Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.