A Dad's Life

Bitten By Christmas

2010-12-23T14:48:00.000-08:00

I thought I was going to escape Christmas this year.

Silly, silly, silly man.

This morning I was optimistic...I thought that with only two days to go I could successfully elude Christmas and would not have to worry about December 25 until next year. But Christmas is a patient hunter and it always gets its prey. While I did look over my shoulder a few times, I really didn't feel Christmas was stalking me and that I could get away from Christmas without getting bitten...because you see...Christmas comes with teeth.

I had a few close calls. In November, while with my best friend in Boston's Downtown Crossing, I felt a bit of the holiday spirit breathing down on me...but I successfully avoided getting caught. And again, earlier this month, I successfully resisted getting pulled into the holiday doldrums by deciding that Christmas, like Hannakah, is a holiday celebrated by other people but not me. As I said...I am a silly, silly, silly man.

Christmas and I do not get along. We have had our moments to be sure but for the most part we fight and I almost always end up getting mauled and bitten. Christmas is a monster that cannot be tamed or pacified...and as I said Christmas comes with teeth. But this year would be different...I would escape.

On Monday my dear friend warned me that Christmas would hunt me down...I assured her that I would escape and live to tell the tale. But a horrific Tuesday and a shaky Wednesday wore me down, leaving me weak and unable to resist today's visit by the Christmas beast. I would like to tell you that I put up a great fight but I have to tell you that it was over before it really began...

So...there is no escaping the Christmas beast. The best that one in my position can do is arrive at a plan of defense...which after I see my kids...for me includes hiding behind a mound of reheated Thai food armed with a vodka martini. Hopefully these will allow me to fend off Christmas as best as I can...

So....here we are

2010-12-10T16:03:00.000-08:00

Everybody has to be be somewhere...and tonight I am here...writing. Its been almost two months since I last visited this place. While I have been writing elsewhere, I have spent much of the last two months unplugged, offline and disconnected...letting my Facebook profile lie dormant, going without cable TV, and allowing a bit of dust gather gather on my favorite blog.

That is not to say I have not been busy...I embarked on a project with my oldest son...I tried Tibetan food...I had the best fried clams in the world...fell in love with pumpkin soup...dipped my feet in the ocean in October...and I stood inside a stained glass globe.

I learned that you can make "milk" from almonds and water, that one can indeed go without steak for two months, that my 11 year old daughter is no longer a little girl and that my 11 year old son is still a little boy, and that molten plastic is very, very hot. I learned that Pokemon is still very big amongst the 6 to 8 year old set, that China Wok's Kung Pao Chicken is still very good, and I have a rediscovered appreciation for PBS.

I gave up a new career to return to an old one.

I also learned that the very best of times can stand alongside the very worst of times.

To be honest...I didn't mind at all this little sabbatical from things online as after all, the Internet is one of the greatest distractions yet devised by man and cable TV is...well...cable TV. I enjoyed exploring the world and bringing my discoveries back to my kids as they too...or at least my boys...like pumpkin soup and want to try Tibetan food.

So my Internet sabbath is over...and...here we are...together again...and it looks like we will be here for a while.

Walking Wounded Dad

2010-09-20T16:18:00.000-07:00

Playing with my kids is one of my favorite things about being a Dad...and recently when my kids come over we have gotten into the habit of playing basketball or bocce …and for the near future it looks like I will be playing more bocce than basketball…

Like most forty something year old men I think of myself as a fourteen year old who can drive and drink martinis (although not at the same time). We often forget that the needs and capacities of forty something year old bodies are different than those of a fourteen year old. However, nature has a way of reminding us that we are not fourteen…its called pain…excruciating, yell out loud pain…

My boys and I were playing basketball last week when nature reminded me that I am not fourteen. My boys and I have an ongoing game with Aidan and me are pitted against my oldest son, Oliver. These games are competitive affairs…however…Aidan and I are toast once Oliver figures out that we are really playing chess and not basketball.

So…back to the reminder that I am not fourteen…during what proved to be my last basketball game for a while…I passed the ball to Aidan on the wing and then moved to receive his return pass…Aidan threw the ball over Oliver’s outstretched arms, I caught it, moved to make a left handed layup, pushing off on my right leg as I did….and then I felt like I was shot in the leg…and as I landed in a heap I thought…so…I am not fourteen after all…

My boys helped me into the house and into my chair…meanwhile I was telling myself that I was way too young to need my boys help to get into a chair…For the next month or so I am going to be playing bocce with my kids after school…how do I know this? I have had this injury before…suffered last year…while playing wiffle ball.

Goodbye

2010-09-16T06:17:00.000-07:00

As much as we wish this were not so...even the best of friends eventually part ways.

Last Friday I had to let my friend Joey go. I knew in March that we had turned a corner and were entering the home stretch of our run together. It was then when I promised him that when he was ready I would let him go. With this in mind, we had spent as much time as we could together. Sometimes he went with me to work or to run errands, but most of our time with each other was spent outside, sitting in the sun, and at night listening to the radio.

During the course of the summer my friend’s health continued to decline yet his puppy spirit continued to shine through, that is, until about a week and a half ago…when it was clear that it was time to let him go…he was ready for us to part ways.

Our last week together was a good one. I worked from home and as I did, Joey dozed at my feet, much as he had done for the last several years. My kids, knowing what was coming, paid more attention to him than usual…as for the first time they were about to lose someone whom they have known their entire lives.…Joey also received much love and support from many dear friends, old and new, who had shared in our journey.

My ex wife and I got Joey in 1995 from the Dedham Animal Rescue League. In those early days it was apparent that he was going to be a handful. While talking to her about Joey last week, she told me that she wanted to remember him as the out of control puppy she loved and who drove her crazy. I remember him, however, as an older dog who shared his life with me and who was my companion through good and through bad.

Thursday night I grilled a couple of steaks for us, served his on a plate, placed it next to him, and watched him devour an entire porterhouse in about three minutes. As he gnawed on the steak bone, I chatted with my dear friend who knew Joey well. A long time ago it she who gently told me that when the time came it really didn’t matter if I was ready to let him go… instead...I would need to let him go when he was ready.

Joey and I sat in the sun on our last morning together, ran a few errands, and then made one last stop at our favorite place. As we sat together on the Common, in the sun, as we did many times before. I thanked him for being my truest friend and for sharing his life with me. I told him that he was a good boy…

Finally…as he faded, I whispered to him our language’s saddest word….goodbye….

Silent Places

2010-08-22T11:15:00.000-07:00

This space has not seen much action this past month. Not because of anything out of the ordinary happened or because I have been otherwise preoccupied…but simply because given the choice between writing and silence I took the novel approach and chose silence.

People often feel the need to fill in silent places with some sort of chatter…bloggers are no different. There were any numbers of things about which I could have written these last few weeks…I simply didn’t. Instead…I chose silence.

If you think about it…it can be a challenge to keep the TV off, the radio silent, and to allow the iPod to quietly remain in its dock. It is even a greater challenge to convince your children to do the same…to convince them that wisdom can be found in the silent places.

I have learned the most from quiet people and from them I have learned that it is in the silent places, those spaces between the chatter and noise are where you can learn much and hear the most…all you need to do is listen.

Vacation

2010-08-09T05:38:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning, while heating up coffee in a frying pan, in my boxers, standing in my kitchen, at 6:15 in the morning, my phone rang....

It was my ex wife...

Sunday was not off to a good start...

I had realized the previous night that I had forgotten to pick up coffee at the local warehouse store and that if I wanted hot coffee the next day I would have to dip into my reserve of chilled coffee I keep in the fridge. Anyone who knows anything about coffee will tell you that hot coffee and iced coffee are two entirely coffee experiences and one cannot be substituted for the other.

So...inadequately caffeinated I was compelled to converse with my ex wife...

Ex Wife (who is already wide awake): "Hi Tom...can we borrow your tent?"

Tom: "grumble grumble...hmmmm...yeah..."

Ex Wife: "Thanks...when can you bring it over?"

Tom: "hmmmm...grumble...10:00?"

Ex Wife: "can you be over at 9:30...we are leaving at 10:00..thanks...bye..."

That exchanges such as these don't go well is usually my fault as I usually don't feel fully human until 11:30...but...I decided to keep my answers short thereby reducing the chances of verbal conflict...largely because my ex wife was leaving with out kids for a camping trip...

I arrived at the house at 9:45....handed her the tent...and my camera...and watched the four of them load the minivan as I held the kids' puppy by her leash...

The kids said their goodbyes...and off they went with their mom...with me...still standing in the front yard...holding the kids' puppy by her leash.

After buying coffee...I intend to fully enjoy my vacation...

Out For A Paddle

2010-08-01T07:55:00.000-07:00

On his porch, last weekend, in one of the rare moments in the last twenty five years where we have been alone together, my brother asked me..."so...what do you do with yourself on the weekends?"

"I paddle" I told him.

I have a kayak...its 12 feet long, its fire engine red, and it represents the best $250.00 I have spent in a very, very long time.

Its not a toy however, and its not an indulgence.

My red kayak is my Prozac, my evening cocktail, my consolation, and my escape.

The elegant combination of water, boat, and paddle helps me effortlessly pass hours and to see myself and the world from a different perspective. And so far I like the view.

Tell Me A Story She Whispered; A Story Retold

2010-07-29T07:18:00.000-07:00

There were certain quiet, intimate times, usually at an hour when only insomniacs and lovers are awake, while half asleep, I would be asked to share bits of myself that no one else knew. Feeling safe with no need to keep my guard up, I would have shared the secrets of the universe had I known them. Fortunately, I was wise enough to recognize those moments and remember them. I wish I had shared this story during one of those times.

This is one of my earliest memories, I must have been 3 or 4. It was a warm, humid, cloudy morning in September. Thinking about it now, a tropical storm must have been making its way up the New England coast. My father put me in the front seat of his truck and off we went. The cab of his pick-up truck smelled vaguely of engine grease and motor oil with hints of coffee and White Owl cigars. Rattling behind the vinyl bench seat were the tools in his tool box. My father is the sort of man who takes tools wherever he goes and he knows how to use them.

As we headed up Rhode Island Route 3 (these were the days before the Rhode Island stretch of I 95 was completed) it started to pour. I remember the rain coming down in sheets, the windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the torrential downpour. I remember not quite understanding why we were out and not knowing where we were going. We turned off the main road and headed up a gravel road. As we made our way down the road, I remember the sound of tree branches gently brushing against the side of the truck. As the end of the road stood a barn and a farm house. We were at an apple orchard.

Unlike today where orchards are agricultural Disneylands to which families take their annual rural excursions, this place was really a farm whose primary crop were apples. My father took these things very seriously. For my father, as was the case for generations in our family, September was a time to put away food for the winter. The apples we got each fall became preserves and apple sauce that were to last for the coming year. With more than 300 years of farming history in my family, my father was following an instinctual drive to prepare for winter. He took this seriously and I was expected to as well.

I remember standing under an apple tree, my father scrambling to fill up our bushel baskets, the rain coming down in torrents. I did my best to help him as he explained to me what constituted an apple worth picking and one that was better left behind.

My next memory of that day was sitting in his pick-up, wet, drinking hot chocolate that we had brought with us. I remember my dad sitting next to me and I remember being happy. I am glad for that day, when I was so young, where I felt protected, loved, and happy to be my father's son. I am also sad that we had so few days like that one.

This story should have been told at a late hour, in soft whispers, while feeling safe and warm and unguarded.

Fathers and Sons

2010-07-25T07:36:00.000-07:00

Today is my father's birthday. He is now 77. I am writing with one eye on the clock as I need to gather up my kids and make the hour and thirty minute drive down to my brother's to be on time for my father's birthday party.

I wish I could say that my father and I have a warm and close relationship. We do not. I do my best to fulfill the responsibilities a son has to his father but I confess that I do little more. This is the way that it has always been and I am afraid that this is the way that it will continue to be. However, there are times when I feel closer to him than others. This past week was one of those times.

In the life of a very close friend, something happened last week, that at least temporarily, brought me closer to my father, and brought me back to a pivotal time in the life of our family. When I was 9 my father had his first heart attack. He was 43. He had his first triple bypass two years later when I was 11. Needless to say it was a time of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear.

My father responded to his health difficulties in a way that I suspect that is not all that unusual; he believed that his time was short and that he needed to get done as much as he could as quickly as he could. My father, brother, and I embarked on a series of projects that my father felt needed to get done quickly. In the span of two years we restored a truck, finished a basement, and built an addition to the house. My brother and I dug ditches, poured cement, broke rocks, sandblasted truck parts, shingled roofs, and pounded many, many nails. Work conditions were not optimal.

Now, with the passage of thirty years coupled with my own experiences topped off by what happened in my friend's life, I think I better understand what my father faced. As the sole provider for a family of five words such as fulfillment, satisfaction, and happiness were not a part of my father's vocabulary. He did his best, even during those difficult times, to ensure that his wife and children were provided for, even if the worst should happen.

At 43 I can see that my own father did what he thought was his best and muddled through. Realizing this will make today's drive down to Rhode Island a bit easier and makes me aware that someday my own children will be driving to my home to celebrate my birthday. I hope as the do it will be with kind and happy thoughts about their dad.

Summer Camp

2010-07-22T06:53:00.000-07:00

This is camp week for the Pierce family. Oliver is at an overnight camp with the Boy Scouts, Fiona is at a day camp, and Aidan is at mom and dad camp...

As Oliver's and Fiona's camp schedule rounded into form, both I and the kid's mom asked Aidan about what he wanted to do for camp. We are fortunate in that there are a number of camp opportunities in town and any of them had the potential to capture Aidan's interest. Aidan, however, would have none of it, instead telling us that having the house, the TV, the computer, and us to himself would be like going to camp.

A quiet soul, I also think that Aidan also relished the idea of being away from his brother and sister, who, like their dad, have some hard edges to their personalities. At the tender age of ten, Aidan is already an expert in conflict resolution and conflict avoidance. As proficient as he is...I am sure he gets worn out from navigating between his brother and sister.

So this week Aidan has played hours of basketball, drunk gallons of root beer, and explored two rivers. Yesterday he rode shotgun with me as I made my appointments and we were able to fit in a trip to a coffee house and to a national park. His favorite part of the day, he told me, was the grilled hot dog I bought him at Jimmies in New Bedford. Today his mom is taking him to the zoo and tomorrow I am taking him to Cambridge...

While Oliver and Fiona are having a good week...I suspect that Aidan...who can get hours of entertainment out of wading in a river or from a fist full of coffee beans...is having the best camp week.

A Moment

2010-07-16T18:02:00.000-07:00

It was a moment with one of my kids that I thought I would not have for many years.

It was just the two of us, Aidan and I, sitting in the early evening twilight at my patio table, nibbling on fruit and cheese, each engrossed in our respective books; Aidan's, a book about World War One and mine a book about the 1964 major league baseball season. Each of us, quietly enjoying each others company, communing with one another without saying a word.

Such quiet moments are rare. The last such moment I had was in March, the day after my return home from a brief stay in the hospital and prior to that, during a particular day last July. To quietly sit with someone, dozing or reading, without speaking and yet be completely comfortable in that silence is a unusual sort of intimacy that is seldom recognized as such. Such moments, by their very nature are shared with someone special, are rare and are to be prized and treasured, especially when spent with one's child.

So nibbling on cheese, munching on fruit, and drinking bubbly water, Aidan and I quietly read. After about forty five minutes Aidan put down his book, stood up and said "well...that was nice..." and jogged off to shoot baskets.

Basketball Lessons

2010-07-10T08:04:00.000-07:00

In my backyard, my boys and I have an ongoing basketball game where, much to my surprise, basketball has replaced baseball as our game of choice.

Baseball teaches many things, among them the virtues of practice and repetition, cooperation between teammates, eye hand coordination, and is a great way for middle age men to commune with their sons as a game of catch does not usually tax forty something year old bodies. Over the years I have taken a particular pleasure in watching my boys develop their baseball skills, going from barely able to catch the ball when they were four to being able to deftly handle the most difficult of plays.

That there happens to be a basketball hoop in my backyard is a feature of my new home my boys find most appealing. They spend hours shooting baskets and more often than not, I am right out there with them. Which brings me to our ongoing game.

Actually there are two ongoing games...one where its ten year old Aidan and me against thirteen year old Oliver...and another of me against Oliver. Whereas I am slightly taller and a bit heavier than Oliver, he is in better shape, has greater endurance, and is faster than I. On the other hand...Aidan is quicker than both of us, has better eye hand coordination, however he is a foot shorter than Oliver and only half as heavy. I can safely say that both boys are better than I am at basketball.

During these games I encourage the boys to develop strategies and tactics that allow them to maximize their strengths and advantages while exploiting their opponent's weaknesses. Aidan is particularly adept at this as over the years he has found ways to compete athletically and intellectually with his much larger older brother. For an example, Aidan and I encourage Oliver to expend as much energy as possible by allowing him to run and dribble as much as he wants while the two of us lie in wait. I am waiting for Oliver to realize that it makes far less sense for him to dribble about simply because he can than for him to devise a way to break down our defense and take quality shots each time he has the ball.

Despite what we see on ESPN, basketball is a game of quickness and angles, of strategy and tactics. Aidan and I have a strategy of wearing out Oliver and we employ tactics towards that end...we run him ragged. My strategy against Oliver is to not get worn out and to play games that end quickly...and I play accordingly.

So...basketball has become this summer's teaching tool where I am trying to teach my boys to assess situations, maximize their advantages, minimize their weaknesses, and above all else, think and plan before acting. Hopefully they will also learn when and how to land the well placed elbow as well.

Sun Blocked

2010-07-08T06:11:00.000-07:00

Its hot...damn hot...too damn hot...

Lacking air conditioning, on Tuesday the boys and I set out for Nantasket Beach in Hull, Massachusetts. According to the state beach website, Nantasket is located 45 minutes south of Boston (although I defy anyone to make it to Nantasket from Boston in anything less than an hour and a half) and is very much an urban beach.

At Nantasket you can hear Spanish, French Creole, Russian, Irish brogues, Vietnamese, Chinese, and any number of other languages along with the distinctive Bahhhhston accent. Its a place where soccer moms from affluent Boston suburbs settle down in their beach chairs next to single moms from Dorchester and Roxbury. Believe me when I tell you that there are few other places on earth where this would happen.

So the boys and I found our place at the beach and had a great time. We went for a walk, we swam, and I read for a while as my oldest son did his best to drown his younger brother...just because I went to the beach with two kids in no way means that I need to return from the beach with two kids.

On the way home, Aidan, age 10, shared with us some of his observations;

I was the only man under 50 on the beach without a tattoo
Speedos should be outlawed...especially white speedos (he learned that bananas and grapes belong in a grocery bag...not a swim suit).
That he wants to go back to the beach earlier in the day because he can't throw rocks into the water at a crowded beach.
That there are times when he really, really, really hates his older brother.
Sunblock is always a good idea and, looking at his scarlet skinned brother, that he was glad he wore some.

Oliver also learned that sunblock is always a good idea but he learned it the hard way. Displaying a foolhardiness that only a teenager can demonstrate, Oliver ventured out into the July sun without sunblock...and when it comes to a showdown between our fiery friend the sun and fair Irish skin...the sun always wins. He also learned that avoiding agonizing pain is better than having a nice tan...

Oliver learns from his mistakes...Aidan learns from his brother's mistakes.

Three Day Weekend Eve; The Virtues of Plan B

2010-07-02T18:19:00.000-07:00

I belong to a particular subset of the fatherhood fraternity...I am a divorced dad...among other things this means that while I am always an active member of the aforementioned fraternity, there are times when I have my kids with me...and then there are times I don't. On this three day weekend I don't.

The solo three day weekend can be the fuzzy end of the divorce, single in your forties, ex boyfriend lolly pop (not that the candy end of this particular lolly pop is all that great either). Seventy two hours provides ample time to pull apart every life decision, wallow, and eat too many half gallon boxes of ice cream. So...when entering a three day weekend its always advisable to have a game plan...and once you have a game plan...make sure you have a Plan B.

A few weeks ago I had come up with a pretty damn good game plan for this weekend...but...plans changed and the game plan had to be scrapped. And I confess...it took an early morning email today from the person who taught me the virtues of having a Plan B to spur me into action. So...as I told her...my plans for the weekend included bicycling on Friday, kayaking on Saturday, and an arrhythmia on Sunday which should also cover me for Monday as well.

Too many divorced parents spend their child free weekends wandering around wondering what to do with themselves...and it ought to go without saying that this does neither the parent nor their kids any good. We remain parents whether our kids are with us or not and its our responsibility to make sure that we take care of ourselves...and wallowing is a lousy way to treat oneself. Besides if Daddy ain't doing well ain't nobody going to be doing well....

So...while the original game plan would have been a winner...and frankly my first choice...Plan B will work just fine...I just hope to skip the arrhythmia part.

Friends

2010-06-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, as I was getting ready for a visit by my mother (a blog posting in and of itself) I got a phone call...it was my daughter...in tears...asking if she could come over and have lunch with me and her grandmother. I asked her what was wrong and she said me that she would tell me later.

Not having much to say, she managed to make it through lunch, however, as soon as her grandmother pulled out of the driveway Fiona burst into tears.

She had planned to go off with her best friend to the mall. There was much discussion and much planning, even down to what she was going to wear and where they were going for lunch. However, yesterday morning Fiona's friend called at the last minute to cancel. Minutes later, Fiona saw the friend in question pass by in her grandmother's car, with another friend. To have her friend cancel at the last minute was upsetting enough, to see her blithely move forward with other plans was devastating...

Fiona is much like me when it comes to friends...while she does not have many she is fiercely loyal to the ones she has. One indication of this was a few months ago when I made an off handed comment about one of her friends which Fiona interpreted as being unkind...she did not speak to me for three days. While holding her friends to a high standard, Fiona gives all of herself in return.

We talked about what it means to be a friend and what it means to be hurt and disappointed and let down. I also tried to discuss forgiveness with her...but yesterday afternoon was clearly not the time for that discussion. Fiona was pissed off...and frankly I didn't blame her.

So today I will try to help Fiona come up with a way to tell her friend that she is hurt and angry and will also try to have that discussion about forgiveness. I guess what I will do is tell her that those people who are special enough to be our friends are also special enough for our forgiveness...

2010-06-30T06:55:00.001-07:00

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Dog Days

2010-06-28T05:37:00.001-07:00

The alarm went off, I stumbled to the kitchen, turned on the radio and the smooth, soothing voice characteristic of an NPR newsreader announced that it was 78 degrees in Boston...at 6:20 in the morning.

Its going to be a hot one...making a day spent in an unairconditioned car more unappealing than usual...so I am going to that part of my territory where the weather is typically the mildest, where the roads are shaded and reminds me of where I grew up. Rochester, a place populated by part time artists and cranberry growers is, at least from this visitors' point of view, idyllic.

My kids are with their mom today and I am battling the temptation to call her and try to solve the inevitable problem of what to do with the kids in such hot weather. She does not have a pool, there are few ponds to go to, and my kids have few friends within an easy bike ride. She...my ex wife...is going to have a fun day...

In thinking about Rochester and what suggestions I can offer my ex wife I find myself thinking about what we did when we were kids on days like this. I am not one to idealize where I grew up but if I am honest...where I grew up was...gulp...in some ways almost idyllic.

One place...one special spot...in particular comes to mind...a place that you could only find in a small town. On a back road, about five miles from my house, was a swimming hole, complete with a rope hanging from a tree from where we would swing out over the brook and drop into the cold water below. My brother Keith, my friend Mark, my friend Jimmy, and his brother George were frequent companions to this special place.

There, free from meddling adults, we swam, talked about baseball, and debated the merits of certain girls who shall remain nameless. There we found relief from the heat, escaped our parents, and were able to indulge in those pursuits which preoccupy boys of a certain age.

I wish I could whisper in Oliver's and Aidan's ear of the whereabouts of such a place near where they live. I suspect that there are none to be had...where kids can go and indulge in such summertime pleasures as I did many years ago. We live in a different time and such places exist only in our memories and our imaginations...and perhaps in Rochester.

Yard Work

2010-06-27T06:15:00.001-07:00

The baton has been passed, the rite of passage reached, the goal has been obtained; my oldest son is now mowing the lawn and God willing...will be raking the leaves when Fall comes.

Fathers do not have sons in order for the family name to continue (I have four nephews who can handle that)...they have sons so someone take over the yard work.

Over the last year Oliver and I have had a number of "Great Santini" moments where he his athletic prowess has developed to the point where it exceeds mine. He can throw farther and harder, run faster, jump higher, and when we play basketball I have to resort to cheating in order to win...actually...I have always had to resort to cheating in order to win at basketball...anyway...I thought that if he was tall enough to block my shot he was big enough to push a mower.

So this year Oliver took over mowing the lawn. His mother fought long and hard at this...I think she wanted me to remain her yard boy and she did not want to see our son old enough to assume an adult responsibility. That I was riding a tractor, taking apart trucks, and digging ditches before the age of 12 was not a persuasive argument.

I showed Oliver where to add oil and gasoline and how to start the mower. I took him where there were tricky spots and how to reach them. I told him to leave the mower and call me if it stalled because the blade was clogged with grass. I also told him that the only reason I had children was so they could do yard work.

So...Oliver now cuts the grass. As attention to detail is not a characteristic common to 13 year olds he does not do the best job...but its good enough...And on last Thursday I showed his mom how to trim the hedges while not cutting the extension cord...lets see how that works....

My son cuts the grass...and hopefully now he will know better than to block my shots...

Yard Work

2010-06-26T08:08:00.000-07:00

Extended Family

2010-06-26T05:03:00.000-07:00

It's time...to paraphrase the very wise words of one former girlfriend... "to put on my big boy boots" for today...I am attending a family event.

Attending is probably not the best word to describe what I will be doing later on today...chauffeuring and observing are more like it. In each family everyone has their roles. In my family of origin, my brother's role is to help my father, my sister's is to be best friend to my mother, and mine is to deliver my children to family events, find a quiet corner, observe, and do my best to keep my mouth shut.

As someone with more than his fair share of experience with complicated relationships...I can safely say that my relationship with my family of origin...is...well...complicated. But again, whose isn't? The tricky part, however, is to isolate my kids from the complexity of my own relationship with my family.

Extended family brings a richness and fullness to a kid's family life. When I was growing up I enjoyed my own cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents and frankly cannot imagine my childhood without them. I am sure that my own parents had to put aside their own familial issues so that the three of us could have a relationship with the extended family. And to their credit, they put aside whatever issues they may have had to make this possible.

So...today...I am putting on my big boy boots, driving my kids to Rhode Island, and hope that somewhere in my brother's house there is a quiet corner from where I can watch my kids enjoy their cousins, aunts, uncles, and their grandparents. Hopefully I will be able to keep my mouth shut.

Bacon Roasted Chicken...thank you Julia Child

2010-06-25T06:23:00.000-07:00

The trick, I have found, to making sure the kids and I eat decent, well balanced meals, is to cook in advance and have food ready to serve at dinner time....besides...in 90 degree heat I have no desire, in the heat of the day, to stand in front of the blast furnace that is my oven.

So...last night I was bored...climb the walls, pace back and forth bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.

Bored.

I did not know what to do with myself. So I did the obvious thing...I roasted a chicken.

The other day, while channel surfing, I stumbled across Julia Child on the local PBS affiliate...now...watching Julia Child nowadays, for me anyway, takes a supreme act of courage to undertake...however...I was able to overcome my cowardice and watch. Why? Because she was preparing a meal involving two of my favorite things...bacon and chicken....

One of the few challenges when roasting a chicken is to keep in moist. My solution to the problem is to drown the bird in as much butter as I can spare. But I like Julia's solution better. With twine, she tied pieces of blanched bacon (blanch - to boil briefly and then immediately chill in ice water) to the chicken before roasting.

At 375 degrees and an hour and 15 minutes later my 4 lbs chicken was done....Now by this time my kitchen felt like the inside of a steel mill in July...but it was worth it....standing in my kitchen at 11:30 at night gnawing on a chicken leg worth it. So worth it that I had chicken for breakfast this morning.

So...if I can resist the siren call of bacon roasted chicken my kids and I will have a ready made meal this afternoon allowing me to spend my time with them playing basketball and drawing on the sidewalk. All it took was an idea stolen from Julia Child and an act of courage...

For Father's Day

2010-06-20T05:42:00.000-07:00

My ex wife...God Love her...in I think was an attempt to help my kids devise a Father's Day plan...asked me the other day what I wanted to do for Father's Day...and I told her..."for Father's Day I want to be the dad I want to be..."

She rolled her eyes and walked away....

I suppose I could have made something up to provide her with a more satisfactory answer...but my enigmatic reply had two virtues...it annoyed my ex...and it was true.

Today... I want to be the dad I want to be.

I was fortunate...even when I was very little my own father provided me with numerous examples that helped me early on to figure out what kind of dad I wanted to be. And while I continue to apply many of those lessons from my early childhood I have learned that parenting is a one day at a time, step by step affair, and that what "works" today may not work tomorrow.

So today...in about an hour I will pick up my kids, we will go out for breakfast, and then back here...to my place for an afternoon which I am sure will include food, basketball, sidewalk chalk, and petty squabbling. In other words, a typical afternoon at Dad's. And during this time with my kids I hope to be the dad I want to be...active, engaged, tolerant, watchful, appreciative and thankful for the individuals my children are becoming.

Tell Me A Story She Whispered

2010-06-19T08:43:00.001-07:00

I usually do not see my kids on Friday nights...but I always call to say good night. When I speak with my daughter she always asks what the favorite part of my day was. I did not share with her my favorite part of yesterday (Friday) as it was a sort of moment, that at the age of ten, she would be unable to understand how it could be special, let alone be the favorite part of my day.

At around mid-day I had decided to rearrange my work schedule and go into town to take care of some business. As I left my place at about 1:30 I thought I would beat rush hour traffic and that my errand would take about two hours to complete. I am such a silly man.

There is one constant concerning Boston traffic...its unpredictable. There have been times, when at 11:45 at night, I have sat in the Southeast Expressway's southbound lane for 45 minutes...such are the things we do for love...Anyway...yesterday's traffic took me by surprise...it took more than two hours to get into town and after such an ordeal...I decided to stay in town for a few hours, kill some time, and avoid rush hour traffic on the way home.

I was not at a loss for things to do...there are plenty of bookstores and cafes in which to while away an afternoon and lots of interesting people to watch...and in Harvard Square one is reminded that it takes all sorts of people to make up a world....However...I was hot, tired, annoyed, and in an all around lousy mood.

While walking from Harvard Square, there was a section of sidewalk that narrowed due to some construction. Approaching from the other direction was a Buddhist nun...her shaved head and her saffron robe gave her away. We could have both navigated the narrowed sidewalk...but instead...why I have no idea...I yielded the sidewalk to her to let her pass...she looked at me, smiled faintly, pressed her palms together, and softly bowed her head. I returned the gesture....

In the midst of the late June heat, my sticky clothes, my day that was blown to hell, and the less than kind thoughts that were swirling around my head...this passing nun afforded me a moment of gentle serenity.

By any measure yesterday was a lousy day...however...this silent exchange between the nun and myself is something I will remember and will take with me...and with it the hope that my little girl will someday grow into the sort of woman who can appreciate such small moments.

I'm Bored

2010-06-18T04:47:00.000-07:00

At 7:15 this morning my phone rang...never a good thing....but since this was my kid's mom's number I answered...

Dad: What?

Voice on the other end: Hi Daddy....(it was Fiona)...

Dad: (suppressing urge to ask Fiona if she knew what time it was)...hi princess...whats going on?

Fiona: I'm bored....

And so it begins...21 hours into school vacation and one of my children has already declared themselves board. I give my kids another 4 hours before they declare me boring. I know of one mom who is already poised to declare her kids boring.

We parents arrange play dates, vacations, send our kids to summer camp, buy swimming pools, erect basketball hoops, juggle our schedules all so our kids can be entertained during the summer. We behave as though we are legally obligated to provide food, clothing, shelter, and entertainment.

I am not a cruise director...this is what I told my daughter and her less than thrilled mom.

So my daughter is bored...I am sure her brothers will soon follow suit. Everybody gets bored...I get bored...last night I was bored silly. It happens. But expecting to be constantly entertained is...well...not good...and certainly not an expectation we should create for our kids. However, our behavior fuels that expectation.

So I told Fiona two things...that for some people 7:15 is the middle of the night and that its OK for her to be bored and that if she looked around there were plenty of things for her to do. I will need to keep this in mind as surely there will come a time this weekend when I will say to myself..."I'm bored."

School's Out

2010-06-16T11:20:00.000-07:00

At around 11:30 today my kids will be out for summer vacation...I will see you in September.

Just kidding.

Over the last few weeks I have been asked a number of times about what I was "going to do" with the kids for the summer. On those few occasions when I was able to muster more than a deer in the headlights stare I blithely replied to such queries by saying that I was all set as I have arranged for the kids to be put into storage for the summer.

Based upon the look of shock and horror one parent gave me at least one person took me seriously... (God...there are times I truly love the parking lot at Holy Family School).

However...I am facing the very real prospect of having...for the first time...to deal with the issue of what to do with the kids for the summer. Fortunately (or unfortunately) this is an issue that I have not had to worry about as I since I have been a dad as either I worked from home or my kids' mom was around to mind the little ones during summer vacation.

So...last night...at a ball game...surrounded by children left to me to manage by parents who apparently trusted me enough with their little cherubs to go off and swill watered down ballpark beer all night...I discovered that the trick to parenting is to not let your children become your problem...let them become other people's problem...and this meshes well with what my kids really want to do this summer;

Dad: "Oliver what would you like to do this summer?"

Oliver: "Dad....trust me...you will NOT see a lot of me...I am going to be hanging out at my friends..."

Dad: "Don't forget to send your mother a postcard otherwise she will be calling me asking why she has not heard from you..."

Fiona has similar plans...that is to hang out with friends. As for Aidan...he would be content to play XBox all summer...This is a kid who could live on Goldfish. As for his other bodily needs, I know a nurse and she has experience with catheters...

So my solution to my summertime childcare problem is to make my problem other people's problem. Either that...or I could open a Daddy Day Care and charge other parents for me to watch their problems...I mean...their children...but nobody would want that...would they?

Fatherhood

2010-06-12T03:37:00.000-07:00

It started innocuously enough...I wished someone with whom I went to high school a safe journey home from an extended business trip to east Asia...in our brief exchange of messages I thanked him for the kind things he said about my efforts in this space...in reply he suggested that I write more about fatherhood....

Apparently its not that apparent that writing about fatherhood was what I have been attempting to do in the previous 299 posts. Actually...Joe did me a favor in that he caused me to pause and give some though to what have been doing as a dad and in this space. He always had this way of challenging you in ways you might not want to be challenged.

Fatherhood is who you are and what you do...I am trying and failing to make the word "fatherhood" into a verb but fatherhood is an action or at least a series of actions that determine whether you are a good father or something less and whether you are a father or a dad. I have a father and perhaps I needed one...but my kids need a dad and I have been struggling ever since they were born to be a good one.

As a dad I am in the business of raising future adults and in doing so its my job to raise them with a certain set of values and priorities which will help them be strong, kind, and loving people. Additionally, its also my job to equip them with the skills they will need to thrive and make sense of the wider world. I want my children to be happy and moral individuals who lead lives that make sense to them and who will be able to contribute to the greater good.

In this space I have written about a series of experiences and observations; about me personally, about the people in my life, about the world in which we live, and about my kids. As I think about it, it has also been a chronicle of my own efforts to decompartmentalize my own life and to live a life that makes sense. I have no idea if my efforts will succeed, but I can say that I have learned that attempts to wall off parts of one's life will ultimately lead to chaos and will eventually fail. We are the sum total of the parts of our lives and these parts need to fit together or they will fall into rubble.

So writing about food, playing catch, about a book my girlfriend gave me, about illegal immigration, or about my own struggles is writing about fatherhood. As is writing, not so obliquely, about the people, mostly women, who have influenced me most in how I "dad" today. These experiences, the influences in my life, and the people I know, make up who I am. And being a dad is who I am and what I do.

Moved

2010-06-03T05:11:00.000-07:00

I am...now that I have Internet access...ensconced in my new home.

Finally.

The last week has been one taken up by sifting, sorting, packing, hauling, lugging, shoving, arranging, tossing, swearing, and moving. And through much of the sifting, sorting, packing, hauling, lugging, shoving, arranging, tossing, swearing, and moving my son Oliver was with me and not merely for company...he helped.

My son and I moved down three flights of stairs and onto a truck and into my new place one sofa, three chairs, a kitchen table, four kitchen chairs, four mattresses...and on and on it went. Doing this together was fun...well...almost fun. However, it was a gratifying experience to have my boy help me not because he had to...but because he wanted to be my partner in this...and at 5 feet 6 inches and the strength of a horse he was able to...and with more smarts and maturity than I sometimes give him credit for, he was able to see the wisdom in my decision to move. Besides...where I now live has a basketball hoop.

That my kids played a role in choosing where I live and that they helped me move I think will help them with the transition through which all four of us are going. Together, as a family, we discussed what moving meant and how our lives would change, we celebrated the end of this period in our lives, and together we are starting a new chapter.

In my last night at the old place, sitting in my camp chair, listening to my old radio much like I had that first night away from my kids almost four years ago, it very much felt like that I was at the end of a chapter. I am deeply grateful to the people who helped me write this chapter in the life of my family. They...and you...have helped me and my children through what was often a difficult and challenging time. Additionally, they...and...you have helped prepare me to be ready to find our future and to look forward to that future with much enthusiasm and with great hope.

Packing

2010-05-30T05:27:00.000-07:00

The boxes and boxes of books are gone as are the sofa, the leather chair, my bed, and almost all of the other major pieces of furniture...

All that's left to do is to break down the kitchen and to figure out what to do with the bits and pieces that remain. And as always, its the bits and pieces that are the most difficult with which to deal. When I decided to move I thought that as I had moved here a mere year ago that I did not have the opportunity to accumulate much in the way of stuff, of scattered remnants, of things...I realize that I could not have been more wrong.

I have come to the realization that I believe that things hold memories...I know its a superstition...I know its illogical...and I know that the object merely triggers a series of chemical reactions in my brain, allowing me to recreate the event in question. These things I know...but I believe that it is the object itself that holds the memory.

So as I go through the scattered remnants in my soon to be former home, I am paring down, cutting ties, and throwing out. I have no need for the electric bill from last July that I found in my dresser...I have no idea how it ended up there. Nor do I have need for two pairs of pants three sizes too large, last worn too long ago. These are among many items that have ended up in the dumpster.

But there are some things that are too important...too powerful to banish the memories they contain to the uncertain realm of intangible thought...the memories these items contain must remain tangible...at least for now...the paper "blizzard" given to me by a certain then four year old, a book a matches from a favorite watering hole in Plymouth, a pass to a particular museum of natural history, a hospital ID wristband, a depleted Charlie Pass...these I will keep...as these were the sign posts for the road I have traveled during my time here in this place and these sign posts I need.

My sentimentality comes as no surprise to me...but the power of my superstition does...its illogical, unreasonable, and makes me feel a little guilty and a little foolish. On the other hand...a little illogic and unreasonableness never hurt anyone...besides...these are the things that help make us human.

Things hold memories...this I believe.

Papers Please

2010-05-25T05:30:00.000-07:00

On the way to school this morning we were listening to a story about the new Arizona illegal immigrant law...you know...the one where police can ask for proof of citizenship of anyone they think might be here illegally....

From the mouth of Oliver Pierce, age 13.."there is nothing more fascist than a police officer going up to someone for no reason and asking for their papers."

As least 13 year olds know the makings of a police state when they see one.

Maybe I am just cranky from packing all day or because I got a ticket this morning or maybe Oliver is right.

We had a Republican administration that was intent on running the Constitution through the shredder and its Democratic successor had done nothing to repair the damage. We are subject to full body scans at airports, our emails and phone conversations are sifted, filtered, and scanned. In public places we are filmed, taped, and watched. The authorities have access to our every movement through the interaction of our cell phones with cell phone towers. We detain people without according them the rights of prisoners of war while denying them the protections once offered by our Constitution.

Coercive interrogation is another phrase for the word torture. Rendition is another word for kidnapping. We have secret courts, we have secret warrants, we have secret trials...

Our government tells us that these measures are needed to keep us safe. There is now a bill poised to go before Congress that would strip the citizenship of anyone "affiliated" with a foreign terrorist organization as defined by the State Department...(see link). We used to be the land of the free and the home of the brave...not the cowering and cringing.

My son doesn't want to be safe...he would rather be free...and so would I.

Rites Of Passage

2010-05-24T13:29:00.000-07:00

There are, in my fridge, 15 ounces of delicious, grass-fed, porterhouse goodness. This beautiful piece of meat is waiting for me, calling to me, wantonly beckoning me to lay it on my sizzling hibachi and then, once ready, to devour it's beefy deliciousness...

Perhaps I have been spending a bit too much time pondering torridity...

Usually, my steak eating escapades are quasi decadent affairs done on weekend nights in the privacy of my own home. That I can consume of a pound of USDA beef, a baked potato with an eighth of a pound of butter, and a salad in one sitting brings with it a particular type of shame. A, lets do this again and again, week after week kind of shame....

Anyway...I digress....because I had a friend who had a lonely beer sitting next to her last night, I had to go out, leaving my porterhouse friend to languish. So even though tonight is Monday, a kid night, a dad night, a family night...I have to grill my steak. And thus, I now have an opportunity to turn this quasi decadent, semi shameful ritual into something wholesome...

It is time to teach my oldest son Oliver, the manly art of grilling. He is ready to learn the essentials of cooking steak over fire; That charcoals need to be a certain shade of gray before they are ready to receive the steak. That a fine piece of meat, aside from kosher salt and pepper, requires no additional adornment. That a one inch thick steak with a bone requires four minutes on one side, three on the other, to arrive at grilled perfection, and most importantly of all, that once done a steak requires patience and must be left alone for a least five minutes....which means no hacking, no cutting, no sampling...simply leave the steak the hell alone....

I have taught my sons how to fish, how to throw a curveball, and tonight, I shall teach Oliver to cook with fire. Bit by bit I am sharing with him and with Aidan, the rituals and habits of manhood...and that along the way I hope they learn to appreciate the subtleties and nuances of life. Because as in grilling a steak, life is not meant to be lived charred on the outside and blood raw on the inside.

Moving

2010-05-22T07:15:00.000-07:00

I.....am moving.

I resist change, I hate packing, and I grow attached to places.

I hate moving.

This move will entail a major disruption in my family life, smaller accommodations, and a less comfortable home. However...if last year taught me anything, I learned that there are times when you need to take a step back in order to take two steps forward.

Last week a received a gift from someone whom I used to date. She and I are in fairly regular contact, frequently commenting on the insanity that comes with managing the comings and goings of everyday life. Our relationship is such where I can be genuinely pleased that she has someone in her life with whom she is happy and where she can freely offer me the advice that only someone you dated can give.

She told me that I needed to find my future, not my past. I had known this for sometime but I needed my friend to help me crystallize this feeling into a plan of action. It was a gift I needed, it was the right size, and it came at the perfect time.

So...moving out...even to a smaller, less comfortable place, is a step towards the future...and a step I am looking forward to taking.

It should be fun.

But I still hate packing.

Baking Bread

2010-05-20T06:04:00.000-07:00

This was our second date...and as picked at the remnants of our pad Thai and Thai spicy squid, we looked at each other, knowing that it was time to leave. As we made our way our to the car, she turned to me and gave me one of the most precious things someone can give...a recipe for bread. And off into the night she went...what a tease.

Actually...it was a link....and here it is...recipe for no knead bread.

You can trade a lot of things on a date; information, stories, experiences, spit, and in my case, looks of sullen resentment over another misspent evening...but I digress...However this was a first for my checkered dating career, receiving a recipe on a second date...usually you have to wait for the fifth or sixth date for that to happen.

I am pretty fearless in the kitchen, but bread making has always intimidated me. I was...and as my loaf is, as of this writing, still in the oven, afraid that my efforts will yield either a charred cinder or doughy creature that will engulf me apron and all.

Bread baking used to be a local affair and was something sold fresh and bought daily. It was not stuffed full of preservatives as store loafs currently are. Even the so called artisanal breads come with a certain price...the ones at my local market are shipped in from New Jersey. Talk about a carbon footprint.

Fresh baked bread is...if all goes well...relatively easy to make as well as cheap. I did the math and figured that my loaf will cost me less than fifty cents to make. And while this is a twenty four hour process it takes only about ten minutes of actual work to make a single loaf. As far as I am concerned its time well spent.

So, I remain on the lookout for the doughy, yeasty creature that I am sure is lurking in the oven. Meanwhile, I am incorporating into my dating strategy a tactic for extracting new food ideas on the first or second date...hey...its a way to get something out of a misspent evening.

I Believe In Butter

2010-05-19T05:34:00.000-07:00

You hang around long enough and you will encounter people who believe in all sorts of things...I have lived with Jewish guys, have had Hindu roommates, and lived with someone who believed that God can be found in fire. I've dated someone who believed in a "presence," and someone else who did not believe at all...heck...I even dated a Congregationalist...

Frankly...I did not and really do not care what someone believes in as long as they are kind and decent and loving...but there are certain deal breakers...let me find a tub of spreadable margarine or vegetable spread in your refrigerator then all bets are off . I will summon the food inquisition and will lead the mob to your doorstep with torch and pitchfork in hand.

Because I believe in butter.

I also believe in whole milk, all natural ice cream, sugar, farm fresh eggs, and locally raised produce, dairy, meat, and poultry. I believe in eating seafood caught off of our own coast and processed locally. I believe in real food.

But back to butter...the ingredients for butter; cream, salt, milk...period...that's it...now we could discuss what the cows that produced the cream are fed...but that is for another posting for another day.

Here are the ingredients for a popular spread; veggie-oil blend, (including corn oil, flax seed oil (flax seed oil?), and cotton seed oil (again WTF), water, whey (milk), salt, veggie mono & diglycerides, soy lecithin, citric acid, artificial flavors, vitamin A, beta carotene (for color, because I am told that this shit is "naturally" gray)...and this is an abridgement of whats in this stuff (check out this link to see how this stuff is actually made). They are damned right that this is not butter.

I believe in butter because its the not so secret ingredient for my roast chicken and my mashed potatoes, as well as my homefries. The aforementioned foods appear to have the magical ability to placate my children and to make women swoon....how this works I have no idea I just know that it does. I am convinced that a former girlfriend kept me around just for my homefries...and for that I have butter to thank.

My ex wife as well as my parents use vegetable spread...perhaps my relationships with them would improve if they converted to butter.

That we would rather have something conjured in a lab rather than something made from cream, salt, and milk tells you how messed up our relationship with food really is.

But I am OK because I believe in butter.

Atheism, farts, and other inappropriate topics of dinnertime conversation

2010-05-18T08:59:00.001-07:00

Saturday afternoon, during Mass....I found myself thinking about atheism...

The other day my ex wife called me...in the middle of the day...and announced..."we need to talk."

I hate when that happens.

She went on to express her concern about the books that my oldest son was reading and about some of the topics the kids and I discuss during dinnertime...

(Note to self....explain to children the concept of "code of silence")

Specifically...she was upset about a chat we had earlier in the week concerning atheism....and here I thought she was going to express displeasure about Wednesday night's chat about different kinds of farts...

I went on to explain to her that what happens at my table is my business and she need not worry about the kids...but I did share with her what we talked about...

For a while I have been concerned that I am raising my kids in a Catholic bubble. As they go to parochial school and live in predominantly Catholic state I am a little worried that they will be unprepared for a wider, more diverse world. While I am content to leave them in their bubble for as long as I can...I have taken the approach that its best to expose them to different ideas and faiths now...rather than later. I have been leaving books out for the kids as well as my single volume encyclopedia, strategically left on the coffee table "accidentally" opened to selected entries in the hopes that they will do a little investigating.

So far so good...it also helps that I keep a dish of candy on the coffee table.

Anyway, the other night at the dinner table we were talking about a program we had been watching about Tibet when Oliver asked about atheism. He knew I recently read for a second time a book whose protagonist was an atheist...after briefly talking about atheism, Fiona asked how can atheists be good if they do not believe in God.

Oliver rolled his eyes....meanwhile we talked about how goodness, kindness, friendship and love are virtues that anyone can and should practice because its in our human nature to do so...and not because God will punish us if we don't. Resisting the temptation to wade too far into deep philosophical waters, I drew from examples from my and their lives where people of different faiths...or of no faith at all...showed us goodness, kindness, friendship, and love and that anybody can be good because its the human way to be...While beliefs (or lack thereof) are important...how a person acts and treats others is far more important...and telling.

Today I am leaving out a few books about Russia...lets see what happens...meanwhile...I can't wait for the phone call that will surely result from tonight's dinnertime activity...Aidan wants to stage a belching contest...

Perspective

2010-05-13T04:19:00.000-07:00

I spent about an hour yesterday chatting with a friend. We talked about the usual things that two single parents talk about; kids, schedules, ex spouses, as well as our social lives...she has one...I have HBO...

Anyway...we were both having bad days...neither of us were dealing with anything of great import, just a series of little things that were dragging us both down. We were having a bitch fest...and then my phone rang. It was my brother.

My brother-in-law, a man in his mid fifties, was suffering from small cell lung cancer. He was a biker, and he very much looked the part. A big man, chemotherapy and radiation had made him a shell of his former self. I last saw him at a family gathering in March. He told me that the end was soon.

My brother called to tell me that our brother-in-law died the night before.

My sister is now a widow and my niece lost her father....

The universe force fed my friend and me a very large does of perspective.

When I used to complain about something very trivial an ex girlfriend used to ask me "is anybody going to die?" (it seems sometimes that what wisdom I possess has been gleaned from the women I have dated...)..anyway...she believes that if you use death as a standard anything else is manageable...and so it is.

Old Friends

2010-05-11T04:40:00.000-07:00

Today I am going to meet my dearest friend for lunch. I knew from the day I met her that she would always have a special place in my life. That we were both seven at the time probably helped bolster my certainty that we would be together for the rest of our lives (the young are very good at being certain about a great many things).

And in a sense, we have been together ever since that first meeting. We were in the same class throughout elementary school, shared many of the same classes throughout junior and senior high school. In fact, we would often run into each other during the my first two years of college. We hung out together during the summertime. Our birthdays are a mere 16 days apart. Her son shares the same name as one of my boy's.

However, as these things often happen, we fell out of touch. For much of our 20s and some of our 30s we did not hear much from each other. About ten years ago we were accidentally re-united at South Station in Boston. She was returning to work after taking maternity leave for the birth of her daughter and I was running late to work. We chatted a bit and met for lunch a few times....and since then we were in sporadic contact and had a few lunches together along the way....

Over the last several months we have been in weekly, if not daily contact. We have discussed the challenges of raising children, joked about our respective parents, and have kept each other up to date on our mutual friends. We have talked about how our youthful expectations have had to yield to middle age realities. Earlier this year, when I was sick, I learned that I could count on my dearest friend...

While ours was not and will never be a romantic relationship, we share an intimacy that only old and dear friends can share. When with her and the handful of other friends who were in our circle it feels less like a reunion of friends but rather a gathering of cousins. We are related by our shared formative experiences and by bonds of friendship that have lasted more than 35 years.

So I am meeting my dearest friend today for lunch. I am excited to see her. Besides, its her turn to pick up the bill.

Grandma

2010-05-09T06:24:00.001-07:00

The last few days I have been thinking an awful lot about my grandmother. She died more than sixteen years ago and I still miss her.

Each summer, my brother and sister and I would spend about five days at my grandparents. These days would begin with the sound of my grandmother making us breakfast and the smell of cooked bacon drifting through the house. After breakfast, my grandmother would make a lunch for us and she and my grandfather would take us on a day trip somewhere. We would go to the Cape or to the zoo or to Plymouth. In the evening my grandmother would make us dinner...something simple but always delicious. And at night she would tuck us in and tell us that she loved us.

More than the smell of bacon or the day trips I remember how I felt when I was with my grandmother; safe, loved, cared for, secure...all of the things a little boy should feel all of the time.

When I moved to Massachusetts in my mid-twenties I made it a point to see my grandparents a few times a month. On most visits I shared a meal with them. I remember down to the detail the last meal my grandmother made for me.

More than the smell of dinner being made or the times spent chatting in her living room I remember how I felt when I was with my grandmother; affirmed, loved, and supported...all of the things a young man should feel when he is with his family.

In a manner of speaking, my grandmother is still with me, I use her pots and pans to cook with, I grill my steaks on her hibachi, and I listen to her radio in the evening. But more than the artifacts of her life, I have with me her example of how people should be treated...with kindness and with respect...and the example of how children should be made to feel...safe, loved, cared for, and secure...all of the time.

She died more than sixteen years ago...and I still miss her.

My Dirty Dirty Car

2010-05-08T05:08:00.000-07:00

You know things have gotten bad when your mild mannered, soft spoken ten year old looks up at you with the biggest brown eyes in the world and screams "DAD CLEAN YOUR CAR!."

My car is a mess.

Its always a mess.

And I am being kind when describing my car as a mess. Years ago, an ex girlfriend got into my car and said "this is awful." From that point on we took her car. I dated someone off and on for more than a year and she never saw the inside of my car. Yes...I have car shame. My car is a combination work space, lunch room, warehouse, office, reading room, and kennel...oh yes...I also haul my kids around in it. Its a multi functional vehicle and it shows.

Admittedly, I am not the neatest person in the world. Visitors to my current home may not know this...this is because I spend two days tidying and cleaning before they show up. I have always been this way, my fifth grade teacher used to regularly tip over my desk because it was so disorganized.

The other day, I was listening to a story on NPR about people who appear to be disorganized. Whereas most people organize things by category and will neatly file things away, these folks organize things visually and spatially...in other words...they have a pile for everything and everything has its pile. I am one of these folks...I know where the electric bill is not because its in the bill folder...but because its underneath the cable bill next to the the picture of my kids on my desk on top of a book of English poetry...

Still...how I organize my universe is no excuse for a car that is on the verge of becoming a Super Fund clean up site. So...after this morning's game, with bucket, cleaning rags, and assorted cleaning supplies in hand...I am going to clean my car. Wish me luck.

Sh*t

2010-05-07T04:49:00.001-07:00

Sh*t

Its never a good thing when sh*t is the first word you utter in the morning.

Sh*t

The other night, as is becoming my habit, I fell asleep in my chair...an alarming trend to be sure and one I hesitate to disclose here lest any future ex-girlfriend reads this and finds unappealing my pre-bedtime napping habits...anyway...I have gotten into the habit of dozing off in my chair...

So I fell asleep the other night thinking that I had a good Dad day...I showed Oliver how to use hedge trimmers, played ball with the boys, went for a walk with Fiona, and made pizza and brownies to put in their lunches. As I fell asleep I thought to myself..."put today in the win column."

The next morning I woke up...made coffee...sat outside for a while...read for a bit...in other words I putzed around for an hour and a half before waking the kids.

As I walked passed the laundry I saw Oliver's uniform floating in a washing machine full of water...I had forgotten to turn on the washing machine the night before...

Sh*t

And that was that the first word I uttered yesterday...that was the first word my children heard yesterday.

Sh*t

I wrung out Oliver's clothes as best I could and tossed them into the dryer...finally...they were dry enough for him to put on...and off to school we went...my oldest son in wet clothes...

While the guilt only lasted for about 30 seconds....there is nothing quite like being scolded by a 13 year old boy for poor time management skills to cut you down to size.

Sh*t

At The Little League Game

2010-05-03T05:33:00.000-07:00

A week ago Sunday Aidan pitched. He threw well, however his team, an amalgamation of 9 and 10 year old boys with varying ability and experience, was...well...shall we say...shaky in the field. As a result Aidan gave up a bunch of runs and barely made it out of the second inning. After the game I bought him an ice cream treat.

This Saturday, Aidan pitched. He threw well and his team, with some additional experience, played well in the field. As a result, Aidan gave up two runs and pitched four innings in a six inning game. After the game I bought him an ice cream treat.

In both games Aidan pitched well. He prepared for both games the same way....by playing more Xbox than I ever thought I would allow a child of mine to play. In both games he threw strikes and in both games he was able to adjust to the hitters and to the umpires. He continues to learn the difference between throwing and pitching...which is sort of like the difference between preparing food and cooking...

After Saturday's game, Aidan and I sat at the snack bar and discussed the game. He asked me if I had ever done my best and did something really well and have everything turn out poorly. I told him yes....I then asked him if he had ever done his best and did something really well and have everything turn out great....he said yes.

We decided that beyond doing your best there is only so much you can do...so doing his best...Aidan decided...was a perfectly acceptable outcome...and that while winning and loosing was important...that he can only do his best and hope for the best.

I have always felt that Aidan was the wisest member of our family.

The Mundane: A Tribute

2010-05-02T05:50:00.000-07:00

Up before 6:00...thankful that I passed on a second helping of Thai spicy squid, I stumbled pass the bathroom, into the kitchen, and filled my coffee pot with cold, clean (relatively anyway) tap water....

I paused by the radio, and deciding it was too early to listen to the news of the day, I flipped on the CD player...no...I do not have an iPod...and as I pulled myself together, listened to the rest of last night's musical accompaniment, Aida.

Not for an instant did I think about the engineering marvel that is electricity...of how it is generated at some far off location and carried via wires over what could be hundreds of miles into my home. Nor did I think twice about running water. I take for granted that will be clean and will always be at the ready when I need it. I don't have to go to a well to get it and I don't have to boil it to make it drinkable...

After being up for a while I decided I was ready for the news of the day and flipped on the radio...the lead story was about a major rupture in a pipe that brings water into metropolitan Boston. About two million people in the Boston area will will have to boil their water before it is drinkable. I immediately thought of my good friend north of Boston, hoping that she heard about this before she made her morning coffee...I also found myself wondering if you should let boiled water cool before making coffee...one needs to know such things as the unraveling of civilized life continues.

So here is to the mundane, the run of the mill, the everyday...here's to refrigeration, electricity, and to the other basic things in life we take for granted. Here's to clean, running water...which is sort of like oxygen...you don't miss it until you don't have enough.

Toast With Marmalade

2010-04-30T04:18:00.000-07:00

Friday mornings...up at 6:10...make coffee....try to make my brain do things...like make toast...that it is simply not ready to do...

I have a Friday morning tradition...I make toast with marmalade...Friday mornings are something of a transition period for me. The kids are not here and unless there is a game or activity on Saturday I will not see them until Monday. While I enjoy the quiet...it takes a bit of effort to shift gears and be comfortable with that quiet.

Toast with marmalade helps.

Like I have written here before, food tells stories, and for me toast with marmalade tells a story of comfort and of the ability of certain people, places, and things to make the world go away...if only for a while. Toast with marmalade is a civilized breakfast...simple, elegant, and deceivingly complex....the cool, sweet, tangy marmalade mingling with the crunch of warm toast...

No kids...no rushed breakfast...no fights over who sits where and when...and apparently...last week...no brain...

This morning...I found my marmalade not in its usual spot in the refridgerator...but...instead...in the freezer...where it became a solid block of orange ice....

Making toast is more than my brain can handle at 6:10. Toast with butter will have to do.

Morning Coffee

2010-04-29T04:11:00.000-07:00

6:10.......

The alarm goes off at 6:10 every morning....without fail...which is damn early for someone who has to wait until 11:00 to feel fully human.

6:10......

I get up that early to take advantage of the best part of the day and to have some quiet time before my kids wake up....again....I am not fully human until 11:00....

A part of my morning ritual is morning coffee. Now...there are some things I can manage without first having coffee...that list is very short and even those things I wonder how well I do without coffee. One morning, before 6:10...I took Joey out and when we got back inside I found myself trying to get into an apartment that was not my own...it would seem that I needed to climb one more flight of stairs to get to my place...

Four years ago, as I prepared to set up my own household, the thing I bought was a coffee grinder. Before furniture, dishes, towels, lamps, anything....a coffee grinder....

I was told by the third floor tenant in my old building that each morning she could hear my coffee grinder from her bedroom...too bad...I needed my coffee...she was a tea drinker anyway...

The second thing I bought, as I prepared to set up my own household, was a coffeepot. A humble $15.99 Mr. Coffee coffeepot.

I still have both the coffee grinder and the coffeepot.

I did the math...I have 27 days worth of coffee mugs...and then it would be on to espresso...

From time to time...Oliver joins me for a morning cup of coffee (do not tell his mom...for some reason its OK for him to drink gallons of Mountain Dew but not alright for him to have coffee)...

Inside my head I have a voice from distant memory that whispers "coffee" to me every morning....

I think I might have a problem.

No matter....nor does it matter if its because of the taste, the caffeine, or its warmth...morning coffee is not merely a starter fluid, its a comfort and a pleasure. And I need all the comfort and pleasure I can get at 6 freaking 10 in the morning.

Hmmmmm....Doughnut.....

2010-04-26T05:14:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning...after a night of tossing and turning...and turning and tossing...and very little sleep...I needed to be on the road before 9:00...I needed something...a pick-me up...something to help me with sleep deprivation and to brace myself for a day of Little League baseball....

I stopped by my favorite mom and pop doughnut shop intending to get myself a treat to set myself up for the day and to deal with a pounding headache...and yes...there was more than a little sublimation going on as well...

From the counter, browsing the doughnut and pastry case I found exactly what I needed;

A jelly filled marble cruller...under a heavy coating of sugar glaze....

Whomever came up with the idea for this decadent jelly filled deep fried treat should be given a medal or put in prison for developing a doughnut form of crack...as in the parking lot I immediately ate the first one I bought and rushed back inside to buy another...as I said...there was more than a little sublimation going on...

Anyway...the glazed jelly filled marble cruller...its sort of like coming up with a perfectly fine candy bar and then deciding to slather it with frosting...the damn thing was sooooo good it was almost evil...

Sometimes you need a good stiff drink, others a bowl of ice cream....and sometimes...at least for me anyway...you need a doughnut...

My Little League Experience; Opening Day

2010-04-24T03:28:00.000-07:00

Today is Opening Day for the Bridgewater, Massachusetts Little League season. Because we just can't have our kids go to the field and play baseball, I am going to be at the field at 9:00 this morning to watch a parade, listen to a few endless speeches, and be generally cranky about the whole thing.

And then Aidan plays at 12:30.

Oliver at 3:00.

Fiona and I are going to be in for a looooooong afternoon.

I had forgotten all about the parade until earlier this week when a friend of mine emailed me a not so gentle reminder. This friend of mine, whose son graduated from Little League last year, was an integral part of last year's Little League experience and in sending me the reminder I knew exactly what she was saying..."enjoy the parade Pierce and have a good time standing around Legion Field for three hours...I will be at home in my yard..."

Gee...thanks...

I enjoy going to the field/court/dance studio to see my kids in action...what I don't like...at all...is the inclination, the impulse, the unrelenting drive to make an event out of every activity in which our kids participate.

My (erstwhile?) dear friend told me a story of her careening across town to get to Halloween "parade" at her son's school. This parade entailed the kids going out of their class...and walking down the hallway to another class...Earlier this spring my son had a kickball game with Cub Scouts....parents brought their video cameras, held up signs, and carried on as though this was surely going to be THE formative moment of their son's childhood...all of this FOR.....A.....KICKBALL.....GAME.....I dropped Aidan off and went off for a walk with my daughter....I was later scolded for not taking pictures....

Somewhere along the way we lost all perspective and have decided that a birthday party for our kid is not enough...we need to get a jumpy and have entertainment...That it is not enough to let the kid go to school in his Halloween costume...there has to be a parade...That its not enough to have the kid play in in Little League...that there has to be opening ceremonies...

If everything is special and important...then nothing is special and important.

So...in about two hours I will be standing at the ball field...drinking my coffee, thinking my thoughts, and pondering my ponderings. I do know one thing...the time spent on parades, ceremonies, and making more of things than they really are...these are disctractions...an attempt to make us feel better about something...about what I am not exactly sure. When I figure it out I will let you know.

Baseball Bats

2010-04-23T04:45:00.000-07:00

My boys and I have a springtime ritual that we have followed for a number of years. At the beginning of March we start to prepare for the upcoming Little League season. They take hundreds of ground balls. They take batting practice. I take pain killers. How I love rituals.

This year is a bit different in that my oldest, Oliver, is stepping up to Senior League. Senior League is played on a big league diamond where its 60 feet 6 inches to home plate and its 90 feet from base to base. This is where boys really play baseball.

Last week, Oliver announced to me that he needed a new baseball bat. Ok...yes...I was not at all surprised that he needed a new bat...but when I casually asked if we were talking about something between $70.00 and $100.00 he told me that bats can go as high as $600.00 but that we should be able to find something in the $200.00 to $250.00 range.....

$200.00...to...$250.00...for...a...baseball...bat....

$200.00 to $250.00 for a baseball bat.

OK...that little revelation took a while to sink in...and I did a little research and as it turned out...I was not being played and that Oliver was actually trying to get me out of this for short money. So we went to a major sporting goods chain and looked at bats. We saw one that he liked but I told him that I needed to think about whether I was going to spend that kind of money on a baseball bat.

The next day his mom picked up the bat for him....the day after that I was presented with the bill.

Last night I was talking to another dad with whom I am acquainted while watching our sons play in a pre-season scrimmage. He told me that he paid $500.o0 for his son's bat. I looked at him....

Me: "You have got to be ****ing kidding me."

Him: "I know...but I love my son."

Me: "For $500.00 you could have bought a new son who would not make you buy overpriced sports equipment."

Him: "My son is the reason why I live and breathe...sometimes he is the reason why I get up in the morning."

Me: "My son is the reason why I sometimes go to bed early and pull the covers over my head...."

He laughed...I told Oliver this story...he laughed...

I love my son too...he is a good kid...even though he sometimes makes me want to go to bed early...

Baseball season starts tomorrow...and I can't wait to see Oliver, and Aidan, and Oliver's overpriced bat in action.

Asparagus

2010-04-22T04:40:00.000-07:00

Food comes with stories. I mention ham...and a lot of you will think about Easter...or maybe Christmas. I mention ice cream and you will think of hot summer evenings at the ice cream stand or trips to Friendly's with your grandparents. When I think of ham I think of Thanksgiving...mention ice cream I think of sitting in my chair late at night watching the Red Sox...mention sushi I may well think of my birthday...mention asparagus...well...there is a story with goes with asparagus too...

Little by little I have been working to de-emphasize meat in our diet. This is not an easy thing for me as I regard Sunday roast beef as a part of my Anglo-Saxon birthright. So I have been putting out fruit and vegetables and cheese before dinner in an effort to reduce the amount of meat and chicken we eat. Along the way I have introduced new foods to the kids...with interesting results...they like mobier cheese, mangoes, and summer squash but only Oliver will eat goat cheese...as for asperagus...well...not so much.

This impulse, the desire to eat less meat and chicken, was born from one part of my own personal story, goes well with the impulse to serve up asparagus...which as I mentioned has a story of its own. Besides...asparagus is in season...its good...and goes with anything...except 10 and 13 year old children.

So...on a cookie sheet, with olive oil and kosher salt I roasted these delicate green stalks of delicious goodness. I served them up...had the kids come to the table...

and then they looked at me.

I looked at them.

They looked at me.

At this point I knew I was in a standoff and that I needed to be quick on the draw....

Then Fiona asked..."what.......is........this?"

I told her..."asparagus."

Then...she...my princess said "I hate asparagus." The boys then chimed in..."yeah Dad...we hate asparagus..." This from children whom to my knowledge never had asparagus....

And that was enough for a dinner table fracas to break out. Oliver relented and tried one piece...I decided that getting into a shootout over asparagus would be an unwise move on my part so I relented...and now...waiting for me when I come home for lunch...will be...well...asparagus...and the story that goes along with it.

Child Support

2010-04-20T04:26:00.001-07:00

That is...support from children....There are a number of things concerning parenting about which I have some very old fashioned, some would say quaint, ideas. That children should be quiet when they are being spoken to, that they need to eat what is put in front of them, that not everything is open to discussion and debate, and that No is a complete sentence.

An old fashioned notion that we are putting into practice here in Abington is the idea that kids should help maintain the household. Now if I had a yard my oldest boy would cut the grass. I don't (that's a battle for my ex wife to wage) but there are things around here with which they are starting to help...and they are not complaining at all about it.

How did I do this you might ask?

Easy...I tricked them.

It started innocently enough...or so they thought. One evening while I was making dinner I asked Oliver to unload the dishwasher. He did so without complaint. Because the kitchen island is next to the dishwasher and I put out a plate of cheese and fruit I was able to lure my 13 year old into the kitchen area to get him to unload the dishwasher. Now, every night before dinner, there is a fruit and cheese plate out in the island and every night Oliver unloads the dishwasher.

Aidan and Fiona are not motivated by plates of healthy food (although I think the promise of jellybeans would get Aidan to do almost anything) so I have to pick my spots with them. They will typically set the table and haul stuff out of the fridge for me.

I confess...I am motivated more by the desire/need to make life easier for me at dinnertime than I am by anything else at this point. But I am mystified by those parents who appear to think that kids are not capable of making a sandwich for themselves...I mean...we are not asking them to operate an atomic super collider...for crying out loud...all it is are two pieces of bread with something between them. I am not at all above telling my kids to make themselves a sandwich or heat up soup for themselves.

Get it yourself...another fashioned idea we are working on around here....Get it for me is up next.

Lexington and Concord

2010-04-19T04:14:00.000-07:00

Today in Massachusetts is Patriot's Day...the day we commemorate the Battle of Lexington and Concord by giving the day off to our political hacks and by staging the Boston Marathon. Today also forms a big part of our national mythology, one that is retold in our schools and on the Fourth of July, that would be the myth of the American Revolution.

The roots of the American Revolution can be found in another war, referred to in this country as the French and Indian War. This war, caused in no small part by the blunderings of a certain colonel of the Virginia militia, one George Washington, was a war fought on five continents between Great Britain and its allies and France and its allies. Great Britain waged this war for a number of reasons, not the least of which was to defend British subjects in America against attacks from Quebec by the French and their Native American allies.

This war, ending in 1763, cost a lot of money, driving the British government deep into debt. The government in London, expecting that British subjects in America should help pay for a war waged in their defense, enacted a series of taxes intended to help it pay for the war. These taxes involved fees for stamps on legal documents and import duties on among other things, tea, tobacco and sugar. Its no small wonder that the most prominent leaders of the rebellion were Boston lawyers, colonial merchants, and Virginia tobacco planters.

Recent studies of the revolutionary period indicate that only a third of America's population supported the rebellion, a third were indifferent, and a third supported the Crown. That our rebellion...or revolution, was an uprising against a tyrannical and arbitrary government is an important part of nation's story...and frankly is a part of our nation's story that is untrue.

To want to honestly and accurately look at our nation's past does not mean that I love my country any less. To approach history with blinders also means that the present is dealt with in the same manner. History, when done well, its about the search for truth in the historical past. When done poorly, history can become propaganda, and has the effect of warping of not only how we view the past but in also how we interpret the present. Our current heated political climate is in no small part, fueled by a warped interpretation of the past in general, and of the events leading to April 18, 1775 in particular.

CasiNO

2010-04-17T05:35:00.000-07:00

A few months ago my kids were conducting their usual Monday afternoon debriefing of my weekend activities. I told them that one of the things I did was go with a friend to a casino in Connecticut. My daughter asked if lost a lot of money...I told her the truth...after an evening of hanging out and playing the slots I ended up loosing fifty cents....yes...I am a high roller...I explained that I was only going to use ten dollars with which to gamble and that I ended up taking home nine dollars and fifty cents...and I continue to begrudge Foxwoods my fifty cents.

The other day...while in the car...there was a news story about a move afoot to bring casino gambling to Massachusetts. Aidan chimed in that if Massachusetts got a casino I would not have to go all the way to Connecticut. I did feel compelled to explain that the reason I went to the casino was to tag along with a friend and that I did not...and really do not...find the Connecticut casinos all that compelling...

And they really aren't. My friend...and her sister...stayed at Foxwoods until about 3:30 in the morning...they were having a great time playing the slots...I had an interesting time observing the human carnage. It was not a pretty site...watching elderly people play slots at 3:00 in the morning is not a lot of fun...I am sure that until they caught the gambling bug the last time they were up past 11:00 was when Johnny Carson hosted The Tonight Show. And these were not weekend trippers from out of state...they were locals...living within a half an hour of the casino. Gambling addiction is rife in southeastern Connecticut and southern Rhode Island. In fact...my very unscientific sampling of the people with whom I chatted that evening...most of them were locals out on a Saturday night...

Now...with our politicians salivating over projected gaming revenues...it appears all of the time and effort devoted to breaking the Mafia into tiny little pieces was merely an effort to grab the wiseguys' action and have the Commonwealth take over the numbers racket. We already have a lottery that preys on the poorest citizens of our state and now we have the folks on Beacon Hill climbing into bed with corporations who are bent on bringing casino gambling to Massachusetts.

The jobs a casino would create would be entry level, menial, and if the Connecticut casinos are a model for how casinos would be run in Massachusetts, not pay a living wage. The income they would generate...and the state would get a piece of the action...would be extracted mostly from Massachusetts residents. Among the sites proposed for casino gambling are Springfield and New Bedford, two of the poorer cities in Massachusetts that do not need the negative socio-economic impact of casino gambling. Casinos do not create wealth, they extract wealth.

People will gamble...they will drink, smoke, and use drugs. They always have and they probably always will. I am not against gambling per se...however...we ought to be against our elected officials running over a certain number of our own people as they chase down our states' piece of the region's gaming action. If casino gambling comes to our state, any piece of action the Commonwealth does get...would be blood money...plain and simple.

The Droid And Exploring Terra Incognita

2010-04-16T04:56:00.000-07:00

I love maps. Road Maps, local maps, historical maps, world maps, political maps, geographical maps, and topographical maps. Put out a map and I will look at it. One of my favorite maps is a wall sized map at the New Bedford Whaling National Park which charts the voyages of New Bedford's whaling fleet. At my house there must be at least two dozen maps of various types as well as any number of map books and atlases. In the past week the kids have found out where Malta is, in what ocean Tristan da Cunha is, and why there are volcanoes in Iceland.

My favorite kind of map however, are those historical maps where the mapmaker is compelled to imagine what unknown lands "look" like. I have in front of me a map from the early 16th century. It fairly accurately depicts Europe, North Africa, and south western Asia...but vast regions of the of the globe are labeled Terra Incognita...or unknown land. The world must have seems mysteriously huge and fascinatingly unknown.

Since the beginning of the 16th century, and even before, we embarked on a campaign to map, chart, and record every nook, crag, and cranny of our world. The world is a lot smaller but I think it may still be unknown and this leads me to my Droid...

I have been saving my pennies and the other day I bought a Droid...its a cell phone with many features, including a web browser, email, and a GPS...Yesterday while playing with the GPS on this thing I discovered something interesting an alarming. Not only does my Droid "know" where I am at...it "knows" where I am at where I am at.

Sitting in the car, while at my ex-wife's house, I was playing with the Droid's GPS feature. Not only did it have a map of Bridgewater, it had on its map property lines, and not only was there a flashing blue dot indicating where I was...it indicated where I was parked on the driveway. Later on...this thing was able to trace my movements through my apartment. Big Brother is watching indeed.

Perhaps because of their accuracy, GPS' have the tendency to keep people on the beaten, well travelled track, away from terra incognita. A GPS will point me to a Dunkin Donuts in Dennis, Massachusetts...but I need to find for myself the mom and pop donut shop with the best sour cream donuts on Earth. A GPS will tell me the fastest way to get to Marshfield...but it won't tell me that the best way to go is to take the back road that runs along the pond where there are swans.

As small as the world has gotten, it is still mysterious with much that is hidden and unknown. My Droid may help me chart my journey...but its up to me to figure out where to go, what to avoid, how to find the right road, and to find where the good donuts are.

Goodbye.....

2010-04-14T05:58:00.000-07:00

I am not good at goodbyes....I can do "see you later" or "so long" or even "via con dios..." but goodbyes are not for me. If you don't believe me I can come up with one or two people who will verify this for you. I find the permanence of "goodbye" to be awful and terrible. Even reading the title of this posting reminds me of the last time I read that word in a subject heading and its enough to bring tears. The funny thing though...the last two years have given me ample opportunity to practice getting used to saying "goodbye"...maybe this is why.

So...I find that I need to get ready to say goodbye to Joey, my best and truest friend...We have been together for more than fifteen years. Through every joy and every sorrow, through most of my marriage, the birth of my children, and during my life as a single man, Joey has been there with me to share in the adventure. He has been with me through several relationships and he has seen me find and then lose love. During these fifteen years I have spent more time with him than I have with any other person. And there is only one other person with whom I had a bond that is closer than the one I have with Joey. Yes...I consider Joey to be a person and why not? He has the attributes of personhood; self awareness, intelligence, empathy, and the capacity for love.

I had come to rely heavily on his company, his devotion, and his love. He was waiting for me when I got home from the hospital last month and after the first two days at home, he, along with my cat, were my company during my recovery. There were some very dark times last year when Joey was the only reason why I got out of bed. Accurately or not...there were times when it felt like he and Spot were all I had.

When I think of Joey a number of images come to mind....one, his dashing around the woods surrounding the Chestnut Hill Reservoir, out of control, a playful hazard to dog and owner alike. Another, his following me around in my new apartment on the first night away from my kids. Still yet another is of Joey eagerly sniffing around our park in New Bedford...wandering off far enough to demonstrate his independence but always keeping me in sight. And finally, Joey with me at home, asleep on his bed....

So...with old age finally catching up to my friend and his puppy spirit starting to wane...its time that we say goodbye and part ways. My friend needs me to know when the time is right to let him go and to have the courage to do so. After all...I am all he has.

Joey and Me

2010-04-11T07:44:00.000-07:00

Early on Sunday mornings we would get up and go to the reservoir for doggy play group. Standing with other dog owners from the neighborhood I would watch my puppy race around our little patch of woods next to the Chestnut Hill Reservoir. There were times when Joey would knock the legs out from under his dane friend and other times when he would crawl under the fence and would go for a dip in the reservoir. I had a puppy and he was a lot of fun

Ten years later, up to my neck in kids, laundry, dishes, and work, Joey and I would spend a few minutes each Sunday morning in the backyard. I had to be careful and keep an eye on Joe as he was prone to pick up a scent and follow it wherever it took him. More than once I lost track of him and had to follow him into the woods to find him. While he always made his way home he seemed to like going off on his little adventures. Even though he was older I still saw my friend as a puppy....

Two and a half years ago, Joey and I would spend our Sunday mornings on Klasky Common. I would bring a section of the paper with me and Joe would sniff around the Common. We would sometimes walk downtown...but I was careful not to go too far as I knew Joey tired more easily than he once did. It took my ex girlfriend and her gift of an orthopedic bed for Joey to realize that my friend had moved from middle to old age...During this time Joey no longer belonged to me....I belonged to him.

More than a year ago, while Joey struggled to navigate her hardwood floors...it took my erstwhile dear friend...my former girlfriend...to get me to realize that I was not dealing with an old dog...my friend was now elderly...and that I had to be ready for that day when I would have to do the right thing.

This Sunday morning Joey is asleep next to me. His puppy days and his going out for a walk days are far behind us. My friend still comes to the door when I get home. He still puts his head in my lap. He still begs for food...last night he got much of the steak I had grilled for us. He still listens to me...and I try to listen to him. What he is telling me is that he is no longer uncomfortable...he is in pain.

We are going to the vet tomorrow...and I know that Joey's vet may well think that it is to do the right thing for my best friend. And if not tomorrow...then soon.

I wonder what Sundays will be like then...

Tell Me A Story

2010-04-10T06:08:00.000-07:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....ok....that one has been used before...but they were the best and worst of times all at the same time...my kids were young...very young...barely out of diapers young...ages 4, 4 and 6...and the four of us...well...it was the four of us...plus Joey. Our days were crazy busy, typically starting at six in the morning and ending well past a time that was decent with car runs back and forth to school, preschool, work, daycare, and home....

The house was a combination home/laundry/cafeteria/mortgage shop/kennel/jungle gym...and more than once I cooked dinner while dealing with a crying child and a mortgage client at the same time...usually the crying child was the more rational of the two....and you know something...I miss those days.

The other night, while sitting with my kids in their room, with a warm spring breeze wafting through my apartment...I was reminded of something that we did together one spring during that time...we read The Chronicles of Narnia together...Now I would strongly urge all parents to read Narnia to their kids...the chapters are short enough to hold a five year old's attention and interesting enough to hold an adults. But that is not really the point of this story.

In those days the kids slept in bunk beds, Oliver slept on top and Aidan and Fiona in the double bunk below. Each night I would cram myself between Aidan and Fiona and reach a chapter from Narnia... To be honest with you...most nights I was tempted to hustle the kids off to bed and collapse on the pile of laundry that usually covered my bed. But the four of us were overwhelmed and stressed out...and looking back, reading at night probably helped all of us sleep better.

Reading the Narnia books to my kids is among my very favorite parenting episodes. Maybe it was because of C.S. Lewis' prose or perhaps because these were stories about love, sacrifice, and devotion that made these books and that time I shared with my kids so compelling. Each night, during those months, I read a chapter, the kids listened, and more often than not we all fell asleep together in the same bed. C.S. Lewis helped bring peace, calm, and quiet into our home.

I know people with young children...and young children can be demanding, exasperating, and frustrating all at the same time...I have been there and I get it. However, as we rush about from that errand to this errand constantly looking at the clock and what needs to be done next...it is so very easy to forget how quickly time passes and how soon all of this will end. While I am happy with my two ten year olds and my thirteen year old I do miss the young children they once were...and...there are times when I wish I could get them all into bed and read Narnia to them...

Fathers and Daughters

2010-04-08T04:14:00.000-07:00

It felt like a mundane conversation on that least mundane of our days...it started innocently enough...while driving back from Walmart...she looked at me...in that way...and asked me..."So...how is your daughter?"

About ten days ago, on the Red Line, a few dozen feet below Massachusetts Avenue somewhere between Porter and Harvard Squares, were sitting across from me a gaggle of young girls just a few years older than my little girl. That conversation from many months ago came back to me...I realized that I needed to spend more time with my daughter.

As is often the case with girls of a certain age, these girls were trying to act older than they really were. I have to admit that these girls made me feel a bit uncomfortable. Maybe it was because of where we were or maybe because they were so close in age to my own daughter...needless to say a whole lot of buttons were being pushed during those minutes on the train...I wondered about their dads and if they knew what their daughters were up to that night. I then wondered if in a few very short years if I was going to know what my own little girl was going to be up to on a given Saturday night.

A few days ago my daughter asked if she could go to work with me. My job is a door to door, appointment to appointment affair with a lot of time spent in the car. Some days it can barely hold my interest, let alone that of a ten year old girl. As I explained this to her I realized that for her this was not about being entertained it was about being with me. So, together, we hit the road.

We had a great time together. I learned that Fiona holds her breath whenever she goes past a cemetery and that she punches her brother in the arm whenever she sees a car that "looks like a beetle." But more importantly...I was reminded that my daughter needs me and that I need to be present in her life...

I moved out of the house almost five years ago...and since then...from time to time Fiona would "poke" me...She would leave voice messages, send text messages, or write emails...all with more or less the same theme..."Daddy...are you there?" We would try to carve out time where we spend time together. She often gets up early and sits with me while I sip my morning coffee...Fiona is not much of morning person but she seems happy just to be sitting there with me.

Fathering a girl is an entirely different experience from fathering boys. Their needs are similar and different at the same time. Both girls and boys need their dads to be engaged...but whereas sons require more guidance...daughters seem to need their dads to be present in a way boys do not. I have no data or empirical evidence to support my contention....just my intuition and my experience with my own daughter...and the daughters of other dads. This is simply something I know in my gut...and you will have to trust me on this one...

I need to make sure that my daughter does not need to ask if I am there...I need for her to know that I am. And if I ever cross paths with that girl from Cambridge again I will need to thank her for making me realize this.

And by the way...my daughter is doing just fine.

"So...How Are You Spending The Holiday?"

2010-04-04T16:50:00.000-07:00

For me, amongst life's trick questions are;"what are your career goals?, "who do we contact in case of an emergency?", and "how are you spending the holiday?" I was asked this last question the other day and I was soooooo tempted to answer by saying "after I see my kids I am going to go home, pour myself a double scotch, question every decision I have made in my personal life over the last five years, and stare into the abyss...(insert dark laughter here)."...instead I said..."I dunno..."

Actually, I did know...I had a plan...actually I had a handful of plans...I was caught without a plan for Christmas (the holiday that comes with teeth) or for New Years so there was no way I was going to be caught unprepared for Easter. What I really wanted to do this Easter was not going to happen...so I went to Plan A...now I have enough experience with Plan A to know that I needed Plan B....which entailed lamb kebabs, my hibachi, premium German beer, and a cigar...

Admittedly...I am still trying to figure out what to do with myself on holidays (and on Sundays for that matter). The two divorced dads I know are of no help as they mark their child-free holidays with gambling and alcohol. The single women I know they spend their holidays with extended family, they go to Foxwoods, or they ignore holidays all together and they work. Clearly I need to come up with my own ideas as to how to deal with holidays....

Holidays can be like little (or big) potholes on the calender that can trip up even the best of us. Frankly, holidays like Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and Easter are and ought to be family events. However, there are those of us for whom, either by decision or circumstance, where this is not possible. So the best plan is to have a plan...its not like holidays sneak up on you...they have them marked on the calender...I checked...

So I have a plan for the next holiday on the calender...Memorial Day...and right now I am thinking steak...free range, grass fed, humanely raised steak.

Fathers And Sons

2010-03-31T18:26:00.000-07:00

Enjoying the all too brief respite between basketball and baseball seasons, dinner time, specifically, the time during which I make dinner, has become my favorite time of day. We (my kids and I) use this time to catch up, discuss homework, and talk...

Those of you who have been to my home know that my apartment has an open floor plan...in other words...my kitchen, dining room, and living room are in one biggish room...Anyway...from the kitchen island (I love kitchen islands...so much potential....) is where I preside, hold forth, and sometimes hide from my kids. During the last few weeks I have gotten into the habit of putting out carrots and celery along with some cheese for my kids to snack on while I make dinner. Much to my surprise, putting out food is a sure fire way to attract teen aged boys.

While he sometimes falls into a pattern of conversing in monosyllabic utterances, my son and I have almost always been able to talk to each other. While making dinner we watch The Daily Show, speculate about the Red Sox' prospects, or chit chat. Last night we talked about Kashmir (the region fought over by India and Pakistan...not the song by Led Zeppelin)...and the origins of World War One.

Our conversation over the years has evolved...I remember him peppering me with questions while I did chores around the house...and I am glad that we are beyond the "why is Obi-Wan's light sabre blue" level of conversation (although a little boy's facination with Star Wars is something I miss...). But I think the important thing is that regardless of the topic that we keep talking as for some reason the relationship between oldest sons and their fathers can be trying and difficult. There is nothing quite like the feeling of a father and son being separated by tens of thousands of miles while sitting in the same room.

They do not hand out manuals when you become a parent...but we can learn from both the good and bad examples we have encountered along the way. Its important to me that I share my interests with my kids and that I at least know where their interests are. While nature may dictate that there be a bond between a parent and child...its incumbent upon the parent to foster and nuture that bond...and to put out food. Maybe tonight we will talk about Kashmir by Led Zeppelin.

Buffet!

2010-03-30T04:04:00.000-07:00

Dinner time around here is always an adventure. You never know what you are going to eat or when. Last week we had roast chicken, eggs and homefries, lobster (yes...lobster...you would be surprised at how inexpensive they are), and finally, on Thursday, the kids and two of their friends had homemade meatballs and sauce....Our dinner times...in part due to my unpredictable work schedule can be as early as 6:00 and as late as 8:30....please don't tell my kids' mother.

As an aside...it has been pointed out to me that cooking is not the most masculine of pursuits...anybody can cut grass or change a tire or cut down a tree...it takes a man of true talent and ability to do those things while having a pot roast slow cooking in the oven...just saying...

Anyway....I decided that there were too many leftovers in the fridge to make still yet another dinner...besides...a number of my fridge's residents were approaching their edible half life so something had to be done.

The thing about kids...and most people...is that they will buy almost anything is they are sold properly...so I knew if I labeled last night "leftover night" it would go over like...well...like the way leftover night went over when we were kids...so instead of leftover night....we had Buffet! (the exclamation mark is key)...

Not quite trusting my kids...I put out selected leftovers on the kitchen island...tacos, refried beans, black beans and rice, meatballs, bread, carrots, celery, tomatoes, dressing, bread, chicken soup, and cheese...four different kinds...Anyway...Aidan and Fiona made themselves a beef taco with cheese...and that was it....Oliver...God love him...tried a bit of everything....He even asked if I could leave out the vegetables for him to snack on later on....

I remember meals...my kids do too....two of the best meals I have had in the last year were ones where friends and I explored the edible layer of my refrigerator to find what was good...Easter dinner last year was marked by leftover mashed potatoes and gravy, marmalada, rolls, and cheese....and earlier this month, on my first night home from the hospital we had pizza, cheese, shrimp, and olives...

For a few reasons, last night's experience was useful and insightful...it gave my kids some choice as to what they would eat at dinner time...it also reminded me of the importance of exposing my kids to a range of foods...and it also showed me that Aidan and Fiona will get scurvy unless I get some fruits and vegetables into them.

Tell Me A Story

2010-03-23T04:10:00.001-07:00

If you want to get to know someone, get them to tell you their stories. What they tell you, and perhaps more importantly, what they don't tell you, offers a way to gain insight into how someone ticks in a way that a mere exchange of biographical data cannot. Over time...they will tell you the secrets of the universe....or at least they would if they knew them. I know this because, without my even realizing what I was doing in sharing my stories, it happened to me.

Over the past year I have shared certain stories...and other stories I have not. In part because as with everyone else, certain of my stories are intertwined with stories belonging to others. Prudence and good manners dictate that certain things, that certain stories remain private and closely held. Anyway...this story jumped to the front of my remembrances last month, while sitting on a bench, in the snow, while waiting on a friend.

In my early teens I rode my bike everywhere. It was nothing for me to ride eleven miles to a friend's house or fifteen miles to the nearest major town to go to the movies. I grew up in a place where it was a ten mile round trip just to get a pizza. I rode my bike less because I wanted to go to these places but rather because where I lived was a place that was more attractive on departure than on arrival. Not wanting to be someplace can be as powerful a motivator as wanting to be someplace.

So...one day...on my bike...I stopped at a friend's house. We had known each other since grade school and to be honest with you I had a small crush on her. I still do...in an innocent school boyish sort of way. Anyway...it was a humid overcast New England day and I stopped at my friend's house. We, my friend, her sister, and I played basketball, talked, and for lack of a better word...hung out.

I must have looked hungry...and in my early teens I was always hungry...as my friend's mom invited me in for something to eat. I had never been inside this particular home before...and I remember walking across the whitest carpet I had ever seen. She had me sit down at the table and put before me a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise on white bread. Next to it was a perspiring glass of ice cold Pepsi.

Sitting at that table, eating that sandwich, and drinking that Pepsi, I felt strange...in a good way...but strange nonetheless...And at the time I could not identify what I was feeling...although I could tell you what I wasn't feeling and I was enjoying that a great deal. It wasn't until last month, sitting on a bench, in the snow, while waiting on a friend, that I realized what I felt on that summer afternoon so long ago. Sitting in that kitchen, with that sandwich, and that perspiring glass of Pepsi felt...nice...kind... civilized...decent...and safe.

Sitting on that bench I could not figure out why I was feeling what I was feeling and for some reason I remembered this particular afternoon from almost thirty years ago. Reveled to me...and now to you...that my fondness for certain things...such as toast with marmalade, stew, chicken marengo, back porches, and turkey sandwiches, are fixes for my apparent addiction to small kindnesses and to the incidental intimacies of everyday life.

Biographical information may tell you the who and the what....only stories can tell you why.

Back To Normal....Sort Of

2010-03-21T06:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I played catch with my boys, played basketball, got a sunburn, devoured a steak (farm raised, grass fed, organic and very, very delicious...), went for a walk, and watched Lawrence of Arabia...again...

...and this morning...sore all over...more fever...and more chills...thank goodness for my handy dandy antibiotics, my king sized bottle of Motrin...and thankfully...for another day without clutching chest pain...back to normal indeed.

This past week has been about discovering what the new normal will look and feel like...

Normal...the routine, the everyday, the conformance to an average...Normal...to be honest with you sounds both appealing and terrifyingly dull. Its appealing in that life is gradually returning to the way it was prior to that fateful trip to the emergency room almost two months ago. Its terrifying in that life is gradually returning to the way it was prior to that fateful trip to the emergency room almost two months ago.

While I am looking forward to life without clutching chest pain and having read all of the magazines in my doctor's waiting room fewer trips to my cardiologist I find that normal...again...that pesky word...is something that I may well have to create anew for myself.

This is not as daunting as it might seem...or at least what I keep telling myself...as I am in the same boat with everyone else in that I think we all strive to find in each of our own lives that space, that place where we have something on which we can rely, count on, and depend upon. Where we find comfort in the everyday and in the routine...While I am still looking for that place...I will take any day featuring a game of catch, Lawrence of Arabia, and a steak...

Ablation

2010-03-18T04:15:00.000-07:00

There was a flaw in my plan. Looking out the window as we pulled out of the train station I had discovered the flaw in my plan...rain. Sideways falling, wind driven, icy cold, dart like rain. It was going to be a long walk home from the Abington train station.

Before I had set out for my little medical adventure I thought I had covered everything as I was determined to be a model of yankee independence and self sufficiency. Train schedules and cab fare quotes prepared me for the journey to and from the hospital. I had even bribed the guy who does the maintenance for my apartment complex with a case of Brazilian beer to take out Joey a few times. I had stocked up on groceries the day before so I would not have any silly errands to run when I got home. March 12 was my D-Day and I was determined to be ready...as I said...I thought I had covered everything...except that is...for the nor'easter raging outside.

The day had not started out all that well. I woke up at about 2:30 in the morning to find a small pool of blood...that would be my blood...on my sheets....in my bed. It was probably not all that much blood but the thing about blood, when its yours and when its not inside of you a little can look like a lot. So I buzzed my nurse. Nurses often have their own timetable as to when they want to arrive on the scene...so by the time she sauntered in I had cleaned myself up and had the bed half stripped. I decided, wisely I think, to keep to myself any speculation as to what she might have been doing instead of her job...

I had been warned that bleeding out was possible from this procedure...which was why I remained in the hospital from what is often an outpatient event. The medical adventure, which entailed running a catheter to my heart to remove scar tissue, took less time than did preparing for and recovering from it. And it was not nearly as unpleasant as the infection I am currently battling...chills and fever is a roller coaster ride I can do without.

This past weekend a friend and I had a discussion about Buddhist meditative practices...one them involves the practitioner asking himself "what is this?" as a way for one to remain present in the moment. I resisted the urge to tell her that I already do this...obsessively...or so it seems....So I ask myself..."what is this?" the preparation, the procedure, the bleeding, the walk home in a nor'easter, my first two days at home, the subsequent infection with the accompanying fever and chills. While I do think that this is all about ablation...that is the removal of unwanted material...to be honest with you...I have no idea how to answer the question "what is this?"

Friends

2010-03-09T08:45:00.000-08:00

It had been what only could be generously described as a rough night. In bed too late morning came all too early...ok...mid morning came all too early. And then...more than half asleep...I felt as though I was being watched. I rolled over and I was nose to nose to nose with my cat and my dog. Joey...my dog...looked particularly anxious for me to get up.

Knowing that fifteen year old doggy bladders are particularly impatient I quickly got up, slipped on my slippers, and hustled Joey downstairs. We barely made it...but made it we did. Joey has been unusually spry of late. He has been bounding down the stairs when I have taken him out and the previous night he snatched a hamburger from off of the counter. Additionally...he refuses to let me out of his sight...

I know that Joey does not know I have had some issues of late (Spot, my cat, is a different story). But during the last few weeks it does seem as though that Joey is mustering what youthful energy he has left and that he is somehow extending himself. But again...I know Joey does not know.

However, other friends, those of the two legged variety, have been as vigilant. In particular, a dear friend from elementary school and one from college have reminded me that some relationships endure for life. Friends of a more recent vintage have given me the gifts of perspective and a renewed openness to new things and ideas. Even my ex wife...whom I have given much reason of late to jump ship...has offered friendship and support. All of them have arrived on the scene just in time.

At the drop of a hat I have gone to emergency rooms, held hands late at night, and have been the voice of reason at the end of a phone line. In the name of friendship I have thrown myself into situations that I knew were dangerous for me. All of that was easy in comparison to my finding myself on the receiving end of friendship.

Needing help is awkward, receiving it is humbling, accepting it is difficult. And lately...I have had much about which to feel awkward and humble.

The Week Of Never Ending Snow

2010-03-06T14:31:00.000-08:00

Of all the months...March is the trickiest and the most fickle. It is the one month out of the year when you can experience spring, summer, and winter all within a span of a few short hours. It is a month of false starts, of subtext, and of plot twists.

Its a month where my boys and I talk about baseball while watching hockey. Where we toss a baseball while standing in late winter snow. March is a month where while standing under a steel gray sky you can safely speak of a feeling of spring in the air.

March is a month where it can be snowing and feel like spring. This week, where it snowed every day, the sky still thinks its winter, while the earth, as it melts snow as soon as it hits the ground, insists that spring is here. It is still winter yet running through most of the month is a subtext of spring.

With certain months you know exactly what you are going to get. Its going to be hot and humid in July and cold with snow in January. March, on the other hand, you never quite know what you are going to get. As with life, March is full of surprises and the unexpected. March is a reminder that the expected can bring good things...like a gloriously sunny day at the end of a week of never ending snow.

Don't Argue With Crazy

2010-03-02T17:00:00.000-08:00

Admittedly, there have been times in the past where I have either sought out crazy or when confronted with crazy I did not run in the other direction. Now, older and wiser, I try to avoid crazy or at least limit my exposure. But sometimes...crazy will sneak up on me when I least expect it.

Yesterday I looked at my front tire and saw that it was clearly time for it to be replaced. I called around and finally decided to take it to a local place down the street. They were a well established business, they offered a very good price, and promised to have it done for me in fifteen minutes.

I arrived with my car and was assured by the owner that my car would be ready in about ten minutes. I told him that I was going to take a quick walk and would be back soon. I was back in fifteen minutes and sure enough....my car was ready. Very pleased that I got what I was promised I engaged the owner in some chit chat....

Me: "so...how is business?"

Owner: "well....I am happy that the sun is out and that's about it."

Me: "I hear the same thing from a lot of business owners and self employed guys...its very rough out there."

Owner: "we can thank Wall Street for the mess we are in."

Me: "I think there is a lot to that... greed did play a large role in all of this."

Owner: "what you need to do is follow the money and you will follow it right to the Crown of England and to the scarlet city...Rome."

Me: thinking..."OK....suppress moral indignation and get out of here"....saying "ahhhhhhhhhhhh...how much do I owe you"

Owner: "yes...nothing happens in the world without the approval of the Crown of England and the Pope...."

Me: "how much do I owe you?"

While I was unable to escape without his prattling on some more and his shoving some pamphlets into my hand, I left before the conversation inevitably turned to that other group who is usually scapegoated during hard economic times....because you know he was going to go there...his ilk always does.

Don't argue with crazy...just leave as quickly as you can.

Sarah Palin Made Me Think...Really

2010-02-26T09:52:00.000-08:00

Last night, during a commercial break while watching the SyFy Channel, I flipped over to the next channel...where appropriately enough, is Fox News. And who was being interviewed by Sean Hannity? Sarah Palin.

Now I have learned from sad experience that the logic of most decisions made after midnight seldom holds up in the light of day. Last night's decision...or the conclusion I have drawn...makes even more sense now than it did when I made it. Its time to reconsider my voting habits.

I am a contrarian...its fun to be something of a conservative in Massachusetts and vote Republican as I am sure it would be fun to be a liberal and vote Democratic in Alabama. Additionally...its easy to vote Republican in Massachusetts...where most Republicans are typically socially liberal and fiscally conservative...and you don't have to hold your nose and deal with the religious right. Furthermore...the Republican Party in Massachusetts is ineffective to the point of harmlessness....I could comfortably host a dinner party for all of the Republican members of the State Legislature in my two bedroom apartment. But I digress.

About Sarah Palin...last night...while riding an ice cream high...I wondered to myself... What was John McCain thinking? Have I ever heard her express an idea using a compound sentence? I have I have ever heard her express an idea? Does she have super vision as she says she can see Russia from her house?

What was John McCain thinking indeed...I remember a conversation I had early last fall while sitting on my very good friend's back porch. I remarked that the conservatives used to be about ideas...think William F. Buckley Jr....now they are about who can shout the loudest and pander the most...By the way...I am really, really, glad that I was induced into not voting for McCain...

I have never used this space to write about politics...and I hesitate to do it now...but sitting there...in my home...watching Sarah Palin blather on sort of...well...it pissed me off and made me laugh all at the same time. The issues we face are not simple...they are complicated...and cannot be reduced to a few talking points scribbled on one's hand. To argue otherwise is an insult to our intelligence to the extent to where it is almost funny...as is the idea of an empty headed hack who may or may not have super vision being taken seriously by anyone. Almost funny....but not quite.

Eating Food

2010-02-22T07:32:00.000-08:00

I have established a little tradition on those Saturday nights when I find myself without plans. I grill myself a steak. So last Saturday I found myself in front of the meat counter at the local super market looking for a nice steak. Along with a baked potato and steamed carrots, I grilled a 12 ounce sirloin steak on my hibachi...4 minutes on one side....3 minutes on the other. The meal would have been perfect were it not for one thing...an imagine from the market that stayed with me as I ate.

As I walked to the meat counter I took a quick look at chickens....I had thought about buying a roaster for Sunday dinner. Next to the roasters and broilers were organic chickens. These birds were much smaller and more closely resembled the poultry I remembered from when I was a kid.

I grew up in a small, rural community in southern Rhode Island. We had a garden from where all most all of our vegetables came, we picked our own apples, we ventured into the woods to pick our own blueberries. For a number of years we also raised our own turkeys. We fed them, watered them, cleaned up after them, mended their coop, and when the time came, slaughtered them.

For me, this was not an idyllic part of my childhood...I hated the work associated with home gardening and I intensely disliked the business with the turkeys. However...I did learn something at a very early age from those experiences...that it matters what we put into the food that we put into us.

So thinking about those organic chickens I wondered about what we put into their non organic counterparts. What they are fed, how they are housed, and with what they are injected have contributed to these birds having unnatural proportions. And what these birds were fed and injected are now inside of us. Wrap your head around that one.

Food is very important to me and certain foods bring with them certain memories...homefries, roast chicken, sushi, and chicken marengo particularly so. For me it is a way of providing and experiencing comfort. If I cook for you I care about you...and if I care about you I will cook for you. However....I am starting to think that I need to think more about what goes into the food that I feed the people about whom I care.

Saturday Night Fever

2010-02-21T06:00:00.000-08:00

Friday was a long day.

A....very....long....day.

So yesterday I was not happy to have my phone ring at the ungodly hour of 10:30 in the morning. It was my ex wife. As the phone rang I quickly took a self inventory....I was preoccupied. I have not had enough sleep. I have not had any coffee....Yup...the conditions were perfect for a blow-up with my ex.

I drew a deep breath...reminding myself that my impatience is usually the cause of many of my unpleasant interactions with my ex...and answered the phone. Our chat lasted for about two minutes and she only wanted one thing from me....could I drop our oldest son off at a school dance at 7:00? I told her yes and quickly got off the phone before the caffeine related DTs set in.

As I nursed my morning coffee it set in...my son....is going....to a dance. My son is going to a dance. My teenaged pubescent son is going to a dance. I was assured by a Facebook friend who also happens to have children attending the same school as my kids that these were well chaperoned affairs and were far more tame than what happens at dances in public schools. She also told me that her husband was one of the chaperons. Thanks...I await his report.

That I have entered a brave new world of parenting a teenager is not news to me. Its having to do something about it is the challenging part. I spent yesterday afternoon with the kids and made the mistake of asking Oliver about the dance.

Dad "Hey pal...are you looking forward to the dance tonight"

Oldest Son "grunt"

Dad "Are any of your friends going?"

Oldest Son "mumble"

Dad "what was that?"

Oldest Son "EVERYONE is going" in an exasperated voice that bordered on mutinous.

I then decided to go hang out with the son who still likes me.

We rode to the dance in silence, with my son periodically checking his hair while providing monosyllabic grunts as responses to my impertinent questions. It was a lot of fun.

When we arrived, he quickly wished me a good night, bolted out of the car, and strode into school like he owned the place.

Namaste...I think....

2010-02-18T07:27:00.000-08:00

My approach to Lent is different from that taken by many Catholics. Since I became a Catholic I have tried, during Lent, to acquire a positive characteristic rather than give up something. Usually, however, this impulse usually dies somewhere during the first burger I eat on a Lenten Friday.

Gathered around the table at a local diner last night, my kids and I talked about what we were up to over the last few days. The kids had spent the last three days and two nights at my brother's where my sister-in-law indulged their preferences for cupcakes and mac and cheese. In addition to being a great wife and mom she is a terrific aunt and always invites my kids over during vacations....this is a woman who already has four boys of her own.

Anyway...the conversation wheeled around to me...and I told them that I tried two new things while they were away...Indian food (which I have not had in twenty years) and yoga...that's right...yoga. Oliver...who is very good at piecing things together...asked the obvious question...why?

Why indeed. I gave him a sanitized and simple answer....because it could be good for me and because its good to try new things. Same with the Indian food...instead of relying on my usual diet of meat and potatoes (and chicken, fish, and pasta)...I wanted something different. Oliver...again...the one who is good at piecing things together...noted that I am creature of habit and routine and that I only accept new things with resistance. Even my daughter said "Daddy...you hate new things."

For my kids to have pegged me so accurately is more than a little unsettling. Stubbornness and resistance to change are not exactly flattering attributes. As I explained to my kids....there are times in life when its good to shake things up and try new things and to be open to the help and advice of others.

Being bounced from one doctor to another over the last few weeks has been an informative, albeit tiring, experience. That I need to take charge of my own self care is evident as is the fact that I need to listen to those around me whose well meaning and informed suggestions I have either poo pooed or ignored. New things can be good as is being open to good advice. So...in the spirit of Lent...yes Lent...yoga and a sleep health study....are on my menu...along with lamb somosa...except on Fridays.

So...Tomorrow is Valentine's Day?

2010-02-13T06:34:00.000-08:00

For the first time in years I am not spending at least part of the day before Valentine's Day buying trinkets, ordering flowers, and searching for that perfect heart shaped box of chocolates. While my daughter is my Valentine ever year, it does feel sort of odd not to be doing something this year that I have done for much of my adult life...and its just as well.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with Valentine's Day. It does feel like we are compelled to make a compulsory show of affection and attention for the special person in our lives. In doing so...I think...we trivialize the very emotion we are supposed to be celebrating.

Valentine's Day is in part cause and in part symptom of what we have done to love. We have packaged it, marketed it, and reduced it to a sentiment. We have dampened its fire, removed its teeth, and deadened ourselves to its possibilities. We have reduced it to a heart shaped box of candy and a dozen overpriced flowers.

Love is a verb. Its an action. Its a way of being. It compels us to put others first. When we tell our children, parents, partner, or lover that we love them...we are committing a revolutionary act against our own selfish inclinations and against the isolation that is a permanent feature of human life. We are telling them that we will be with them come what may. We are promising to look after them. We are also sharing with those we love the most precious thing we have, ourselves...and only when we love can we truly be ourselves.

Love is not a sentiment. It is not a box of candy. It is not a bunch of flowers. It cannot be expressed in a card. Love is hope. Love is a high stakes gamble. Love is the cure for what ails us.

My Double Life

2010-02-09T06:18:00.000-08:00

I got home at midnight. Highly unusual for a Monday but then again...there has been a scarcity of usual around here lately. I walked into my apartment. I had forgotten to leave the light on by my chair. Its dark. I stumbled over the cat, broke a coffee cup, finally managing to turn on the light over my kitchen island before I did any more damage.

I took my dog outside. I got dressed for bed. I poured myself a drink. Johnny Walker Red. Neat.

I am returning from my ex-wife's house where I was watching my kids while she worked. They are usually with me on Mondays, but, as I have an early train to catch in the morning she agreed to take the kids overnight and bring them to school in the morning. Unusual times call for unusual measures.

When I told my kids goodnight, my oldest remarked that he was glad to spend a Monday in his own bed at home and not at my "place."

I...and those of us like me...lead double lives. Typically...I have my kids Monday through Thursday...and my ex wife has them for the rest of the week. When I have the kids my mornings and evenings are all about school lunches, ironing uniforms, cooking, cleaning, and settling fights over who gets to use the Xbox next or whether we watch ICarly or Cakeboss.

My life is quite different when they are not here. For one thing...my home is quiet...very quiet. For another...I get to watch what I want and when I want on television. I have been known, on occasion, to indulge in the social opportunities afforded to single men...in other words I have dated. And I confess...I find that there are times when I struggle to fill my time.

I have lived this dual life for almost four years...and...as it struck me tonight...so have my kids. They now have two places to keep their stuff. Two beds in which to sleep. Two bathrooms in which to bathe. Two dinner at which to eat. Different food. Different rules. Different expectations. No wonder I encounter resistance when I pick them up to bring them here.

When I moved here a year ago I had wanted to emulate what my erstwhile dear friend had created in her home. She had created an inviting, warm, and loving environment for herself and her kids. I hoped to do the same for me and mine. However...one year later it is clear that my kids regard my home as my "place."

I chose to lead a double life....one where I am single parent for part of the time and bachelor for the remainder...my kids...are unwilling passengers on this ride.

I lead a double life. And I have made my kids accessories after the fact.

Stress Test Stress

2010-02-05T09:23:00.000-08:00

So....the other day...about to undergo what feels like my twelfth echo cardiogram in the last two weeks...the technician joked..."lets see if you have a broken heart..." I laughed.

Anyway...I am in this chamber....and my mind starts to wander...which is seldom a good thing. During the last two weeks I have been in something of a limbo...waiting for something to be discovered...something to happen. And while waiting for something to happen I have been doing a lot of thinking...and not about what you would think I would be thinking about....

Its never the big things that occupy your mind...at least for me anyway...even now I do not think about the big things...or even much about my health...but I have been thinking. About the little things, about the loose ends, the hanging threads...the bits of unfinished business I have. That we all have.

I should file my taxes early. Oliver is old enough for me to teach him a 12 to 6 curveball. I should go to the gallery and make peace. Fiona and I need to take another art class. I need to see my erstwhile dear friend and make things right. To lean how to dance. I should, ought to, need to, have to...the list goes on and on and on.

My father once accused me of putting off until tomorrow what can be done today...and in this instance he was right in that I have what could prove to be a terminal case of the "Mananas." So....lying there...about ready for another stress test...I asked myself...why wait until tomorrow to have a game of catch? To spend some time drawing. To learn how to dance. To say I am sorry. To say I miss you. To say I love you. Why wait?

I think we all feel stress about the the little things...the loose ends....the hanging threads....the bits of unfinished business....how we deal with them is the real test.

In The Desert

2010-02-04T10:18:00.000-08:00

For someone dear to me...a story.

I had been advised to pack two things for the trip to Palm Springs....sunblock and water....one out of two isn't bad...(I had a cooler full of water)...at least I had a hat....anyway...that day I had decided to leave behind the beach, the palm trees, and the traffic that characterize southern California for the desert. In truth, much of southern California is desert....except that we have decided to drain dry the Colorado River in what will probably prove to be a futile effort to make green what God made brown...anyway...I wanted to go to the desert...

On that particular trip to California I had rented a baby blue Chrysler Crossfire convertible...a two seat sports car with a 215 horsepower engine under the hood. The car effortlessly reached speeds in excess of 100 mph....I know this as I hit 120 mph late one night on the interstate...anyway...it was more car than I was accustomed to having and I relished the opportunity to take it into the desert.

With hot sun overhead and the top down we left the interstate and drove past avocado and orange groves and through Temecula, the heart of southern California's wine country. Past creeks, gullies, gulches, and arroyos. Through Indian reservations and past ranches...through the scrub land...and up into the mountains...and into the desert.

Being from New England, California is like another planet to me. The people are certainly different...but was struck me most was that the land felt different...and seeing southern California in its natural, non irrigated state brought this home to me. As we drove through the desert there were places where there were beach ball sized boulders as far as the eye could see. It was in that landscape, alien, untouched, foreboding and at the same time alluring did I understand why men went into the wilderness feel free.

With the top down, the hot wind blowing past me, the sun beating down on me, the Rolling Stones' Exile On Main Street blaring on the stereo, I drove through the desert, lost in the experience of being in a strange and foreign place. Free from care, free from worry...and looking forward to a margarita.

On Ice

2010-02-01T11:02:00.001-08:00

As has become my Friday night tradition, I settled into my chair with a hearty he-man sandwich, fries, pickles, and an ice cold glass of Pepsi, and watched a movie. That night's showing was Lawrence of Arabia.

I like Lawrence of Arabia for a number of reasons....my favorite part is in the beginning when Lawrence (played by Peter O'Toole) sets out into the desert to find Prince Faisal (played by Alec Guinness). You see immediately the magnificent desolation of the desert. As for Lawrence's feelings about the desert...they can be best summed up in one line...one of my favorites; "I like the desert...because its clean."

I have been to the desert in southern California a few times. On my first visit I became enraptured by the desert. I understood immediately why the Prophets went into there to find God. Friday night I had a compelling urge to go to the desert.

Mountains do it for some people. The woods or the ocean for others. For me...its the desert. Perhaps its because of that first experience I had, or maybe I know a bit too much of the Old Testament...or...because in the desert its just you and the elements. Here in New England you are hard pressed to capture that desert experience...except perhaps...on a frozen lake.

So yesterday...bundled in several layers of clothing... I strode across the largest lake my neck of the woods has to offer. In the middle of the lake I stood, and soaked in the wind, the sun, the cold, and most importantly...the silence. On the ice, far enough away from houses, cars, and people...I found that you can escape the roar of life's white noise that is our constant companion.

At Night At St. Luke's

2010-01-28T08:15:00.000-08:00

The other night...for a few moments...I was in my favorite place...doing one of my favorite things. Then I was abruptly woken up. I had dozed off to my happy place. It took me a few moments to figure out where I was...my clothes were on a chair next to me, I was flat on my back with leads attached to my chest and side. The emergency room is certainly not my favorite place and being attached to a heart monitor and taking oxygen are not my favorite things.

It was late evening or early morning. The people in the next room, the backwash of a domestic violence incident which had taken place earlier in the evening, had awoken me. Across from me was someone strapped to a gurney...apparently someone on a bad trip. As for myself...I drove myself to the ER after feeling really lousy for the last few days, the deal breaker being a mind numbing headache and a nose bleed that would not stop. As it turned out....my blood pressure was about to cause me to blow a gasket. We, my fellow patients and I, had little in common, except perhaps for a varying amounts self neglect and that surely none of us wanted to be there.

However, I did feel well enough to chat up one of the nurses who had been looking in on me...as it turned out we have a few acquaintances in common and we talked for a while. I asked her about her job and she told me a few stories...I asked if she knew how long it took for a potato to bake at 98.6 degrees...she did....(I know well the sort of nurse of whom you could not only safely ask such a question but who would also know the answer). I also asked her what it was like to work in a place where almost all of the people with whom she dealt did not want to be.

What she told me really did not surprise me. She said that she does a lot of compartmentalization...that she does not think of us as Mrs. So and So, or Mr. Such and Such, or as Mr. Pierce for that matter. Instead she thought of us as the facial contusion and cracked ribs, the heroin overdose, and the cardiac case. To think of us as individuals, each with our own stories, would be too much and too draining. She told me that a degree of detachment was needed for her to effectively do her job...I found myself wondering if this approach spilled over to the rest of her life....

In speaking with....my nurse....I found that while hers was a particular profession requiring particular skills....we all need to know when to be detached and when to be engaged as we all have to deal with people who are in places where they would rather not be. After all....we cannot always be in our favorite places doing our favorite things....

"Made With Real Sugar"

2010-01-24T07:22:00.000-08:00

We are obsessed with food. There I said it. We are obsessed with food. I could get all Freudian with you and come up with my own explanation as to why this is the case for many of us...but I won't. But for a variety of reasons we Americans are obsessed with what we put into out bodies....but for some reason we are far less concerned with what goes into our food that goes into our bodies.

Over the last year I have had three "come to Jesus" moments when it comes to the food I eat and what I feed my kids. A bit more than a year I ago I was standing in my erstwhile girlfriend's kitchen puzzling over a carton of eggs. On the packaging there was the claim that the eggs I was about to turn into a omelet were from chickens fed a vegitarean diet. This got me thinking about what we feed chickens. Now I raised poultry when I was a kid and will tell you that chickens will eat whatever they can find...including each other...however...I made the mistake by doing a little research into what we feed chickens and cattle....well......does the phrase Soilent Green mean anything to you? In addition to feeding them feed that includes loads of antibiotics and corn....their feed also includes rendered chicken and sheep and other animal byproducts....nice.

I have friend who works in Cambridge, Massachusetts...now this leaves her exposed to all sorts of crazy ideas...here is one of them; that deforestation and global warming will accelerate due to increased acreage devoted to corn production to meet increased global demand for beef. Now...I do believe that I have a God given right to my Saturday night steak...but I also know that cows eat grass...not corn...or other cows for that matter. I have rolled this idea in my head for a while...that our demand for beef is destroying the environment. Its not as crazy as it seems as Brazil is becoming a world leader in the cattle and poultry industries. You figure it out...cattle are fed corn and both require land...lots and lots of land...and what covers most of the land in Brazil? You got it...the Amazon Rainforest. What is the motivation for deforestation in Brazil....you got it...money derived from raising and feeding cattle...and here we are talking about cattle ranching on an industrial scale. Maybe not all ideas coming out of Cambridge are crazy.

The other day I stood in the soda aisle at Stop and Shop and bought a two liter bottle of Pepsi Throwback. The bottle has the old school Pepsi labeling and in bold letters proclaims that its made with "real sugar." Over the last twenty to thirty years food manufacturers have replaced basic ingredients like sugar with corn syrup or worse still...combinations of chemicals and food byproducts to mimic the tastes and flavors we have come to expect in our food.

We have strayed from eating basic foods...you know...the food pyramid stuff we were all taught in school. Instead our food is processed, preserved, packaged, and premade. You don't want to read the ingredients on a can of soup or a box of crackers...let alone for a tub of butter substitute. I would argue...no...I actually think this to be true...that we need to pay less attention to the food that goes into us...and more to what goes into our food. Give me real sugar and real butter and vegetarian cows every time.

Going Home

2010-01-20T16:43:00.000-08:00

I have a friend who lives in a town adjacent to New Bedford who cannot understand my allegiance to my former home city. In the past, I have struggled to explain to her why I feel as I do. As reasons to like and appreciate New Bedford I point to its rich history, its great restaurants, to its interesting neighborhoods, and to the people I know who are committed to rescuing New Bedford from the fate suffered by so many other former mill towns. What I should have told her is that I the reason I feel about New Bedford the way I do is because it feels like home.

Two days ago I made a special trip to New Bedford to vote in Tuesday's special election. Yes...I am something of a procrastinator and yes...I should have changed my registration a year ago when I moved to Abington. However...Abington...despite my best efforts...is where I live...its not home.

As I turned up Pearl Street, driving along Klasky Common I did not experience so much nostalgia for a certain time in my life but rather something more useful and more tangible. I felt safe and at rest. There is no other way to put it...I felt at home. Why or how this happened is a story for another day....this important thing is that it did happen.

Home does not need to be a place...I no longer reside in New Bedford...it can be a feeling that a certain place evokes. Sitting by the fire in a coffee shop in the historic district I realized that feeling at home is something I can carry with me wherever I go...or at least try to. This may be one more gift New Bedford has given me.

At The Klondike Derby

2010-01-17T06:58:00.000-08:00

Up at 5:30 in the morning. Five layers of clothes. Size 36 jeans out of the closet worn to accommodate the sweatpants I am wearing underneath. One pot of coffee downed before 7:00. Standing at the local Boy Scout Camp at 8:10 in the morning. Yup....its Klondike Derby time.

Klondike Derby is an annual Scouting event that I have attended with my oldest boy for the last four years. This year's event was Aidan's first Klondike. At this event, Packs of Cub Scouts and Troops of Boy Scouts compete against each other in a several events; among them are shelter building, knot tying, and fire starting. My boys excel at fire starting...I wonder what that means? The day culminates in a sled race where the boys pull sleds (in sled dog fashion) across a field. Think sled dog race meets NASCAR meets the chariot scene from Ben Hur.

While I am not a Scouting fundamentalist, I am impressed by the dedication and devotion of Scout leaders. These overgrown kids, and I have gotten to know several of them over the years, have enriched the lives of my sons and hundreds of other boys. For many boys, their Scout leader is the only positive male role model they know.

In certain circles Scouting has a bad name. The title "Boy Scout" connotates a certain naivete and lack of sophistication and the institution is viewed by many as a relic from a bygone age best left behind us. Admittedly, the values our culture promotes; laziness, irreverence, selfishness, and cynicism, run counter to Scouting's core values. Scouting provides boys (and their parents), with another example to follow, where reverence, patriotism, loyalty, honesty, and hard work are espoused, taught, and reinforced. For my part, Scouting has helped me and my boys' mom immeasurably in our efforts to successfully raise our sons into responsible young men.

So....my boys and I are sufficiently thawed out. Their snow pants have dried out, and my size 36 jeans are back in the closet. While we enjoy the Klondike Derby, I think the three of us are happy to spend the day inside...although Aidan is making noises about building a fire. Fortunately the house has a fire extinguisher. Be Prepared.

Dinner Time

2010-01-12T04:16:00.000-08:00

I like spaghetti and meatballs for many of the same reasons I like stews and roasts; because it is a communal meal with everyone sharing in the same food and enjoying (presumably) the same meal. I had made the meatballs and sauce the night before in anticipation of severing them up last night for myself and my kids. I had hoped on Sunday, that Monday was going to be a long and productive day so I tried to have Monday's dinner ready in advance....

As it turned out...Monday was indeed a long and productive day. Abington, Arlington, Barnstable, Bridgewater, Cambridge, and Plymouth were the cities and towns I hit yesterday. While it took a crowbar to pry me out of bed yesterday I looked forward to the day ahead despite having to cover much of eastern Massachusetts. While olives, coffee, and danish made for a great breakfast (don't worry...I had the olives at least 45 minutes before the coffee and danish...) I was looking forward to dinner with my kids.

A lot of parents, I suspect, are like me, resorting to the easiest and fastest ways to feed our kids. Takeout, premade, and instant foods have become staples. A lot of nights I resort to eggs or pancakes or pasta or tacos...something fast and easy to make...But I have also noticed that I talk less and less to my kids at mealtime and that all four of us had forgotten that meal time, especially dinner time, is not merely an occasion to ingest food; its also an opportunity to share about our respective days, to converse, to talk.

I enjoyed last night's dinner not because I like spaghetti and meatballs...but because during our meal we talked, and shared, and along the way reminded ourselves that we are not four people bound together by genetics and circumstance but that we are something greater than our individual parts; we are a family.

Economic Downturns (with apologies to H.G.)

2010-01-09T06:29:00.000-08:00

I spend a lot of time on the road nowadays. I drive past closed businesses and boarded up homes. Everyday I speak with people who live with diminished expectations and reduced hope. My visits to people's homes have confirmed what I have long suspected, that people are living in fear.

A few weeks ago I drove past a barbershop to which I used to take my boys. This particular barber had been in business for more than twenty five years and had carved out a particular niche for himself. While liked the guy, his personality has some sharp edges and was, I had decided, ideally suited for self employment. So I was surprised to see a sign on his shop window announcing that he was forced to close his business and that he was now working for another barber located in another part of town.

Curious, I visited him at his new shop and had a cut and a shave...I had some time to kill and there is something civilized about having a shave...anyway...he had told me that business had dropped off dramatically, in part, he told me, that people were getting hair cuts less frequently in order to save money. I know that in my little universe, my grocer and pizza guy see me a lot less...and my butcher almost never.

I spent yesterday on the Cape, training a new salesman, someone for whom I had worked for several years. For twenty five years he had his owned business and reveled in being his own boss. The economy and an overzealous bureaucrat undid decades of work and now he is training for a sales job.

As we drove down to Osterville, I could not help but think about how things change and how roles can be reversed. I owe this man a lot. He trained me, gave me a new profession, allowed me to do loans for my sister and for a loved one at significantly reduced cost. Yesterday he did me another invaluable service.

While chatting he reminded me that life is about adjustments and that hopes and expectations are not tied to businesses or to bank accounts or to professional attainment. Instead, hope is tied to what we wish to become and the only expectations we should have are of ourselves and of what sort of men we want to be.

Hopes and expectations of this sort can weather any downturn.

My Boy, My Teenager

2010-01-03T08:13:00.000-08:00

My apartment is quiet, the kids and their mom have left .The cake is half gone, the dishes are in the dishwasher, and the rubbish is stuffed full of used wrapping paper. We just finished celebrating my oldest son's birthday today. He is thirteen.

For some reason this feels like a landmark birthday...that something has ended and something else is about to begin. I remember him this time last year. Then I had a big boy. Now I have a young man. Watching him navigate through the school yard at pick up time or through a maze of friends and teammates at his basketball games I am impressed by is poise and his confidence. While only occasionally does he feels entitled, I cannot blame him for feeling that the world is his oyster.

After he was born I remember taking him to the window and showing him the early morning Boston skyline and introducing him to the world. It feels like yesterday and a million years ago all at the same time when he would follow me around the yard as I did yard work and we would go for rides in the old Subaru on Saturday mornings. I miss the little boy he was, I enjoy the teenager before me, and I look forward to knowing the man that he will someday become.

On New Years

2010-01-01T08:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, while stranded on Route 3, I found myself thinking of the damnedest things...standing in a snow squall next to a broken down car will do that....

We are the sum total of of memories and experiences. More than almost anything else, even more than our genes, our memories and experiences define who we are. They shape us, mold us, bend us, and they inform and shape our decisions.

As creatures of free will we have the power to make choices about ourselves, how we live our lives, and who we choose to be our friends. At best...our experiences help us make decisions...at worst...we reflexively follow our experiences and fall into patterns of behavior that condemn us to falling into the same traps and snares time after time. The past can be prologue if we are not careful.

On New Years its natural for people to reassess and reconsider, to look back and look forward. This is what we seem to do. We are the sum total of our memories and experiences...the trick is...I have decided...is to avoid becoming ensnared by them.

Tis The Season To Cope

2009-12-29T04:47:00.001-08:00

The glass is half full. The glass is half full. The glass is half full. I keep telling myself that the glass is half full. But in telling myself this I feel like what I imagine Kevin Bacon must have felt during the post parade melee in Animal House; telling everyone that everything is fine and that there is no need to panic while on the verge of tossing his lunch ...the glass is half full indeed.

Yes...this is the season for coping....however it has been helpful to hang out with certain friends who, despite difficult circumstances, have been able to maintain a sunny disposition. I have one friend, who despite being unemployed for more than a year and having three small children living with her in a two bedroom apartment, is optimistic and has been able to look on the bright side of her experiences during the last year. She copes by exercising daily and by starting the day off by going to Mass. She tells me that her faith has sustained her and has helped her cope through this difficult time. She asked me what I do to cope...I told her...ice cream...lots and lots of ice cream.

I knew this was going to be a challenging weekend...between Christmas, a family gathering, and because yesterday was yesterday on Thursday I stocked up on ice cream...3 gallons worth. I polished off the last box at 12:30 this morning. By my estimate I have gone through about 7 gallons of ice cream in the last two weeks. This over indulgence in my favorite treat has led to the discovery that a diet based on ice cream and coffee can lead to weight loss....its amazing but true.

Ice cream cannot be the basis of any long term approach to coping with life's challenges. I have another friend who reads and attends yoga classes to deal with stress (I keep on suggesting martinis but she knows me well enough not to fall for that) and another friend who is on a one woman crusade to save the city of New Bedford. I don't envision taking yoga nor do I plan on trying to save Abington (sorry Abington but you are on your own) so I need to find my own way.

Part of my approach is acceptance...accepting that some things in life are hard and that there are going to be days that are going to be difficult. Two weeks ago I knew that Saturday and yesterday were going to be challenging days. I tried to plan accordingly by staying busy and doing things that help me get along....like going to New Bedford (which is like going home) and hanging out with a friend for a while on Saturday.

So with a few more potholes in the calender coming I know more coping is in order...while switching to martinis is not really an option so until I come up with a long term plan I really don't see the harm in eating more ice cream...gallons and gallons of ice cream.

Three Days Before Christmas

2009-12-22T05:13:00.000-08:00

I am really trying to come up with a cheery posting....really.

After months of struggling I have decided to surrender to 2009 and admit that this was a really crappy year and that there is no sense in trying to dress it up and put a bow on it. So to cope I am trying to recognize and enjoy the little moments. Such as on Sunday when I watched Dr. Zhivago, or yesterday while working I stopped to have a cup of coffee at a Starbucks on the Cape or right now...writing...while the kids are still asleep and Joey and Spot enjoy a patch of sunlight while dozing on the carpet.

Enjoying moments such as these does not mean that I am putting off unpleasant things or avoiding the rest of my life. I know I have a difficult phone call to make later on this morning. I know that later today or tomorrow morning I am probably going to have to face a crushing disappointment. And I know... while looking at Joey...that very soon I am going to have to make a very hard, a very painful decision regarding my faithful friend.

Taking the time to enjoy these islands of peace while sailing on a sea of troubles helps...and this posting is an effort to remind myself of this.

Unintended Consequences

2009-12-19T13:39:00.001-08:00

I am forever telling my kids (my boys in particular) to think before they act, that the results of their actions could have repercussions beyond their intentions. I tell them this as they pass the football in front of the big screen TV, I tell them this just before they are about to dash into the street after a baseball, and I tell them this as they fight amongst themselves.

A part of what a kid learns are that his actions and his words have an effect on those around him. A part of our job as parents is to teach our kids to look both ways before crossing, look before leaping, and to think before speaking. This is a part of teaching them to consider as many of the possible consequences of their actions before the fact rather than worry about damage control afterward.

This is where I am at today. I am dealing with the unintended consequences of about forty five seconds worth of carelessness. A week ago I was careless and opened my mouth without thinking. As soon as the words left my mouth I knew that there would be a steep price to pay for my thoughtlessness. However, in my case, the price was not a damaged TV or a broken lamp but rather I may have cost myself my best friend.

I never intended this to happen...but I should have known that my actions carry repercussions beyond my intentions. I should have known better.

I miss my friend.

My Ex Wife

2009-12-17T04:34:00.001-08:00

Its been a challenging few days here in Dadland... and there are a number of things I won't share with you dear reader but one thing I will tell you about...Sunday would have been my 17th wedding anniversary.

I have known my ex wife for more than 20 years and looking back over the time we have known each other we have had our ups and downs and more than our fair share of difficulty. We also have had more than our fair share of disagreement but through it all I knew I was dealing with someone who is a good and kind person.

Over the last few years we have developed a peculiar type of friendship. I admit, that there have been times I have not been as kind as I should have been to my friend, my ex wife. She is a good mother, devoted, attentive, and engaged in the lives of our children. She tried to be a good wife to me, however, I am afraid I let her down as a husband. I have tried my best to not let her down as an ex husband. I think, in her way, she has tried not to let me down as an ex wife.

This has been a difficult year for both of us. We have both had health and emotional issues with which to deal. Some of these issues are life altering. I recently suffered something of a setback (if you can call an unmitigated disaster a setback) with which I am still struggling. My ex wife, my friend, spent much of yesterday with me on the phone, talking to me, listening, and helping. This is something she has done many times over the past year. Anyone else would have told me to go to hell...in fact...she probably would have had every right to tell me just that.

I forget all too easily the good my ex wife brings into not only the lives of my children, but into my life as well. Its easy to let the acrimony that inevitably seeps into the relationship of former spouses such as ourselves taint, what has been for the most part, a sold, stable, reliable partnership. No...not merely a partnership...but a friendship, of a peculiarly special kind.

Christmas Ghosts....

2009-12-13T06:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I worked up enough courage to get my Christmas tree and today I put it up. Tomorrow the kids and I will decorate it. My kids, my daughter in particular, is very concerned that I get a tree this year. As I have my kids with me for half the week that I would get a tree was never in question. How I would feel about the tree is.

My best friend's sister observed that Christmas comes with teeth....and I have found that for the last several years, just as I thought I was about to escape from the holiday season unscathed, Christmas comes, generally in the form of the ghosts of Christmas past, and takes a bite. For me, the tree, and the decorations, are fraught with memories, memories of those who are no longer here and those who have left. I feel funny for telling you this...but at age 42 I miss my grandparents terribly.

This year, just as I was thinking that I had a shot at emerging from this Christmas unscathed, but for a brief moment, I was careless and thoughtless. As a result, I have caused great damage and have done much harm. So this year, it appears that the Ghost of Christmas Present will be my companion for the holiday season. There is always next year.

The Holiday Season; The Fuzzy End Of The Divorce Lolly Pop

2009-11-22T07:20:00.001-08:00

I have wrestled with this topic for about two weeks....in fact...I have avoided this space for almost as long while trying to figure out how to approach this. So here it is;

This will be the first Thanksgiving that I will not be spending with my children.

When my ex wife and I first separated we agreed that we would figure out a way for the five of us to spend the major holidays together. And it worked...for a while...but last year it became apparent it was time for us to do something different. So this Easter we split up the day...I had the kids in the morning and she had them in the afternoon. The kids found it difficult but we thought that Easter would be the best holiday to start a new routine to make things easier for the kids during the Holiday Season.

The ex wife and I started discussing Thanksgiving about a month ago. For a variety of reasons we decided that it would be best for me to spend the morning with the kids and that in the afternoon she would take them to her brother's for dinner. The kids are excited to be spending the day with their cousins. In fact, one of them remarked that holidays are supposed to be spent with aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins.

To her credit, my ex wife is concerned and interested in how I am going to spend the rest of my day. My first choice would be to spend the entire day with my kids. But this simply is not possible. Divorce is hard, its hard on kids and its hard on their parents...but we...the parents...were the ones who failed to make our marriage work...so in our divorce its right that we make compromises to make things easier and better for the kids.

So my ex wife and I compromised to make the best of a difficult part of divorce. And with any compromise you give up something to get something....but sometimes compromise means that what you get is the fuzzy end of the lolly pop...

Integrity

2009-11-16T20:33:00.000-08:00

There's a word for you...integrity. Its a rare trait and not many people have it. When you meet someone who possesses it, hang on to them and hang on tight. And when you run into some one who does not have it, well...its pretty hard to run from them as you would end up running from much of the human race.

Yes...I am in a cynical mood.

Over the last month or so I have been accused of having less than impeccable integrity. I have no delusions about being perfect...I know I am far from it. But I also know that even the appearance of being less than forthright can lead to trouble. For myself, I am there are situations where, with little prompting, I am ready to accuse someone in indulging in the same behavior that I appear to be exhibiting. This is where a deep breath is needed before I fly off the handle and be a hypocrite, which is the opposite of having integrity. This is the place I am at today.

I need to be mindful that things are not always what they appear and that my own behavior could easily be called into question on any number of occasions on any number of topics....and that I can't have the moral high ground while wallowing in the muck. I can't have it both ways.

People do want it both ways, myself included. But in trying to have everything you often end up with nothing...including your integrity.

A Job

2009-11-15T15:40:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I started my new job in earnest. Its a sales job. Its door to door. No...I am not selling vacuums (my dear friend has a terrific story about a Kirby sales call made to her home involving a vibrating attachment...but I will retell it only with her permission). I am selling something that people actually want; cable, Internet, and phone service from Comcast.

No...this is not my dream job...but it is something for which I am aptly suited, requiring determination, guile, the ability to think on ones feet, and a certain imperiousness to rejection. Its also a job that is, to a degree, immune to the ebb and flow of the global economy which is a far cry from mortgages. People want to be entertained and they are loathe to give up cable TV or the Internet even in the leanest of times.

And these have indeed been lean times. I made the mistake that many people make in lean times. They. No. We, we loose sight of whats important in life and let the crisis at hand define who we are. We also let what we do define who we are. I was a mortgage broker and when that career began to evaporate I found myself adrift. Now I am the cable guy...wait...that doesn't sound right...but you get the idea. I had forgotten that work is what we do...not who we are. Its a means to an end and that end is the ability to live our lives and provide for our families. I work to live...I do not live to work. But work I must.

So last night, for the first time in months and months I slept through the night and I awoke with a feeling that I have not felt since the spring. I felt normal. A job and all that comes with it will do that for a man.

I can't wait to go to work tomorrow.

Head Up, Eyes Forward

2009-11-07T05:53:00.001-08:00

Life is like riding a bicycle. Both are best done with your head up and eyes forward. Any other approach can be hazardous as I learned this morning when, after a momentary distraction, I took a spill on my bicycle in the middle of Route 18. Fortunately, this being a Saturday morning and there was little traffic on this usually busy road, I was able to get up and limp away and avoid an unfortunate encounter with anything other than asphalt.

Equally hazardous, but not quite as obvious, are the dangers of being distracted from one's own life. I constantly tell my kids to pay attention to what they are doing and to their surroundings. I also remind them that their actions have consequences for others as well as themselves. I should follow my own advice.

Adult life as has many distractions as those navigated by our kids. The Internet alone offers enough to keep us distracted from what is really important. I personally think that Facebook is a conspiracy to keep us adults distracted while the television networks capture our kids.

As for my mishap...my ringing cell phone distracted me. As I fumbled for the phone I had my spill. Re-injuring my leg (I hurt it about two months in a whiffle ball related incident...only men in their 40s get hurt while playing whiffle ball) I wheeled my bike home. As I was making my way home I looked at my phone to see who was calling. A client perhaps? Or maybe someone who just wanted to say hi. No....it was my ex-wife whom I suspect knew that somewhere, somehow I was having a carefree moment...

Seriously...my cellphone...as vital as it is to my life...has been a tremendous distraction over the years...It has interrupted vacations, time with my kids, and dates. And today it interrupted my bike ride and I have been couchbound since.

At least I have the Internet to amuse myself with.

Happy Anniversary

2009-10-26T06:04:00.000-07:00

I have known her since I was 6 and him since I was 12. And they are celebrating their 18th wedding anniversary today. Wow.

I remember receiving their wedding invitation. I was living with three other guys while I was taking my Masters Degree. I had just started to date my then future ex wife. As I lived in Washington DC and they in Rhode Island I did not even know that they had been dating. I do remember thinking that they were a good match. And now, 18 years later, it would seem that they are indeed a good match.

Despite my seeing them only sporadically over the years the impression I have of them is that they are good friends. This impression has been borne out by a few mutual friends who are closer to them than I. They both know how to have fun, know how to take a joke, and have an advanced sense of the absurd. Looking back I think these attributes prepared them well for a life together.

For those of us for whom four months represents a long term relationship, my friends offer the possibility that having a lifetime partnership with someone is possible. Moreover, they offer multiple reasons as to why the idea of a life long relationship ought not be greeted with jaded cynicism but....well...maybe not with hope but at least with an open mind.

Happy Anniversary.

With My Morning Coffee

2009-10-23T05:24:00.000-07:00

I can tell you right now that this post could get me into a lot of trouble....as trouble is the only thing that can happen when you let your mind wander without a leash.

People who tell you that you can tell them anything are usually the people you can't.

Lurking in the back of my refrigerator are new forms of life that evolved from the primordial ooze created in a long forgotten container of beef gravy.

Any day where you wake up on the right side of the dirt is a good day....most of the time....usually....sometimes....ok....any two days out of five where you wake up on the right side of the dirt is a good day...unless its raining then stay in bed.

I am told that its typical for parents to eagerly anticipate a quiet house when the kids are around and miss them once they are gone.

Following the example of a former girlfriend and current Facebook friend I went for a bike ride this morning. She told me I would feel great afterwards. I don't. No wonder we found that we were incompatible.

Melvern Taylor makes me hopeful and depresses the hell out of me all at the same time. It must be the ukulele.

You can put new wine into new skins... and I imagine you can put old wine in new skins...but I wonder if you can put new wine in old skins...

My son's Facebook page is worrying me....actually that I am faced with a whole new set of parenting issues is what's worrying me.

You know you have reached a certain age when you find yourself standing around a camp fire drinking beer with several other dads comparing colorectal surgery experiences.

Being a single dad can put you in certain odd situations. I found myself standing in the cereal aisle at the grocery store exchanging tips with three other dads who were stocking up for their weekends with their kids. I was able to spot these guys from the other side of the store as we stand out from the rest of the heard. After shooting the breeze with them for several minutes it was clear to me as to why I am more comfortable with moms as I don't feel nearly as lost and confused as many single dads appear.

Note to self; never run out of light cream again as my coffee sucks with 1 percent milk in it.

His 15th Birthday

2009-10-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

I am in the middle of what I think of as the birthday/holiday season. From September to January I will have celebrated or have helped celebrate the birthdays of seven of my eight favorite people. Needless to say that with the holidays thrown in for good measure this is a busy time of year.

But not all birthdays need to be overblown events...the other night one of my best friends and I quietly celebrated his birthday. I decided to make him his favorite meal...hamburgers with potatoes. Its an easy meal to make, taking only twenty minutes. As I had a long day and that I knew that he was going to eat his special meal in one gulp I was tempted to go to the store and get something in a can for him...but...I thought...he had been a great friend to me this year and deserved something special.

So...dinner was made and it was consumed in one or two gulps before I could finish a chorus of Happy Birthday. My friend Joey is 15.

I hesitate to refer to him as my dog as I belong to him as much as he belongs to me. I know a lot of people think I am silly for feeling so passionately about an animal. In response I have decided not to take them or their views on the subject very seriously. I have found that a great test of someone's character is the ability to understand the bond that can develop between a man and his four legged companion.

After a close call earlier in this year my old friend is in fairly good health. His legs bother him and stairs are becoming more of a challenge. We no longer go for long walks. But each day I try to spend some time with him outside. I watch him sniff the bushes and the grass. He experiences each moment without a thought about the future and his lives a life without regret. While I know Joey and I are wired differently I have done my best to emulate him. I no longer mourn what we can no longer do together nor do I live in dread of that very sad, very inevitable day.

Today we sat together in the sun, happy and content.

Bits And Pieces Left Along The Way

2009-10-19T05:25:00.000-07:00

Oliver called me this morning. He had a problem and wanted my help. He had left a favorite sweatshirt at the home of a friend with whom he had a falling out. He wanted me to call this kid's mom and arrange an exchange of property; his former friend's football for my son's sweatshirt. I told him we should wait three days (to see if he could mend some fences) and then I would call the mom.

As I drink my morning coffee and try to plan out my day I find myself thinking about Oliver's problem. While he wanted his sweatshirt back I am sure that he was also a little distressed about leaving something something of himself behind and having something belonging to his former friend in his possession. Or maybe I am projecting the thoughts I have been wrestling with over the last several weeks as I drink from a coffee cup that does not belong to me while sitting under a painting left behind by a former girl friend a lifetime ago.

Tee shirts, sweatshirts, footballs, books, and umbrellas, hell...I even know of someone who has a box of my stuff waiting to be handed back to me on some fateful day...these are the bits and pieces of ourselves that we casually exchange along the way. We never intend to permanently give these items away, instead we lend them out, blithely intending to have the exchange of these trivial items continue indefinitely into the future. We also exchange less tangible, more important items along the way, such as affection, caring, concern, and friendship. These are also pieces of ourselves that we leave along the way.

This afternoon I am going to encourage Oliver to make up with his friend. Twelve is too young to learn the hard fact that not all friendships last and that sometimes we have to leave pieces of ourselves behind.

No Heat

2009-10-16T04:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday took forever to end and was compounded by the fact that it was raw, wet, and cold. A typical steel gray New England day. I was looking forward to my warm apartment, a nice dinner, and hanging out with Joey and Spot. And then I got home.

I noticed that the apartment was colder than usual. Yes...I do keep the thermostat down fairly low...but not to the point where you can see your breath. I tinkered with the heat and while I got the fan going I had no heat. No freaking heat. Tommy was not happy.

I called the landlord and was politely told that I would have to wait until the morning to get this addressed. I decided to reserve my ire for some future grievance as while having no heat for a night was inconvenient and uncomfortable, staying in a 57 degree apartment for one night was not the end of the world.

This has been a year of making do. Emotionally, physically, and financially. While my tenuous morale could have taken another blow last night as I sat in my chilly apartment, I decided that this was simply another challenge to overcome. As I write this this morning, while wearing three sweatshirts, I came to the conclusion that the lesson I needed to learn from this year were that perseverance and fortitude are virtues I needed to practice and that cunning and guile, which have served me well, can only take me so far. However, I think cunning and guile are what is called for to get my landlord here to fix the heat.

A Dad's Day

2009-10-14T18:28:00.000-07:00

There are days when all things seem possible...and then there are others when being able to make it through the day feels like a heroic achievement. And there are other days that are a mixture of the aforementioned...this was one of those days.

Wednesdays is one of the days of the week where I have my kids so rather than easing into the day as is my preference I need to hit the ground running. After a breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, and hot chocolate I dropped the kids off at school...yes...I did come to a complete stop before kicking them out of the car.

I worked until about 6:00...picked up the kids at their mom's and then back home for dinner (homemade soup and grilled cheese sandwiches), homework, squabbling kids, and my dog going number two on my carpet. Three loads of laundry later, one closed loan, a lousy movie, I found myself in a less than sunny mood.

I suppose more than anything else I am tired. And of all the things I am tired of I am tired of putting one foot in front of another. While there are sunny spots....breakfast with my kids was one of them....watching Ollie at practice was another...lately the burdens of parenthood seem to weight heavily.

On the bright side I renewed a dormant friendship and got some good advice that somehow made things a bit easier. My friend reminded me that life is supposed to be hard. And then there are times that are harder than others. Accepting this somehow makes it easier.

Safe

2009-10-10T06:09:00.001-07:00

I just got done watching the Longest Day. This movie, which is about the D-Day Landings, got me thinking about my grandfather. Grandpa was not at D-Day, his big fight was at the Battle of The Bulge, but nevertheless the movie got my thinking about him.

While I always knew that my grandfather and I had a special relationship, that I always enjoyed being with him whether it was watching the Red Sox with him or sharing the newspaper, I never quite understood the bond I had with him. Now I know...I felt safe with him. I felt safe with Grandpa because, I think, I got unconditional love and acceptance from him. His house, with its smells, its sounds, and my grandmother's cooking, was a haven for me.

Sitting here, in my chair, in my home, I realize that there are lives where I play the same role that my grandfather played in mine. Whereas grandpa shared his appreciation of baseball with me which engendered that feeling of safety, I share food. I have learned that homefries can be every bit as effective as the Red Sox as a means to convey a feeling of safety and acceptance and affection.

It is a basic, almost primal desire, the need to feel safe. It was easy for me to experience this with my grandfather because....afterall...he was my grandfather...however...I know that to be able to count on something or someone for that feeling takes a leap of courage and of faith. While this is a leap I have yet to make I know that others have come to count on me to fulfill this most basic of needs.

There is a place, that I visit as a guest, which reminds me of my grandparent's home. The smells and sounds and the company are very different, however, the feeling I have when I am there is much like I had at my grandparents when I was a boy. I think this is why its my favorite place in the world.

Coffee

2009-10-09T04:20:00.000-07:00

Imagining I am in my favorite place my mind's ear hears that magic word being softly whispered with a sense of urgency that is both startling and reassuring. Coffee....

My morning ritual centers around the coffee pot (or espresso machine), my coffee cup, and the morning paper (albeit the online version). So I wasn't very happy this morning to wake up to realize that I only had enough beans left for a double espresso. While packing the punch of three cups of coffee, an espresso somehow lacks the ability to comfort that coffee possesses.

Coffee is not just merely starter fluid for the day. Its a coping strategy. Much like a fire, its something hot, and comforting, and when enjoyed with friends, provides a primal sense of something important being shared.

Whether its in a white mug with a blue stripe served with half and half and sugar, or in a Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup, or in my own favorite Christmas mug with a broken handle, my morning cup comforts, reassures, and braces me for the day ahead.

Waiting At Home

2009-10-04T17:28:00.000-07:00

I spent much of the weekend away from home riding a roller coaster. Like any roller coaster worthy of the name, this weekend's ups and downs came in rapid succession. I am still tying to catch my breath.

After my roller coaster crashed I went home and greeting me at my door were Joey and Spot. After feeding them (my kids looked in on them during the weekend) I took Joey outside and we sat in the grass together...with his head resting in my lap.

Change is one of life's constants. Situations change, careers are switched, people come and people go...but Joey has been a constant to the point where I have almost fooled myself into thinking that he will be with me forever. His companionship...no...his friendship as seen me through more changes than I really care to think about.

We have been together for almost fifteen years and I love Joey more than I do most people. Our affection and loyalty to one another is something I rely upon too much, however, our relationship is something that has proven itself able to be relied upon.

The Girl In My Life

2009-09-26T10:41:00.000-07:00

I first met her more than ten years ago. From the moment I saw her I knew I loved her. She had piercing blue eyes that saw right through me and her face lit up whenever she saw me. I cannot imagine feeling the same way about anyone else. She will always have a special place in my heart

Circumstances are such where we do not have much opportunity to spend much time alone so we try to take advantage of those few opportunities when they present themselves. Last night we were presented such an opportunity.

I prepared a grilled dinner for us on the balcony and as we ate we talked about our week and what was going on in our lives. We then went out window shopping. When we got back home we shared our favorite drink together, hot chocolate with a giant scoop of chocolate ice cream.

My little girl and I share a special bond, a bond, from what I gather, many fathers and daughters share. While I love my boys dearly there is something special about my relationship with Fiona. It is a relationship filled with joy and rife with responsibility. Where with my boys I am responsible for teaching them how to be men, with my daughter I need to show her how men should treat her. This may be an antiquated idea, but its a responsibility I feel keenly, especially as she is starting to mature.

Opportunities such as the one we had last night are rare, and will become rarer still as she gets older. However, while she may not be a child forever, she will always be my little girl.