felt single. It truly felt like an awakening.
The stark realization happened almost concurrently but for a far different reason. I was skiing with my young son when we stopped for a break and a long promised treat at the "Waffle Haus". This would be an all too conveniently located shack in the middle of one of the trails, whose delicious and sickeningly sweet smell wafting up the slope tantalizes and tempts all who ski by. Including us. EVERY TIME WE SKI BY! Therefore I had made a promise earlier in the season and now I had to keep it, so we stopped for one of the overpriced waffles. Sitting at the picnic table while he happily munched, the slight incline of the bench conspired with the slick fabric of my ski pants to have me slide ever so slightly down the bench, but just enough to procure several large slivers and plant them in the seat of my pants and...yes...in my ass. I was able to pluck the toothpick sized slivers from my pants (after dropping my drawers) but that's when the stark realization hit me; how was I going to get a splinter removed from my ass? This most definitely was not a job for Ski Patrol or First Aid. This most definitely was a job for a girlfriend or wife. I felt a new kind of loneliness. One that only splinters in your ass can bring.
Well, I may not have a girlfriend or wife, but thankfully I do have a handheld mirror and the piece of mind that it brought me when I checked for myself , and was able to declare my ass splinter free! (just a minor wound) So I do have that. That, and the new sense of freedom and excitement that being and feeling single can bring.
Hey, how you doin'?
Oh, and a tube of Bacitracin. I have that too.
Peace to the Planet...and all you single ladies out there ; )
The awakening happened after (a weak, lonely moment) I started exploring online matchmaking. "See who's out there!" the banner ad excitedly flashed. Yes, I had been alternately warned by family-"Don't bother with that- you'll find somebody..." and encouraged by friends "Dude, a friend of mine signed up and he says all the women on there just want to get laid!" So while I was a little apprehensive, I was definitely curious, and since my social network is pretty minimal and I'm not a "Hey, how you doin'?" pickup kind of guy, I figured -what the fuck, why not "see who's out there"? Of course to "see who's out there" you have to fill out the questionnaire and write a paragraph or two about you and what you look for in a mate. Or at least I thought you had to do this. After about an hour of detailing my preferences on everything from religion to politics to kids and pets, drinking, smoking, hobbies, books, music and movies I realized I could have just done a quick search based on my preferences on as few as one or as many as twenty or so criteria. Oh well, it was kind of a pain in the ass, but I had signed up. At least for the basic deal (also known as FREE) but if I really wanted to show my commitment (already!?!) to my search it was recommended that I enroll in the premium plan, for a monthly fee. Uhhhhhh, no. I believe I showed as much commitment as I could by putting my photo on my profile. Now that's commitment. Seriously. I realized this when I finally did search for some matches in my area and ended up recognizing a few (small town, shallow dating pool). It immediately dawned on me that my face might also be showing up in their searches. Not sure how I felt about this, but just to find out, I searched using my characteristics, and sure enough, there I was, face to face with...myself. And about five hundred other guys. I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, at least I had showed up. On the other hand, now it was out there. Now I was out there. On yet another hand, I think I stacked up pretty well with my competition, if I do say so myself. You know, if you're into bald guys with beards.
So anyways, back to the ladies. After searching around, reading profiles and receiving a few electronic "winks", the awakening sort of happened. I may have been technically single for a while but I guess I still felt attached. Not in a "Gee, I hope we get back together" way but in a still battered and getting over it kind of way. As I searched faces online and on the street (she's cute, hmmmm no ring...) I no longer felt that attachment. Until then I had thought I was single, now I felt single. It truly felt like an awakening.
The stark realization happened almost concurrently but for a far different reason. I was skiing with my young son when we stopped for a break and a long promised treat at the "Waffle Haus". This would be an all too conveniently located shack in the middle of one of the trails, whose delicious and sickeningly sweet smell wafting up the slope tantalizes and tempts all who ski by. Including us. EVERY TIME WE SKI BY! Therefore I had made a promise earlier in the season and now I had to keep it, so we stopped for one of the overpriced waffles. Sitting at the picnic table while he happily munched, the slight incline of the bench conspired with the slick fabric of my ski pants to have me slide ever so slightly down the bench, but just enough to procure several large slivers and plant them in the seat of my pants and...yes...in my ass. I was able to pluck the toothpick sized slivers from my pants (after dropping my drawers) but that's when the stark realization hit me; how was I going to get a splinter removed from my ass? This most definitely was not a job for Ski Patrol or First Aid. This most definitely was a job for a girlfriend or wife. I felt a new kind of loneliness. One that only splinters in your ass can bring.
Well, I may not have a girlfriend or wife, but thankfully I do have a handheld mirror and the piece of mind that it brought me when I checked for myself , and was able to declare my ass splinter free! (just a minor wound) So I do have that. That, and the new sense of freedom and excitement that being and feeling single can bring.
Hey, how you doin'?
Oh, and a tube of Bacitracin. I have that too.
Peace to the Planet...and all you single ladies out there ; )
Sunday, January 22, 2012
What's that smell?
As I was preparing a grapefruit for my younger son this morning, I caught a whiff of something funky.
Me: (sniff sniff) I smell something that reminds me we forgot to get you in the tub last night.
Him: that's just the grapefruit.
Me: no, it's definitely NOT the grapefruit.
Him: Ohhhh, that! that must be Nathan! (older brother)
Me: (speechless, not quite stifling laughter)
Him: well....he just farted a minute ago!
Peace to the planet, with ALL of its smells...
Me: (sniff sniff) I smell something that reminds me we forgot to get you in the tub last night.
Him: that's just the grapefruit.
Me: no, it's definitely NOT the grapefruit.
Him: Ohhhh, that! that must be Nathan! (older brother)
Me: (speechless, not quite stifling laughter)
Him: well....he just farted a minute ago!
Peace to the planet, with ALL of its smells...
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Howdy Neighbor
I recently moved. After a very long final day of moving into the new and cleaning the old, I returned to my new apartment at about 11pm. With one last car full of refrigerator/freezer stuff and assorted odds and ends unloaded I first gave in to hunger; no gas to cook with{surprise!}, no grill and no microwave, so...cheese and crackers it is! Then I gave in to exhaustion, falling asleep on the couch and then retiring to the sparse new bedroom for a solid night's sleep.
Until..... I awoke at about 6am hearing a car approaching from the house behind mine (a shared, right of way driveway) and then the car stopped, idling. Curious, I look out to see an empty space where I believed my car to be (shit!) and my new neighbor stopped in the driveway. Relief (my car was not stolen) turned to chagrin ( my car was blocking the drive) as I dashed downstairs and outside bleary eyed in my slippers. And then chagrin mixed with embarrassment as I got out and realized that not only had I left the car blocking the drive but I had also left the passenger door open (all night!) on what had been my last trip in the night before with arms loaded. I close the (very frosty in and out) car door and approach my neighbor introducing myself and apologizing at the same time. Her response doesn't make sense for either my apology or introduction (reminder, it was 6am and I was bleary minded as well as bleary eyed) so I try again, something like " I am sooo sorry, I just moved in yesterday, I guess it was a long day and....uh.... my name is The Keeper" . This time there is no reply at all, but I now realize why her initial response puzzled me; she hadn't been speaking to me, she was speaking into her two way radio. Then her silence ends with something like " Ok thanks, I think he's right here... Still sleepy and puzzled I introduce myself again, hand extended- "Hi, sorry about this, I'm the Keeper heh heh..." "I know" she says, "I just called in your plate, my name is Detective Cassie Mcleary with the Vermont State Police." Ohhh yeah, now I remember hearing that there was a cop living behind me. But no longer driving a cruiser, the recently promoted Detective is driving an unmarked sedan. This was all slowly falling into place in my still sleepy and reeling brain as she explained that my vehicle looked a little suspicious and possibly stolen, being left in the middle of a driveway with a door wide open on what happened to be the morning after Halloween.
Nice to meet you neighbor....I mean Officer....I mean Detective....er...eh, ummm, I'll just be moving my car now, um, sorry...
At least the battery hadn't died.
Peace to the neighbors and the Planet...
Until..... I awoke at about 6am hearing a car approaching from the house behind mine (a shared, right of way driveway) and then the car stopped, idling. Curious, I look out to see an empty space where I believed my car to be (shit!) and my new neighbor stopped in the driveway. Relief (my car was not stolen) turned to chagrin ( my car was blocking the drive) as I dashed downstairs and outside bleary eyed in my slippers. And then chagrin mixed with embarrassment as I got out and realized that not only had I left the car blocking the drive but I had also left the passenger door open (all night!) on what had been my last trip in the night before with arms loaded. I close the (very frosty in and out) car door and approach my neighbor introducing myself and apologizing at the same time. Her response doesn't make sense for either my apology or introduction (reminder, it was 6am and I was bleary minded as well as bleary eyed) so I try again, something like " I am sooo sorry, I just moved in yesterday, I guess it was a long day and....uh.... my name is The Keeper" . This time there is no reply at all, but I now realize why her initial response puzzled me; she hadn't been speaking to me, she was speaking into her two way radio. Then her silence ends with something like " Ok thanks, I think he's right here... Still sleepy and puzzled I introduce myself again, hand extended- "Hi, sorry about this, I'm the Keeper heh heh..." "I know" she says, "I just called in your plate, my name is Detective Cassie Mcleary with the Vermont State Police." Ohhh yeah, now I remember hearing that there was a cop living behind me. But no longer driving a cruiser, the recently promoted Detective is driving an unmarked sedan. This was all slowly falling into place in my still sleepy and reeling brain as she explained that my vehicle looked a little suspicious and possibly stolen, being left in the middle of a driveway with a door wide open on what happened to be the morning after Halloween.
Nice to meet you neighbor....I mean Officer....I mean Detective....er...eh, ummm, I'll just be moving my car now, um, sorry...
At least the battery hadn't died.
Peace to the neighbors and the Planet...
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Talking on the Phone-How times have changed
I was talking with a friend yesterday (in person) and we were both commenting how neither of us likes talking on the phone much (as those around us talked or fiddled with their phones). I asked her if she felt the same even in high school when most teenage girls are on the phone as much as possible. "Are you kidding me?" she replied" we had an egg timer by the phone-only one to three minutes per call !" And that's when it struck me how quickly phone usage changed in less than one generation.
Growing up in my small town-you only had to dial five digits for a local call-the last one of the prefix and then the 4 digit remainder. It seemed like a huge hassle when the change was made and we had to dial, gasp, all seven digits!. And with rotary phones, people lamented having to dial numbers with nines and zeroes. Our out of state relatives and friends must have hated calling us...802-875-3007-all those 7's, 8's and 0's! But it did provide my father a level of personal satisfaction when giving out our last four numbers as; Three, James Bond. Huh? invariably was replied. "You know, three, double O-Seven" would be his smiling answer.
A second phone in the house seemed like the ultimate in luxury-especially when some friends and neighbors still had "party lines". That's party line as a phone term not a political term. If I remember correctly, you would dial a friend's "party line" and all of the households' (parties') phones on that line would ring. And if the wrong "party" picked up I think they hung up, but the phone could "ring through" until the right party picked up. Kind of funny when you think that now it seems like everyone in the house has there own phone, even young kids, and back then a single line was shared among separate households!
And then there were beepers (late 80's early 90"s?). Do they still exist (outside of the ones you get at busy chain restaurants letting you know when your table is available)? If you saw someone who wasn't reasonably well dressed with a beeper ( a Doctor) you wouldn't be going out on a limb to suggest that they might be at the other end of the social/professional spectrum ( a dealer). Actually, come to think of it a friend of mine is an electrician who currently uses a beeper. Not sure why. He's got a cell. Wait-I know! For some reason beepers (and texting) often work when a cell won't. But if you get beeped and you can't call to find out what it's about...then what?
Next were the first generation cell phones-often car phones hard wired into your car with a sizable antenna on top (though not as big as a CB antenna-remember when those were the rage? beyond truckers, I mean......they still use them....right?) OR a "portable" version that resembled a large purse or lunch box. Then we "downsized" to cell phones that were larger than our cordless phones at home! Much to the embarrassment of our young but still cognizant children. I think they called them Fred Flintstone phones (Wilmaaaaaa!!!) They were soooo relieved when we finally got phones that would fit in our pocket.
Now we have these "cellphones" that are used less and less like phones and more like hand held PC's or, music/video devices, or game platforms. Except for me. I think I am one of the few people whose phone is "only" a phone. I like it like that. My phone is a phone dammit!
Crazy I tell ya. If Spock and Kirk had only known back in '70... (or whenever they were trekking about with their "communicators"...)
Beam me up indeed.
Peace to the Party Line...
Growing up in my small town-you only had to dial five digits for a local call-the last one of the prefix and then the 4 digit remainder. It seemed like a huge hassle when the change was made and we had to dial, gasp, all seven digits!. And with rotary phones, people lamented having to dial numbers with nines and zeroes. Our out of state relatives and friends must have hated calling us...802-875-3007-all those 7's, 8's and 0's! But it did provide my father a level of personal satisfaction when giving out our last four numbers as; Three, James Bond. Huh? invariably was replied. "You know, three, double O-Seven" would be his smiling answer.
A second phone in the house seemed like the ultimate in luxury-especially when some friends and neighbors still had "party lines". That's party line as a phone term not a political term. If I remember correctly, you would dial a friend's "party line" and all of the households' (parties') phones on that line would ring. And if the wrong "party" picked up I think they hung up, but the phone could "ring through" until the right party picked up. Kind of funny when you think that now it seems like everyone in the house has there own phone, even young kids, and back then a single line was shared among separate households!
And then there were beepers (late 80's early 90"s?). Do they still exist (outside of the ones you get at busy chain restaurants letting you know when your table is available)? If you saw someone who wasn't reasonably well dressed with a beeper ( a Doctor) you wouldn't be going out on a limb to suggest that they might be at the other end of the social/professional spectrum ( a dealer). Actually, come to think of it a friend of mine is an electrician who currently uses a beeper. Not sure why. He's got a cell. Wait-I know! For some reason beepers (and texting) often work when a cell won't. But if you get beeped and you can't call to find out what it's about...then what?
Next were the first generation cell phones-often car phones hard wired into your car with a sizable antenna on top (though not as big as a CB antenna-remember when those were the rage? beyond truckers, I mean......they still use them....right?) OR a "portable" version that resembled a large purse or lunch box. Then we "downsized" to cell phones that were larger than our cordless phones at home! Much to the embarrassment of our young but still cognizant children. I think they called them Fred Flintstone phones (Wilmaaaaaa!!!) They were soooo relieved when we finally got phones that would fit in our pocket.
Now we have these "cellphones" that are used less and less like phones and more like hand held PC's or, music/video devices, or game platforms. Except for me. I think I am one of the few people whose phone is "only" a phone. I like it like that. My phone is a phone dammit!
Crazy I tell ya. If Spock and Kirk had only known back in '70... (or whenever they were trekking about with their "communicators"...)
Beam me up indeed.
Peace to the Party Line...
Friday, September 30, 2011
Fall in Love, Fallen Love
Sun shining brightly
Even on a cold, Fall day
Frozen hands, warm hearts...
Love was in the air
That cold, cold October day
Frozen hands, warm hearts
The cold winds of change
Blew that love, like dying leaves
Frozen hands, cold heart
TG-
I love winter, the snow, the cold. the entire landscape sleeping beneath a blanket of snow. Spring brings rebirth, activity, new flowers and raging rivers. Summer literally buzzes with life, the contrast of an electric blue sky and verdant green fields and forests. And then there is Fall. There is, of course, the colors. But there is also the crisp morning air with the frost sparkling in the morning sun. Or going for a walk in the late afternoon or early evening, a light breeze rustling the fallen leaves and carrying the unmistakable scent of Autumn, the moon rising into the darkening sky. Yes, there has always been a romantic feeling in the air, for me, when Fall rolls around. And yet there is something bittersweet about the season as well. There is the color and the romance, but there is also that feeling of the beginning of the end, the cycle of the seasons coming full circle.
Fall is still has a romantic feel for me, but it is a colder season without a warm heart. When I read the haiku triplet above it seemed to capture the essence of all of this, what Fall feels like to me now.
Peace to the Planet this season and every season...
Even on a cold, Fall day
Frozen hands, warm hearts...
Love was in the air
That cold, cold October day
Frozen hands, warm hearts
The cold winds of change
Blew that love, like dying leaves
Frozen hands, cold heart
TG-
I love winter, the snow, the cold. the entire landscape sleeping beneath a blanket of snow. Spring brings rebirth, activity, new flowers and raging rivers. Summer literally buzzes with life, the contrast of an electric blue sky and verdant green fields and forests. And then there is Fall. There is, of course, the colors. But there is also the crisp morning air with the frost sparkling in the morning sun. Or going for a walk in the late afternoon or early evening, a light breeze rustling the fallen leaves and carrying the unmistakable scent of Autumn, the moon rising into the darkening sky. Yes, there has always been a romantic feeling in the air, for me, when Fall rolls around. And yet there is something bittersweet about the season as well. There is the color and the romance, but there is also that feeling of the beginning of the end, the cycle of the seasons coming full circle.
Fall is still has a romantic feel for me, but it is a colder season without a warm heart. When I read the haiku triplet above it seemed to capture the essence of all of this, what Fall feels like to me now.
Peace to the Planet this season and every season...
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Night Sky
The phone call caught her off guard. They hadn't exactly kept in close contact but had stayed in touch through the years. Hadn't heard from him, in fact, for over two years when she got the call. Still stunned, it brought her instantly back to that night in the spring of 1977.
The train was almost as dingy and depressing as her month long stay on the dreary and desolate little island off the coast of Newfoundland, a school program for seniors. Two hours down, seven more still to go. Bored and tired, yet unable to sleep, she stared out the window at the blanket of thick clouds in the night sky overhead. There was nothing else to look at.
Until this character teetered by, rocking with the motion of the train, headed toward the cramped bathroom in the back of the nearly empty car. From under his floppy hat she caught his smile and his eye. She smiled too, but only after he had passed.
She looked out the window again and noticed a small break in the clouds. A round hole filled with stars, like a window to the cosmos. It looked like all the stars in the whole sky were filling this small hole in the clouds. Feeling and hearing the train rhythmically rolling over the tracks, and seeing these stars pouring out of the clouds, she was mesmerized; lost in this miniature universe.
"Beautiful isn't it?" She turned to find the voice coming from the seat behind her even though she knew it was him. Before she processed the deep voice and unusual accent (just as she had imagined it might be as she had stared at the stars seconds before) and before she even saw him, she knew. She wasn't startled ( had she been expecting him?) and she wasn't shy, yet she couldn't find her voice, so she simply nodded and smiled in reply. She looked back out at the growing patch of stars. How long had he been there? She peeked back between the seat and the window-he was looking out at the stars, but still felt her gaze, and smiled.
For quite a while it went like this. Silence except for the tracks passing below the train. Unspoken was the feeling of connection between the two; a strange attraction between two seeming opposites at least by outward appearances. From the hills in Vermont, she was seventeen, and while neither callow nor naive, there was a brightness to her that the world had yet to tarnish. He was from Manhattan, and beyond his scruff, scars and tattoos (the om symbol on his left hand and the Hamsa hand on his right) his eyes reflected the turmoil he had seen throughout his forty years. They also reflected a warmth and strength that beckoned to those who could see past the pain.
She realized she had been staring into those eyes when, finally he stood and moved to the seat next to her, taking her hand as he sat. " I am Talif" he said. "Lilia" she returned, shaking his hand. With neither letting go ,they looked out together on the ever expanding blanket of stars now spreading above them. Silence and introductions behind them, they talked and carried on like old mates. Discussing books, movies, his past, her future and a spirituality that they seemed to share, the hours flew by. Until the whistle blew for her stop and they hastily exchanged addresses and phone numbers in the dawn of the day with just a few stars still visible to the west.
Lilia had loved getting his letters, long and elaborate. And through the years they had had those phone calls, occasionally going into the early morning hours as they each looked out different windows into the same night sky. They shared and encouraged each other, leaving indelible marks on each other's hearts and minds. But through all the letters, all the conversations, starting with that night on the train, there was an undercurrent, a sense of missing what could have been.
That was the saddest part of losing Talif. Letting the tears flow and fall freely, she put the phone down and looked out at the stars above.
The train was almost as dingy and depressing as her month long stay on the dreary and desolate little island off the coast of Newfoundland, a school program for seniors. Two hours down, seven more still to go. Bored and tired, yet unable to sleep, she stared out the window at the blanket of thick clouds in the night sky overhead. There was nothing else to look at.
Until this character teetered by, rocking with the motion of the train, headed toward the cramped bathroom in the back of the nearly empty car. From under his floppy hat she caught his smile and his eye. She smiled too, but only after he had passed.
She looked out the window again and noticed a small break in the clouds. A round hole filled with stars, like a window to the cosmos. It looked like all the stars in the whole sky were filling this small hole in the clouds. Feeling and hearing the train rhythmically rolling over the tracks, and seeing these stars pouring out of the clouds, she was mesmerized; lost in this miniature universe.
"Beautiful isn't it?" She turned to find the voice coming from the seat behind her even though she knew it was him. Before she processed the deep voice and unusual accent (just as she had imagined it might be as she had stared at the stars seconds before) and before she even saw him, she knew. She wasn't startled ( had she been expecting him?) and she wasn't shy, yet she couldn't find her voice, so she simply nodded and smiled in reply. She looked back out at the growing patch of stars. How long had he been there? She peeked back between the seat and the window-he was looking out at the stars, but still felt her gaze, and smiled.
For quite a while it went like this. Silence except for the tracks passing below the train. Unspoken was the feeling of connection between the two; a strange attraction between two seeming opposites at least by outward appearances. From the hills in Vermont, she was seventeen, and while neither callow nor naive, there was a brightness to her that the world had yet to tarnish. He was from Manhattan, and beyond his scruff, scars and tattoos (the om symbol on his left hand and the Hamsa hand on his right) his eyes reflected the turmoil he had seen throughout his forty years. They also reflected a warmth and strength that beckoned to those who could see past the pain.
She realized she had been staring into those eyes when, finally he stood and moved to the seat next to her, taking her hand as he sat. " I am Talif" he said. "Lilia" she returned, shaking his hand. With neither letting go ,they looked out together on the ever expanding blanket of stars now spreading above them. Silence and introductions behind them, they talked and carried on like old mates. Discussing books, movies, his past, her future and a spirituality that they seemed to share, the hours flew by. Until the whistle blew for her stop and they hastily exchanged addresses and phone numbers in the dawn of the day with just a few stars still visible to the west.
Lilia had loved getting his letters, long and elaborate. And through the years they had had those phone calls, occasionally going into the early morning hours as they each looked out different windows into the same night sky. They shared and encouraged each other, leaving indelible marks on each other's hearts and minds. But through all the letters, all the conversations, starting with that night on the train, there was an undercurrent, a sense of missing what could have been.
That was the saddest part of losing Talif. Letting the tears flow and fall freely, she put the phone down and looked out at the stars above.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Such a Whiner
Parenting is the toughest job but it is also the most rewarding. As I was writing the previous whiny post I realized this, even if I failed to note it.
And you know when you obsess over something in your head, and it gets bigger and bigger and then you talk to someone about it and they're all "........, um , yeah. So, what's the big deal?" and you're all "....um, yeah. I dunno. It seemed worse in my head..."?
So... these two somewhat unrelated items pretty much boil down to this: I am lucky and I am a whiner. I am a lucky whiner. And I am lucky to have this blog as an outlet. And I am lucky to have sisters who read this blog and care and share and give me a grounded perspective. I am lucky.
So WTF? So...BFD
PTTP...
And you know when you obsess over something in your head, and it gets bigger and bigger and then you talk to someone about it and they're all "........, um , yeah. So, what's the big deal?" and you're all "....um, yeah. I dunno. It seemed worse in my head..."?
So... these two somewhat unrelated items pretty much boil down to this: I am lucky and I am a whiner. I am a lucky whiner. And I am lucky to have this blog as an outlet. And I am lucky to have sisters who read this blog and care and share and give me a grounded perspective. I am lucky.
So WTF? So...BFD
PTTP...
Monday, September 26, 2011
WTF?
I find myself asking this more frequently of late. What the Fuck? More accurately, what the fuck am I doing? or what the fuck am I doing wrong?
As a parent, I need to figure some shit out. Fast. Otherwise, I fear that I am (not so) slowly going insane. I need to figure out how to get through to my kids without nagging, without lecturing, without repetition and the frustration that it generates. I am consistent and clear, I don't yell, and I try to be patient but that is getting harder. I try to be constructive in my criticism and I try to be accepting of their individuality and the quirks that may bring. So... WTF?
Being a parent is difficult. Being a single co-parent is more difficult (with much respect and props to true single parents, gotta be the most difficult). No more backup, no more tag-team, no more help or support, at least not in the moment when you need it most. I feel fortunate that the ex and I do seem to co-parent pretty well, remaining on the same page most of the time, and we do have each other to consult for major decision making etc. The ex and I have different styles and strengths (and weaknesses) of parenting, and they tended to mesh pretty well. Sure we disagreed about things but we also brought the other a different perspective as well as support. I guess I am still getting used to that different dynamic as a parent.
I have my children with me half of the time, a week with and a week without. Sometimes by the end of my week with them (just finished in case you were wondering as far as the timing of this post...) frustration has risen and perspective is hard to come by. And then there is the week without them, which gives me time, perspective, and a refill on the patience tank.
Much like my personal search for happiness and meaning in life (beyond my kids) I am searching for answers as a parent and trying to be a better Dad. In some ways I feel like I have found some answers and have become a better Dad (being more understanding, accepting and a better listener) but in other ways I am backsliding or still searching ( I feel less patient, more easily frustrated and don't communicate well).
So I tell myself to be patient, hold insanity at bay and keep trying and searching. And I remind myself that I am so lucky to have three fantastic kids who I love more than anything and who occasionally happen to push me and challenge me. Hmmmm....I think I just stumbled on a bit of perspective there. I want to be a better Dad, but my kids are helping me be a better Dad simply by the challenges they present.
While it's surely no answer, that perspective may just help in finding some.
Peace to the Planet...
As a parent, I need to figure some shit out. Fast. Otherwise, I fear that I am (not so) slowly going insane. I need to figure out how to get through to my kids without nagging, without lecturing, without repetition and the frustration that it generates. I am consistent and clear, I don't yell, and I try to be patient but that is getting harder. I try to be constructive in my criticism and I try to be accepting of their individuality and the quirks that may bring. So... WTF?
Being a parent is difficult. Being a single co-parent is more difficult (with much respect and props to true single parents, gotta be the most difficult). No more backup, no more tag-team, no more help or support, at least not in the moment when you need it most. I feel fortunate that the ex and I do seem to co-parent pretty well, remaining on the same page most of the time, and we do have each other to consult for major decision making etc. The ex and I have different styles and strengths (and weaknesses) of parenting, and they tended to mesh pretty well. Sure we disagreed about things but we also brought the other a different perspective as well as support. I guess I am still getting used to that different dynamic as a parent.
I have my children with me half of the time, a week with and a week without. Sometimes by the end of my week with them (just finished in case you were wondering as far as the timing of this post...) frustration has risen and perspective is hard to come by. And then there is the week without them, which gives me time, perspective, and a refill on the patience tank.
Much like my personal search for happiness and meaning in life (beyond my kids) I am searching for answers as a parent and trying to be a better Dad. In some ways I feel like I have found some answers and have become a better Dad (being more understanding, accepting and a better listener) but in other ways I am backsliding or still searching ( I feel less patient, more easily frustrated and don't communicate well).
So I tell myself to be patient, hold insanity at bay and keep trying and searching. And I remind myself that I am so lucky to have three fantastic kids who I love more than anything and who occasionally happen to push me and challenge me. Hmmmm....I think I just stumbled on a bit of perspective there. I want to be a better Dad, but my kids are helping me be a better Dad simply by the challenges they present.
While it's surely no answer, that perspective may just help in finding some.
Peace to the Planet...
Friday, September 23, 2011
The Lecture Circuit
It happens gradually. When you become a parent, slowly, it becomes apparent (couldn't resist) how much like your own parents you begin to sound.
I find myself lecturing my kids more and more lately, even recycling some old bits that my folks used to lay on me. What is most frustrating is that I seem to be recycling my own lectures more and more, repeating the same concepts over and over (and over). This is where the similarity between myself and my parents ends (as far as lecturing). Either I was more scared of my parents and there consequences than my kids are of me, I was a better listener than my kids (possible but doubtful), or I simply don't remember droning, repeated lecture after same lecture (highly possible, I have a gift for blocking things from my memory, intentional or otherwise).
When I am aware of lecturing, repeated or otherwise, I try to rectify it by being a verbal boxer, if you will, getting in and out with quick jabs, making my point and letting it go. But this never seems to work and I resort to lengthy lectures ( a barrage of haymakers?) It is just as ineffective though.
Some have said my expectations are too high and I'm too demanding. Well I certainly wouldn't lecture as much if this wasn't at least true in part. While I don't expect perfection of my kids I do want the best for them and I do expect that they will try to maximize their true potential.
And is it expecting too much that after a 25 minute shower a twelve year old emerges, you know....clean? I was lamenting this incident recently with my Mom and she asked if he was actually in the shower (he was). By inference she was subtly reminding me of an incident of my own, when I was about the same age, when I was supposed to be showering, but was discovered merely running the shower while I stood enjoying the steam in the bathroom. Busted.
So, call it karma, what goes around comes around etc., whatever. Meanwhile I'm just trying to get off the lecture circuit.
Peace to the Planet...
I find myself lecturing my kids more and more lately, even recycling some old bits that my folks used to lay on me. What is most frustrating is that I seem to be recycling my own lectures more and more, repeating the same concepts over and over (and over). This is where the similarity between myself and my parents ends (as far as lecturing). Either I was more scared of my parents and there consequences than my kids are of me, I was a better listener than my kids (possible but doubtful), or I simply don't remember droning, repeated lecture after same lecture (highly possible, I have a gift for blocking things from my memory, intentional or otherwise).
When I am aware of lecturing, repeated or otherwise, I try to rectify it by being a verbal boxer, if you will, getting in and out with quick jabs, making my point and letting it go. But this never seems to work and I resort to lengthy lectures ( a barrage of haymakers?) It is just as ineffective though.
Some have said my expectations are too high and I'm too demanding. Well I certainly wouldn't lecture as much if this wasn't at least true in part. While I don't expect perfection of my kids I do want the best for them and I do expect that they will try to maximize their true potential.
And is it expecting too much that after a 25 minute shower a twelve year old emerges, you know....clean? I was lamenting this incident recently with my Mom and she asked if he was actually in the shower (he was). By inference she was subtly reminding me of an incident of my own, when I was about the same age, when I was supposed to be showering, but was discovered merely running the shower while I stood enjoying the steam in the bathroom. Busted.
So, call it karma, what goes around comes around etc., whatever. Meanwhile I'm just trying to get off the lecture circuit.
Peace to the Planet...
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