Slack Jawed, Mouth Breathing Morons

Dunkin Donuts and Walmart. These were the two stops I had to make yesterday before I went home.

After I got the kids from school I had some errands to run. Before we hit Walmart I decided I needed coffee so I pulled into a Dunkin Donuts (a chain of coffee shops) and waited in line. The car ahead of me seemed to be taking a long time with their order so I rolled down the window to get some air. Within five seconds of listening to the dialogue from the car ahead it was apparent that even after waiting in line for five minutes this person still had not make up their mind...now this is a pet peeve of min and is sure way to make me want to beat myself senseless out of frustration.

I could not help but ask myself. "Was this person asking about the specials? "Were they making inquiries about whether the chef had made any recent additions to the menu?" "Were they seeking advice as to which wine goes best with a blueberry donut?" This back and forth lasted for about two minutes...I could not imagine what was taking this person so long...I started to think about beating someone senseless other than myself. So rather than do something that would have felt oh so good, I pulled out of line, parked, and went in. I placed my order;

TP: "I would like a medium regular."

Cashier: (a young woman with the look of a slow, dull child) "a whaaaaaaa?"

TP: "I would like a medium regular...please."

Cashier: "huhhhhhhhhhhh?"

I was starting to question whether this person was capable of intelligent speech.

TP: in a slow, clear voice. "I would like a medium coffee with cream and two sugars."

Cashier: "we don't have no coffee ready so you have to wait." this was a direct quote.

TP: as the end of my patience. "OK"

So I got my coffee, left the girl a tip, and stalked out of the store and had a sip...coffee...with milk...no sugar. This is freaking coffee shop...all they do is freaking coffee...how could they f**k this up!?!?!?!? I went back in...went to the same cashier...who looked at me and asked "whaaaaa?" I grabbed three sugars and left.

Next stop Walmart.

I hate Walmart. Yes, I am using the word hate here. It's not the same kind of hate I have for say...Hitler...more like the kind of hate I have for lima beans or paper cuts or...well...people who don't know what they want after spending five minutes in a drive through line. I hate Walmart stores, their business strategy, their union busting policies, and what Walmart does to people. What is is about Walmart that causes people, while in their stores, to drop IQ points like flakes of dandruff? MY GOD! I want into the Walmart yesterday to get a trashcan. As I trudged down the aisles looking for trashcans I passed a variety of shoppers; men, women, and old, all with a vacant, slack jawed look, mouths slightly agape, wandering aimlessly about the store. It was like visiting the land of the undead.

I also noticed that at Walmart, there are a preponderance of people in sweatpants. Now...I have no bias against sweatpants....I am wearing a pair now...at my dining room table...in my apartment...in private. To me sweatpants in public says I have surrendered and just don't give a shit anymore. The pairing of flip flops with sweatpants just screams "I have given up and I am waiting to die."

Now...back to my visit to Walmart...as I wandered up and down the aisles I started to loose track of time as I filled my cart with items I never intended to buy when I entered the store; cleaning supplies, plastic containers, batteries...I snapped out of my semi awake state when I realized that there was a bit of drool running down my chin. I was becoming one of the Walmart undead. I spilled my coffee all over myself in my panicked rush to get to the checkout.

Confronted with slack jawed, mouth breathing morons at every turn I had had enough and headed for home. By the time we arrived, the kids were driving me crazy, I was fuming and swearing like a sailor, and I was wet from my coffee spill....we all needed to blow off some steam...so we hit the pool as soon as I got out of my sweatpants.

My Son

One particularly bad summer afternoon, many years ago, when Oliver was six, we had to leave the house as that afternoon it had become unsafe. With his brother and sister crying in their car seats, Oliver held my hand and looked up at me and said "I love you Dad."

My oldest boy never stops amazing me. In one moment he can be understanding, sympathetic, reasonable, and mature...the next he can be selfish, self absorbed, and irrational....in other words he is much like the rest of us. Yesterday, however, I saw just how fast he is growing up.

Yesterday morning I had an appointment. Oliver overheard me make the arrangements for the meeting the previous evening. As I left my appointment I noticed I had a text message on my phone from Oliver...it read "how did it go with ****? Now Oliver goes to a parochial school...they don't fool around with cell phones and texting there...if the kid gets caught using them during school hours the phone gets taken away and they have a three year sentence of detention. The kid ran a considerable risk to find out how I made out.

The first thing he asked me when he got into the car that afternoon was how things went. We chatted briefly and then discussed his upcoming baseball practice later that evening. His brother and I threw the ball around before I brought them to their mother's. In playing with them it was plain that my younger boy was still very much a little boy and my oldest was growing away from him. Both boys are better athletes than I ever was, with Aidan being a natural and Oliver arriving at his success through hard work.

I arrived late but just in time to watch Oliver take batting practice. As impressive his hitting display was, with his hitting line drive after line drive, I marveled at how Oliver carried himself. As he stood in the outfield catching fly balls a coach stood next to him. Listening to them chat, I was proud of how Oliver listened and commented on his coach's opinions and how he shared his views. Theirs was an adult conversation. The practice ended perfectly with Oliver making a great play at shortstop. The coach hit a ground ball just to the left of the pitching rubber...with one seamless move, Oliver scooped up the ball, stepped on the second base bag and threw the ball to first base. For those of you who do not know baseball, this is a difficult play, but if done well it is a thing of athletic grace.

Later that evening Oliver and I sat on the couch and talked about our respective days. As we chatted I realized that Oliver knew and understood that he and his brother and sister were the most important people in my life. But more telling, when I talked about my day, I saw that Oliver understood that I had a life independent of his, that I had my own goals and aspirations beyond that of my role as his father. That he had accepted long ago that it was alright for me to have people in my life that were important to me and that they did not take away from what I felt for him and his brother and sister. He knew that I possess enough love and energy that he did not need to jealously guard his share.

Oliver is no longer a little boy and is well on his way to becoming a young man. He will exceed my modest athletic accomplishments and he is well on his way toward learning lessons about selflessness and love and care and responsibility that took me well into my thirties to learn. I am very proud of my son.

Safe in my living room, with his brother and sister sleeping in their beds, as he went to bed he put his hand on my knee and said to me "I love you Dad."

A Day In Town

Yesterday was day two of a mini-vacation afforded me by my younger brother's offer to look after my kids for the weekend. Keith had better watch it...I could get used to this.

I decided to step out of myself and do some things this weekend that under ordinary circumstances that I typically do not have a chance to do...such as hang out with three drunken women...(by the way Blondie...holding out for something much better, I passed on a chance for a foursome...not a mere threesome).

I spent yesterday in Boston and in doing so I decided to seek out new experiences and talk to as many people as possible (while avoiding the drunks). As I had a later than expected start I decided to forgo my original plan to go to the MFA and go right to the North End for lunch instead. But rather than go to just one place to dine I decided to treat the North End as my own private buffet.

Between cappuccino at Cafe Vittoria on Hanover Street, and lunch at Dolce Vita, I made my traditional pilgrimage to St. Leonards's. St. Leonards is the oldest Catholic church in America built by Italian immigrants. I went inside and spent time with God and my thoughts. I also sought out one of the Priests and asked him to hear my confession (no jokes about how this would take up the rest of the afternoon). I gave him a slip of paper with some names of people I asked him to pray for and why I wanted prayers said on their behalf...and headed out of the church before lightening struck. Besides...it was time for lunch and Dolce Vita was calling to me.

My man Franco, whose son I helped with a mortgage years ago, set me up with a window table and a special meal of sauteed sardines in roast peppers. Still hungry for more, I strolled over to Haymarket looking for oysters. The Union Oyster House is located in all that remains of colonial Boston. Around the corner from the Green Dragon Tavern where the likes of Samuel Adams and Paul Revere planted the seeds for the American Revolution, the Union Oyster House enjoys its own venerable history. I sat at the same mahogany bar where Daniel Webster in the 1820s and 30s enjoyed platters of oysters and tumblers of brandy and water.

The day ended with another cappuccino and a cannoli at the Cafe Vittoria. This weekend was about getting a rest from parenting, getting recharged, and trying to get out of my own head for a while. I was successful on all three counts. Along the way, while outside of Old North Church I met a very nice couple from Indiana. The husband was a farmer and we had a lengthy discussion about mid western ethenol production and its impact on food prices. I made the acquaintance of two brothers from Japan where we had a discussion about baseball and fishing. I also reacquainted myself with Franco and with Rose Mariano, the nice lady who sits at the dest next to the oysterbar at the Union Oyster House. And then there was the lovely waitress at Cafe Vittoria who was kind enough to take my picture.

Vacations, even one as brief as the one I took this weekend, afforded me the opportunity to rest and recharge. There are times in life when we need to take a break from our lives to challenge ourselves to find different perspectives and maybe find new solutions to old problems.

Chinese Resturant Last Call Hell

When I got home last night and after I fed my pets I watched my dog eat my cat's food and my cat eat my dog's food which was confirmation that it was a f**ked up night.

So...yesterday was my oyster. No kids, no work, no worries. I visited with a friend in New Bedford, had malasadas (Portuguese fried dough) and coffee for breakfast, got a haircut and a shave, and then spent much of the rest of the day kayaking on a river in Dartmouth. For those of you not from these here parts, New Bedford has the largest Portuguese community in America and is a former textile town that still trying to find itself after the mills left in the 1960s. Its neighboring town of Dartmouth, is noted for its rolling countryside, old stone walls, and great beaches. Its one of the few remaining towns in New England that has farmland that goes right down to the sea.

I got home, put out my wet suit to dry, went for a swim, and then slept for three hours. I did some writing, and chatted with a few friends. By the time 11:00 rolled around I decided to go out for some dinner. Now, when I am out this late I typically an observer of last call activity and not a participant. In other words, I watch the train wrecks happen, I am not the train wreck. Last night I was almost the train wreck.

There is a local Chinese restaurant that is pretty good and from what I discovered last night, is where 30 and 40 somethings go to act like teenagers and 20 somethings. I went to the bar, sat, ordered a drink, and looked at the menu. Three attractive, professional looking women came in and sat down next to me. They introduced themselves, being the polite guy that I am, I did the same. We chit chatted for a bit, I asked them where they were from and they asked the same of me. I asked them what they did, and they asked me what I did. I told them and we chit chatted about mortgages for a bit and moved on from there.

Now, I went to this place for dinner and not to be social but I figured what the hell. Big mistake. As I nursed my vodka tonic they were going through their drinks like the place was going to run out of alcohol. Somewhere mid-binge, one of them asked me for my business card. Letting greed get in the way of better judgement (isn't it usually lust that gets in the way of better judgement at bars late on Saturday night?) I gave her my card. With my cell phone number on it.

So as things started to unravel I looked for a way to leap off the train before it crashed. However, I could not bring myself to be outright rude so I continued to engage the boozy threesome.

Buzzed Lady #1: "sooooooo...Tom....are you single?"

TP: "I am divorced."

Buzzed Lady #2: "we are all divorced...and we hate our ex-husbands...are you an ex-husband?"

TP: ...thinking "I wonder how your ex-husband's feel about you?" while saying "well I am divorced so I am an ex-husband."

The dialogue continued along those lines until it was almost too late for me to emerge unscathed.

Buzzed Lady #3: "We were talking while you are in the rest room, last call is coming soon, could we have a drink at your place?"

TP: with a little voice in his head screaming RUN RUN RUN....AS FAST AS YOU CAN AS SOON AS YOU CAN AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN RUN SILENT RUN DEEP RUN RUN RUN....saying "well...its late and you do have a drive ahead of you."

Buzzed Lady #1: "we like you and my friend really likes you."

Buzzed Lady #3: "I really like you."

TP: saying "that's awfully nice of you" while thinking "instead of toast and milk I had to go out. IDIOT."

TP: with mental image of three drunk woman at my place drinking my booze and being a general pain in the ass...."CHECK PLEASE."

We said our goodnights and I headed home. As I was driving down the street my phone started buzzing, it was them. Texting me if I had changed my mind. I ignored the text as I did the 12 messages that followed. And the 6 voice mails.

I went to mass this morning and afterwards I ran into a friend (the one who makes the moonshine) and told him the story from last night. He appeared envious and said to me that I was lucky and that I could do this whenever I wanted...which is a typical thing for a married guy to say and is something I hear often. We have kids the same age and have much in common...he also has a great wife...I found myself being the envious one. He then said as he pulled away to have a late brunch his wife has waiting for him..."Tom...when you don't have your kids you can do what you want, with who you want...enjoy your freedom."Freedom comes in many forms and I was free to handle last night in any number of ways. I was, in that setting, responsible only for myself. I have only myself to be faithful to. I am free to do what I want. Its funny though, what is a source of envy for one man feels like a curse to another.

Damn....Buzzed Lady #3 left me another message. Crap.

Along For The Ride

I had forgotten that I am along for the ride.

I have had the blues for a while. I suspect this is the hangover from the everything that has happened these last few months. During a conversation yesterday morning, I told someone that while I loved my job and the freedom and income it gives me, I wish I had a sunnier disposition. She very wisely told me that sunny dispositions are useless if they are forced...she then wrote, "I don't buy into "you are the master of your own universe" theory all the time. I believe that sometimes, you are simply the passenger..."

Its funny how in times of duress you can easily fall back into old habits of being. I had always been one of those men who sought to impose his will on the universe. I got easily frustrated and irritated if someone or something got in the way of my plan. I also ended up fighting the universe and guess who was loosing.

Someone who was once very close to me observed recently that one result of this approach to life was that I did not always appreciate what I had and that I had closed myself to other possibilities. She was right of course, I had known that for a while. By thinking I was not ready for certain things that I was offered, I missed a great many opportunities to experience additional joy and love. I was fixated on how I thought things ought to be so I did not appreciate my kids, my career, and I did not love her as I might have. My relationship with my kids suffered and I ended up loosing someone very important to me.

During the course of this past year, a series of events led me to the conclusion that I needed to go along for the ride, to be open to what each moment offered, and to appreciate what I have. I stopped fighting the universe, and for the first time, I was able to fully appreciate what I had and who I had. I dealt with disappointment with far more grace than I had before, I was a more patient parent, and I was better able to ride out the ups and downs of the mortgage industry. And perhaps more telling, I was able to appreciate and enjoy a terrific woman and while it was all too brief, enjoy what was really the best relationship I had ever had with a woman. By accepting what I was offered, I was able to experience each moment for what it offered while trying not to force it into my own agenda. My life was far from perfect, but it was rich and satisfying.

When things started to unravel at the end of January (its funny how certain dates and times stick in your head), I reverted back to my habitual way of dealing with life, by trying to impose my will on things (people and circumstances) that were largely beyond my control. I wanted things one way but clearly life was handing me something quite different. Its only been during the last week or so have I come to understand that painful and difficult times also offer an opportunity to learn and to grow. Once again, I realized that I was fighting the universe and I was loosing.

This is not to say that I am without dreams and goals and aspirations. There are things I want for myself that I struggle and scratch and claw to obtain. Nor am I under any delusion about the circumstances of my life. Being a de facto single parent is tough and there are other things about my life that I would change in a second if I had the power to do so. But I can only control what I do, how I respond to what the universe hands me, and how I deal with life's disappointments and opportunities.

Life happens whether you are ready for it or not. We are given opportunities to experience great joy and satisfaction and at other times, we are compelled to experience soul wrenching pain and deep loss. Of course there is everything in between. These are the realities that life, in all of its beautiful and sometimes awful splendor, provides. How we face these realities is a choice we all have to make. Regardless of what I face, and what I am feeling, I will try to appreciate what each moment offers and try to be mindful that I am along for the ride. After all, maybe sometimes the universe knows better than I whats best for me.

Goodtime Tommy Has the Blues

Yes...I have the blues today. There once was a time when I would have indulged in some sort of self destructive behavior to deal this. I would have smoked a cigar or two in the back yard, had some of my friend's moonshine (yes...I have a friend who has a still...he is a law professor at a university in Boston), and sat down with a half gallon of ice cream and watched a marathon session of House. That last option would have been the most self destructive one (Dr. House and I share certain personality characteristics...no...its not the vicodin thing... and we share the same motto).

Now that I have my kids all the time I casted about for alternatives as I don't have the time to treat a blue mood with the aforementioned vices..

I cooked today...a lot...I churned out blueberry muffins, omelets, homefries, a pot roast, pumpkin pie, homemade pizza, and I have cookies in the oven now. It helped...but not enough.

So I gave my friend Blondie a poke...we agreed that going to my kids' school parking lot early and find someone to torment would be a good idea...and boy it turned out to be just the thing...

At my kids' parochial school the parents gather in little herds around the parking lot as they wait for their kids to be released from school. I know these people...and they...know me. I had a choice of inviting targets today; former cheerleaders, the three guys who wear sweatpants and flip flops all the time (no...couldn't do that...that would be like picking on slow, dull children), the two moms who wear clothing two sizes too small and who sell sex toys, and the more annoying, more inviting prey that roam the parking lot. I decided to set my sights high and cautiously approach the most annoying herd of all and bide my time before I pounce.

Queen Bee: "We shop at Whole Foods all the time. I mean we almost live there. I went there today but I was so upset that I forgot my canvas shopping bag."

Hanger On #1: "Oh why were you upset?"

Queen Bee: "Well...do you know that plastic grocery bags will remain in landfills for thousands of years?"

Hanger On #2: "Oh ...you are always concerned about the environment."

Queen Bee: "Well...I think we all should do what we can to protect the environment. Everyone should be conscious about their carbon footprint."

Tom: "Oh I agree...I noticed you got a new car."

Queen Bee: "I love it Tom, it has leather seats, a GPS, all the bells and whistles that I love. I told my husband that I wanted our next car to be fully loaded."

Tom: "So...how many miles per gallon does your Escalade get?"

Queen Bee: "Oh...I don't know. Do you?"

Tom: "Well...let me tell you...driving around that thing gives you a carbon footprint the size of Big Foot's."

With three sentences I had mortally wounded my prey. I left her on the parking lot for the hyena's to finish off. I felt much better.

The day's crowning moment came when I told my ex wife that the best thing about being divorced is that I no longer have to listen to her.

It turned out to be a good day after all.

Tell Me A Story She Whispered

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. Maybe someday it will.