Happy New Year!

Robbie says he thinks New Years Eve is over rated.  People have this high expectation of what the evening will bring, parties should be over the top, drinking, revelry and all sorts of merriment.  And while I've been a participant to several memorable New Year's Eve celebrations, this morning I awoke to the thoughts of Janus, the Roman god of gates.  He is associated with the New Year in that walking through a gate or doorway is thought to be the start of new beginnings. 

This is close to the image of Janus that I had in my head when I woke up from my dream this morning. The image I had in my head was of two distinct expressions on his face.  And like this coin, his visage was just from the neck up.  I don't remember seeing a depiction of Janus that was more than just the bust.  I also have an image in my head that one of the faces is scowling.  It could be that I'm confusing Janus with the masks that are representative of theater - comedy/tragedy - which would also be a suitable way of looking at the past and future.  What's the expression?  If I didn't laugh, I'd have to cry.

For me, Janus represents how one looks at both the past and the future.  Which face are we to choose to look forward and/or back from?   Do we look with a scowl or with a sense of wonderment? Maybe the beauty in Janus is that the way one chooses to look at things isn't fixed, but is changeable.  And I think that being able to change your viewpoint is a better, more healthy way of seeing and experiencing the world around you. 

This Is A Test. It Is Only A Test.

You ever have those times when you wonder if someone is following you around with a video camera?  One of those times when you wonder if the big guy upstairs suddenly has a hankering to find out if you're paying attention.  This past few months has been like that for me.  Seriously.  Just when you think you have things figured out (mistake number one) something happens that throws you a curve ball.

You start something innocently enough like a blog (ok, I started a blog. I don't know what you personally have done) just for fun and to get back into the habit of writing.  You think to yourself, this could be fun (again, me) and what harm could it cause (mistake number two) with just jotting down a few random thoughts.  But before you start thinking something nefarious is underway, let me assure you that it's not.  I'm not considering pulling the plug here.

It's just that recently I've been presented with more than a few opportunities for self reflection.  As many jokes abound about navel gazing (see any reference to Grey's Anatomy), I feel that a certain amount of introspection from time to time is healthy and necessary if one is to grow as a human being.  The last opportunity seems to come right on the heels of my posting about not concerning myself with events decades ago.  That my stance would be one of only being concerned with the here and now as this is the only time in which I can ascertain what is true.

The problem with that is, it's difficult to stick to it when people want to interject what their version of the truth is.  Seriously, did I ask?  There are some things that truly are better left unsaid.  What's the old saying?  If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.  Unless you're part of the cast of Steel Magnolias and in that case you can sit right by Miss Clairee.

Is there anything to be gained by picking at old wounds?  I've been reading a book called "People of the Lie" by M. Scott Peck, MD.  In it he postulates that evil is a very real and all too common occurrence around all of us.  The problem he's found is that what most people subscribe to as evil - Hitler comes to mind - isn't always the case.  Evil can reside in the least obvious of people.  These people "...except for their evil, are most ordinary.  They live down the street-on any street.  They may be rich or poor, educated or uneducated.  There is little that is dramatic abut them.  They are not designated criminals.  More often than not they will be 'solid citizens'-Sunday school teachers, policemen, or bankers, and active in the PTA."

He goes on further to explain that what makes them evil isn't necessarily what they do, but what they don't do.  They make excuses about why they did or didn't create change in a situation to affect something positive instead of negative in this world.  An all to common refrain heard from them is that they are doing the best they can, that they didn't realize there was a problem.

The story  that so far that has touched me is one Dr. Peck relates about a fifteen year old boy who was remanded to the local hospital for psychiatric evaluation after stealing and subsequently wrecking a car after the new year.  During the evaluation it was discovered that while previously a solid B student, the boy's grades had been sliding all year.  It came to light that the boys older brother had committed suicide with a .22 rifle the previous summer.  Later, it was revealed that the boys parents had given him a gun for Christmas.  A .22 rifle.  And not just any .22, but the exact one that the boy's brother had used to commit suicide.

The parents didn't realize that they had done anything wrong.  They defended their choice by saying that they were simple working people, money was tight and that in their community a rifle was a perfectly fine gift for a fifteen year old.  What they failed to recognize was that to their son, they might as well have engraved it with the words "Here.  Your brother knew what to do. It's your turn."

But back to where I started and I do have a point to make.  Recently, one of my brothers had been reading this blog and made a comment about me being bitter.  I really don't think that I am.  Bitter would be lashing out at anyone that I thought had harmed me over the years.  Bitterness would prevent me from seeing all the joy around me.  Being bitter would do irreparable harm to my daughter.  She brings way too much joy to our lives for me to allow that.  And honestly, I'm enjoying my life too much to dwell for very long on things in the past. 

So maybe this is a defense of what I write about.  Some of it is just trying to figure things out.  Some of it is a eulogy of sorts in order to just let go of things.  And most of it is self examination, to question my motives, and to make sure that the things I say or do are for the right reasons.  Do I always hit the mark.  No, definitely not.  I'm only human after all and to be human is to be with sin.  But to not examine our sins, that is what is truly evil.

Over the river and through...

So it was more like over the freeway overpass and through the interchanges to my brother's, my cousin's and our friend's houses we go.  And go.  And go.  Whew!  Two weeks later and I'm still stuffed!  Three Thanksgivings in one day is almost too much for anyone to endure.  But endure we did and ended the day not only with full stomachs but hearts as well.

In many ways, our day was exactly what Thanksgiving was meant to be.  A day for giving thanks for all the bounty that the year has given us.  We are truly blessed to have the many friends in our lives.  Truly blessed that loved ones are healthy and with us once again this year.  And blessed that I've been given an opportunity to reconnect with family that for too many years has been absent.  An absence that was made all too painfully aware to me once we were all face to face.

And what do I have to thank most of all for this reunion of sorts?  Facebook.  For all the vilification that particular social networking site has been under for the past several months (it seems that everyone has written something about why they hate Facebook) it does help keep the people who are important to you connected.  And in some cases, it can aid in reconnecting.  Sure there are annoying things about Facebook such as those people who feel it necessary to let you know what they are doing every second of their day.  (Who do they think they are?  The Kardashians?)  But for me, it has proven to be invaluable for staying connected with those people who I want to be a part of my life.  It's easy to ignore the rest - especially since Facebook allows you to ignore individuals news feeds.

But this isn't an endorsement for Facebook.  It's about this time of year and what should be important to everyone.  A friend of mine recently made a comment about how overwhelming this time of year can be.  All the expectations of the perfect holidays that is crammed down our collective gullets via commercials, movies, and holiday TV specials.  The truth is, I think, that the Norman Rockwell type of holiday never truly existed.  He after all was an artist who captured a slice of Americana in a way that was meant for the covers of a magazine.  Covers meant to sell that magazine to the public.  And we bought it. 

The flip side of it is that I've been looking forward to this Christmas as it will be the first one in which Riley is aware of what is going on.  She's already noticing all the light displays that people have up in their yards and says "Ooh, daddy!  Pretty!  I don't know that she understands Santa Claus yet.  And no, we haven't taken her to see him.  I don't relish the thought of her being terrified of some strange bearded fat man in a red velvet suit.  I remember being dumb struck every time I sat on his lap - after all, he knew everything!  (He knows when you've been naughty or nice.) 

But at the same time, it's all about making good memories for her and for us.  We don't want to go overboard with the presents.  We also don't want her to miss the true meaning of the holiday.  We want her to grow up knowing that the meaning behind Christmas is about the birth of a boy.  A boy who grew up to fulfill his destiny to be the ultimate sacrifice for the salvation of all mankind.  And it's a time for family to gather together and remember too all those who have passed before us.  For in some way, all those dear loved ones who are no longer here, made some small sacrifice for us to have a better life.  That's what I'm thankful for.  In remembering the past, a warm patina is added that deepens over the years.  And our hope is that Riley (and all children) will end up with memories that are even more special.

The Colors & Sense of Autumn

I've had several images and phrases stuck in my head lately that I know is a piece of poetry (or two) waiting to break it's way through to the surface of my consciousness.  Weeks now, they have been roiling around, gathering bits and pieces of images and memories, waiting patiently for me to figure out the order, the cadence, the meaning of what they all are.  So far I have enough about leaves to make a really good bed of mulch.

There's the imagery of trees standing like sentinels along the sides of country roads.  The maples and sumacs spilling their crimson leaves in blood like pools around their roots.  And my favorite is the imagery of the last of the summer sun held aloft in the limbs of the ginkgo tree on the corner.

And unrelated (maybe, maybe not) is the billboard along the road advertising a show at the IMA entitled Sacred Spain.  The first time I saw it I thought it said Sacred Pain.  Robbie thought the same thing.  Nothing like a huge billboard with a crucified Christ to grab your attention first thing in the morning.  Hopefully I'll get to see the exhibit while it is here.  The IMA has been doing some wonderful shows since we moved back.  And I think it may also have to do something with the little remodel they finished a few years ago.

Some poetry has been fully formed upon awakening some mornings.  Others have come to life with just a few words or phrases that have struck my interest.  (You thought I was going to say "struck my fancy" didn't you.)

This one, this one though is going to be a lot of work.  Then again, the Muse could strike at any moment and the piece will be fully formed when I wake up in the morning.

It's Carving Time!

For anyone who might have missed it, last Saturday was Halloween.  This made Riley's third Halloween.  Her second of actually getting to go Trick or Treating.  It was a tough sell for her to say Trick or Treat, but she did say "thank you" all on her own just about every time.  Her first Halloween she was a Bumble Bee and we "reverse Trick or Treated" our residence hall floor to give away candy with Riley "handing" it out.

Last year involved a costume change midway through the evening.  No, not because of an "accident" but because we had two costumes for her.  The first one was hand-made by our friend Kelly and made her look like candy corn.  The second costume was one Robbie found and couldn't resist... in honor of Haven's Blog Babies, Riley was a Sock Monkey - my nickname on Haven's blog.

This year, Riley was a little stinker.  Only figuratively of course.  A friend of ours passed on a costume that his daughter wore last year.  We dressed Riley up as a skunk this year.  I don't think she was too happy with it.  Robbie wanted to see how it fit when we got it home - it has a body suit and a hat - but she wanted nothing to do with it.  Sounding like a little Anna Nicole she quickly announced "don' li'e it" and tried tearing it off her body as fast if not faster than daddy could put it on her.  The big night arrived, she still wasn't too happy wearing it. I think with the extra padding it was a little warm, but she was a trooper and kept everything on while out Trick or Treating.  And once we were back home, the Velcro was ripped apart and she was down to her tights, black turtleneck and sneakers.  I think she was more worried about being seen fashionable than getting the candy.  That was short lived once she discovered what was in those little packages.  Pupils dilated, energy levels cranked up and another child is lost to sugary goodies.

Earlier in the day, I had started the pumpkin carving.  We had purchased three pumpkins this year - one for each of us.  I thought it would be fun to download a few templates off the internet and try some more intricate carvings than the traditional Jack-O-Lantern.  One is of a Witch on her broomstick and a second of a skull.  Only two pumpkins were carved: the Witch and a traditional Jack-O-Lantern which Robbie carved.  The skull was never done.  The Witch didn't turn out too bad for a first attempt.  The third carving was on my left index finger while carving the Witch.  I think I've learned how to do that type of carving without mangling appendages for next year:  Cut out smaller pieces at a time and keep my fingers out of the way.  I was really hoping that I wouldn't have to go to the emergency room - who has the time?  Or money for that matter. Though I probably would have gone if the bleeding hadn't stopped. Eventually.

Good thing I had plenty of gauze left over from the emergency appendectomy a few years ago.  Here's a photo of my finger after three days of healing.  It's so much better than I expected it to be.  And the cut is not at all painful since the initial searing pain from cutting myself with a dull, serrated, filleting knife.  Just keep me away from the roast turkeys this Thanksgiving.

Where wild things are...

Apparently the wild things are all around us.  Just last weekend, three deer ambled there way across our neighbors front yard.  We wonder if they are the same three that trotted across ours earlier that week.

Yes, we live in Indianapolis.  Yes we live less than 1/2 mile from I-465.  And yes, we live less than a mile from one of the busiest intersections here on the north side of Indianapolis.  Seems that's not enough traffic to deter the wildlife from roaming around here.

We've gotten accustomed to the birds, squirrels and chipmunks, and it's kind of amusing to watch Hudson bolt out the patio door in pursuit of the bushy tailed little rodents.  The chipmunks are annoying in the summer months when the windows are open and they bark to each other.  Bark isn't quite the sound I would call it. 

More of a high pitch - and loud - squeak.  They are incredibly fast too.  I don't think Hudson will catch any of them.  At least I hope he doesn't.  Westies were bred for the purpose of vermin eradication, but the thought of Hudson dragging dead animal carcasses up to our back door isn't appealing.  Neither is the thought of him loosing a battle with a squirrel.  That is a bat house the squirrel is perched on in the picture.  It's attached to a large maple tree in our backyard.  Robbie's not crazy about the Batman logo on it (neither am I), but it's up too high for us to easily do anything about it.  We inherited it when we took possession of our house.  I don't think it's ever had any of the intended occupants, just an errant spider or two as squatters as evident by the webs hanging from the entrance at the bottom of the house.

But now it seems as if we have to also share our neighborhood with deer and according to the neighbors, the occasional coyote. I know that there are 'possum around here as I see their carcasses along the streets here all the time.  I've not seen any raccoon, but they tend to be nocturnal also.  We also don't set our garbage cans outside until trash pickup day as those seem to advertise BUFFET in raccoon speak.  What's next?  Cougar?  Grey Wolves?  Black Bear? What other species indigenous to Indiana could make a comeback?  Lord help us if the Bison ever do.  I'm sure they'd love the little stream that winds it way through our neighborhood. Not to mention all the tall decorative grasses neighbors have planted in their tidy landscape beds.

Cause & Effect

I've been stuck on this post for days now.  I've had so much going on around me over the past few weeks that I feel as if the world has somehow shifted speed or changed the direction of its axis.  It's a feeling of such overwhelming dizziness that I've had a hard time maintaining a steady foothold on my world around me.   There's just been a lot happening over the last few weeks that most people, I believe, would have a difficult time maintaining equilibrium.

The first event was learning my youngest brother in all probability has lymphoma.  Two weeks ago, he had surgery to remove some nodes from his abdomen for biopsy in order to learn exactly what type of lymphoma he has and start treatment. The biopsy was inconclusive.  The tissue the surgeon removed was not lymphatic but instead spleen tissue slowing growing on his abdominal wall for over thirty years.  The false readings and the subsequent removal of the wrong tissue are the result of Matt having an emergency spleen-ectomy after falling across our front steps when he was seven and ripping his spleen in half.  He almost died from internal bleeding. 

A few weeks ago I found out that a friend of mine had to go in for a biopsy.  She found a lump in her breast that her doctors wanted to check out.  She was supposed to go on a Monday to have it done, but the doctor's office screwed up and gave her the wrong address on her appointment card.  Luckily she was able to have it rescheduled for just a few days later and the tests results came back negative.  She doesn't have cancer.  There was one breath taken.  Now we're just waiting for the results of my brother's biopsy.  Hopefully I can freely breathe again in a few days.

I've also been in contact with family members that somehow (OK I do know how) I've not been in contact with in years.  It's been a bittersweet reunion.  It's nice to hear from and chat with someone that I have missed having in my life for all these years.  But it also brings back some painful memories and times from my childhood.  Not any fault of their's, but by association and the largest of those looming over everything is  Dad's death.  That one event did more to bring about those rifts as anything else as our families tried to deal with the very personal loss that each individual experienced on their own.  One event, one story has many viewpoints and each person will see something that only they will understand - or not - and deal with it in a manner that only their life experience will allow.  As my cousin gently reminded me, not only was a father lost, but an Uncle and a brother.

There have been many sleepless nights over the past few weeks. Lots of tears shed, emotions swinging from elation to anger and back.  And honestly, I'm exhausted.  But some good has come from these things, these events.  I think that some family ties have been made stronger.  (When you think you might lose those you care about, there's a tendency for that to happen if you're smart and feeling.)  Friends that may have taken a back seat to the more mundane aspects of my day are more of a priority now.  But the most important lesson from everything that has transpired is this:  What is in the past is just that, in the past.  The only thing that matters is the present as now is the only period in time that I can discern what is true about life's events.

Covered Bridges, Fuzzy Bunnies, & Back Roads

Last Sunday, we traveled with our friend Kim to the Parke County Covered Bridge Festival in Rockville.  Robbie said that he had never been and neither had Kim.  It probably had been about 10 years since I had been there last.  The amusing part is that once we got there and walked around awhile, Robbie & I finally remembered that I did take him there in the second year of our relationship.  If you have the chance to go there it's a great way to see authentic Indiana and eat your weight in carbs.  Hell, go to Rockville/Parke County whenever you get the chance.  It's a beautiful drive, the town is charming and it's a nice little break when you're from a larger city.  http://coveredbridges.com/

What amazes me most when I'm there is how much of the town has never been modernized like so many of the "donut" towns around Indianapolis.  Don't get me wrong, Fixing up the town squares is a nice thing as it preserves history in a way that many people in the late 60's and early 70's would never have done.  "Urban Renewal" was the way then, and we are much the poorer for it.  Because of "Urban Renewal", Muncie now has this ugly monstrosity of a building that replaced the old Delaware County Courthouse.  With it's gun-slit windows, and concrete form squatting on concrete columns, it isn't that distinguishable from many other government buildings of that era.  Maybe in another 50 years people will come to look at that type of architecture as something wondrous in its simplicity.  I for one, will not be among them.  Amazingly, I discovered while researching the Delaware County Courthouse that the courthouses in Rockville and Muncie were designed by the same architect, Brentwood S. Tolan of Fort Wayne, IN.  Tolan designed a similar courthouse for Kosciusko County in Warsaw, IN.

This is the south face of the Parke County Courthouse, which is a curious mix of Greek Revival and Second Empire architecture.  I would imagine that if you were to show this picture to anyone from around Rockville they would immediately recognize the building they were looking at.  Even when you go for a close up of the clock face, there is something entirely singular in it's design that many would instantly recognize. (As an aside, does anyone know why there is a Star of David on all four clock faces?)

But, this isn't a discourse on 19th vs. 20th century architecture, but rather  it's more about the trip there.  How going there always takes me to places in my mind and heart that I thought were long gone.  Like that the first time I went to the festival was with my mother and brothers in the late 70's.  It was a different time for us then.  We were still a family, small and a little broken, but still a family that was silently grieving the loss of our dad just a few years before. 

Little has changed with the festival in all these years.  They still wrap tents around the east and north lawns of the courthouse square in which most of the vendors are located.  You can still buy small jars of home-made apple butter, hand made blankets and throws, any number of country craft items or even a brown bunny made of the softest blanket material I or Riley have ever touched. When Riley saw the bunny, she grabbed it from Robbie and had a grip on it that told us that we were buying a fuzzy bunny.  She's slept with it every night since then.

The food vendors are still on the south and west lawns where you can still eat anything from pork chop sandwiches to persimmon pudding and everything else in between. They have homemade ice creams sold by the Boy Scouts, handmade crullers from the local Catholic Church, authentic deep fried pork rinds, spiral cut potato chips, cinnamon rolls... I could go on, but my stomach is starting to growl.  Just about anything you can think of as a Hoosier staple can be found there.  The only thing not found are anti-acids, but you can get those at the Rexal across the street.

Throughout the town, mainly on US 36, are various vendors, yard sales, and antique stores.  There is usually a logjam of traffic along the highway coming into town from both directions.  I take the back roads in and out of Rockville for that very reason.  Both ways take you through Marshall which is "famous" for the Marshall Arch.  It's an arch with Marshall painted across both sides of it, spanning the main street through town.  The arch is supported on either side by prairie style columns.  I remember seeing it as a small child, but couldn't remember where exactly it was.  (I couldn't read at that age, therefore I couldn't remember the name.)  It was a bit of serendipity when I rediscovered it about 14 years ago on one of my infamous shortcuts.  I don't mind driving a few miles out of the way if it means avoiding heavy traffic.  Plus the back roads usually afford a more visually appealing route - especially this time of year with the autumn foliage in full color.

It was the route I chose coming back home that became the most memorable for me.  Our trip back took us by Russellville and through the towns of Roachdale (yes, a real town in Indiana), North Salem and Jamestown.  It was a bit of an accident really that we ended up going that way.  I confused Indiana 236 with 234 and drove back to Indianapolis via a different route.  I ended up taking a trip back along the memory highway as well.  These were the towns that my parents grew up in and around, and they would take us through them from time to time when I was a small child.  With Riley asleep in the back, Kim silently knitting next to her, and Robbie dozing in the passenger seat, I was pretty much alone to go through the memories that came bubbling up from the depths of my mind.

It's amazing the amount of things I've forgotten over the years.  I didn't remember anything specific about the route between Marshall and Roachdale other than I had been on it several times a long time ago.  Roachdale is where memories as well as emotions started flooding in.  My mother had spent a portion of her childhood there.  And I think she still had some relatives around there that we would visit from time to time when I was a child.   North Salem is where Mom & Dad had friends who we would visit all the time.  With North Salem only being about ten miles away from Advance, it was an easy trip.  And Dad liked taking his Sunday drives.  Sometimes we would just take trips literally to nowhere for no other reason than just to drive.

Maybe unconsciously I took the wrong road because of what is going on with my youngest brother and his health concerns.  I find myself desperately trying to remember anything true from my childhood.  The older I get, the more it seems that maybe what I remember growing up really didn't happen to me.  Sometimes it seems that I've somehow mixed up my childhood with something I've read a while ago.  Maybe it was just a way to grab back some of my forgotten childhood and reconnect the lines and dots that make me who I am.  Driving through those towns was a way for me to remember events and emotions long forgotten.  Or maybe, just maybe, it was just a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon with the family I now have.

The Book That Took Me 17 YEARS To Read

I finished a book last week that I started more than 17 years ago. No, it wasn't "War and Peace." But I did wage my own war with this book off and on for those 17 years. I originally bought the book as a beach read for a trip to Sarasota Florida. I have a brochure form St. Armand's Circle as a bookmark from that trip. The date on the brochure? 1992.

I may have purchased the book even before then. The author is one who I had enjoyed from a previous work and I probably bought it in a bargain bin somewhere since I was a penny-less college student. And yet, while I loved his previous works, this one couldn't grab my attention past a certain point. Yup. I thought it was a pretty boring read much to the chagrin of my many friends who absolutely loved it.

Over the years I've picked it up several times determined to finish is only to give up in the same place. I just couldn't get in to the story. Some people have been critical of a certain device that the author used with the subject of the story. I found it a little distracting, but that wasn't the reason I couldn't go on. Simply enough, I just didn't care. Nothing really grabbed me and made me want to continue with the story. Meh.

So, about a month ago I picked up the "bane of my existence" and gave it another shot. I took it with me to read at lunch so that I wouldn't have any distractions this time. (Beaches, I've decided, are not the best places to read something of this nature.) Before I realized it, I was past the point that I usually gave up. Oh, I still didn't care about the characters or the story at this point, but I didn't hate it either. Besides, what else is there to do when you eat lunch by yourself. I'm not a snob, but I just need a break from people during my day.

The further into the book I got, the more I became intrigued and found myself taking a few extra minutes each day just to read a little bit further into the novel. And once I realized where the tale was going, I was completely in awe of how the author had built everything up to reach the inevitable climax of the story. Not one thing was superfluous to the story. That, my friends, is some mighty fine writing.

And once I finished that fine piece of craft, I was left with two thoughts. One: I was genuinely sorry that I had finished it. I loved it that much. Two: I couldn't have finished it before now. It took me to get to a certain state of spirituality and comfort with my beliefs in God to be able to be receptive to what the central theme is. I think what the book tells us is that there is a purpose for everyone - some greater than others - but all of us are still a very important part of that design, and that there really and truly no random happenings in our lives.

So are you going crazy yet to find out what I read? I'm sure that some of you probably have guessed by now and are saying "See! We told you that you'd love it!" OK smarty pants. You were right. The novel that took me over 17 years to finish was none other than "A Prayer for Owen Meany" by John Irving. If you've read it, then you know why I love it now. If you haven't, pick it up some time. Take your time. I promise (as so many promised me) that you'll like it.

What? Me? Worry?

Yup. I know it's hard to believe, but under this cool, suave exterior is a puddle of anxiety ridden worry. I've always been that way and it makes me crazy. I can't tell you how many times I've awakened in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, on the edge of a full blown panic attack. And not even know why.

For years people and doctors have said to me that I just need to learn to let things go. I've been told that exercising will help relieve anxiety. That I should try yoga. Deep breathing. Controlled breathing. Meditation. Prayer. Alcohol. Sex (my personal favorite). And the very best piece of advice is that I should just stop worrying so much. Um. OK. You really think I haven't thought of that?

Well, I just found this story online that confirms what I've suspected for quite sometime... I'm just hardwired that way. If there is something to worry about, I will. There are times when my mind will grab hold of an idea or perceived problem and just like a pit bull locked on a chew toy, it won't let go.

Even as a child, I worried about the usual things most kids worry about: getting dirt on my clothes, if I'll be left behind at the store, the Viet Nam War, and the Apocalypse. That last one has been perennially on the top of my "List of Worries" since Vacation Bible School taught from The Book of Revelations the summer between my third and fourth grade years. Seriously, anything by Stephen King has been a bedtime story since that summer.

Here's the link to the New York Times article. It's nice to know that I'm not crazy and really can't stop the worrying. At least not without being medicated. You'll have to cut & paste the link to your browser address bar. I'm not tech savvy enough to figure out how to make it a click-able link.  Since I first wrote this piece, I've discovered that Blogger now has the capability of letting authors insert click-able links. (updated 10/16/09)

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/04/magazine/04anxiety-t.html?pagewanted=1&ei=5087&en=14888d0e85f163b7&ex=1270008000

Good Fortune Will Come Your Way

Or maybe I should call this another weird moment. It will be anyway. I have a confession to make. I'm addicted to Panda Express' Orange Chicken. Almost every Saturday for the past year has been lunch with The Panda. The only variations were either getting an egg roll or the veggie spring rolls. The best part (not really) is the fortune cookie at the end of the meal. I saved almost all those fortunes - hence, the weird part. I give you in no particular order, my fortunes complete with commentary.


1) "Your ability for accomplishment will follow with success". Um, duh.

2) "Don't let unexpected situations 'throw' you." Hmm. If you expect them, can you still be thrown by them? (The quotation marks are theirs, not mine.)

3) "You are humorous and cheerful with good friends." As opposed to sulking and surly with not so good friends. Bad friends? Oh let's not go there.

4) "Good things are coming to you." Thanks! I'm anxiously awaiting their arrivals. Please tell me that they aren't C.O.D.

5) "Success will come to your plans." Doesn't this kind of go with the first one?

6) "Good news is coming your way - It will be here any day." I really wish I had written the date on that one. It would have been nice to have recorded the good news to which this refers.

7) "You are extremely generous and always thinking of others." That might sound like a good thing, but not if you never think of yourself. But I am both those things. And modest.

8) "A treasured friend will soon visit you." Again, a date on this one would have been helpful. I'd hate to think I wasted a fortune on a so-so friend.

9) "Your sense of humor will get you through difficult times." It always has. Frequently at the most inopportune times. A funeral or two comes to mind.

10) "A friends success will benefit you." You know who you are... and I'm thanking you in advance.

11) "Stick to the basics, be weary of novelties." Do you think they meant wary? Novelties do make me weary though. Paris Hilton anyone?

12) "You attract cultured and artistic people." And you all should know better by now to stop hanging out with the likes of me.

Wow. Only twelve fortunes. Maybe I didn't eat there every Saturday after all or I threw out repeated fortunes. It's been at least a month since my last Orange Chicken. It's a little harder to get to since I don't work at the Crate anymore. I may have to do a road-trip lunch soon.

1st Anniversary

It was one year ago today that I published my first blog entry. I wasn't sure what to expect doing a blog... If there would be anybody reading it. If it would prove to be of any value to me (or anyone else for that matter.) I wasn't even sure if I would have anything to say past the first few posts.

But as it turns out, I've had some things to say over the last year. Quite a few things as it turns out. Counting this one, I've had 50 occasions to say something. For those who are keeping count, there are seven that I haven't published. A few of them were variations of other posts. Some of them were just so incomplete that they aren't more than a random thought put down. And the rest came from a place so dark that there isn't any chance of them seeing the light of day.

This blog has seen over 2300 visitors in the past year. The biggest number of hits to anything has been when I posted pictures of Riley from last Halloween. But the posts that have received the most comments from people are the ones where I open up about myself and the places and times that have made me who I am. There was a period of time - almost exactly three months - at the first of the year when I couldn't write anything. I wrote one post during that time that is so dark that I have a hard time reading it let alone subjecting anyone else to it. I guess that statement says even more about the person that I am.

My point is (did I have one?) that I've really enjoyed doing this over the past year. I've received some great encouragement from people who have stumbled on to this blog. I hope those of you who are entertained by my ramblings continue to do so. And I hope to hear from you from time to time over the coming years.

Thank you.

Weird Moments: 2

Years ago, while I was a student (for the umpteenth time) at Ball State, I would get around by bicycle because I couldn't afford a car. It was then that I developed my habit of finding the shortest way from point A to point B. Or point A to points C, M, or W. In this case W was work. I also discovered that the shortest distance between these two points was also the safest for a person on two wheels after a close encounter with an angry driver.

On one of my late afternoon trips to work, a driver decided that she could turn right (in front of me) as I was riding through the intersection. She was in a hurry and apparently I was in her way, which she informed me of after she knocked me over when the rear bumper of her car clipped my bike tire and knocked me to the curb. It was so nice that she took the time to stop her car and inform me of that in some choice words before speeding away to whatever important matter she was late for. Never mind that I had the right of way. So I arrived to work late with torn pants, gravel in the heal of my right hand and a determination to find a better way to get to work.

A few trial runs, some exploring of where parking lots had entrances and exits, and I had my shortcut to work. The trip took me through numerous side streets, two campus parking lots and the rear entrance to a strip mall. It not only kept me off some of the busier streets and out of their intersections, the shortcut also cut fifteen minutes from my time.

On one of those trips is when the weird moment happened. I was riding through the parking lot just east of University Gym (or whatever they call it now) when I heard this strange noise in the wooded area between the lot and the homes abutting campus. It wasn't until I got a little closer that I found out that it was a guy walking through the woods, playing his bagpipes. Thankfully he wasn't in a kilt. Honestly, how often does someone hear the bagpipes outside of a parade route or the occasional police funeral?

Weird Moments: 1

Yesterday, I took my lunch outside at one of the picnic tables. Just a simple salad, hummus and crispbread. Luckily there wasn't anyone out there and I was free to read the book I had also brought with me. It's one I've been trying to read off and on for years now and I've proceeded further into the story than I ever have before. "A Prayer for Owen Meany" which many people have praised and I've tried slogging through for over some 17 years. And before you ask, yes, I'm liking it better this time. But that's not my story.

It was your typical late Indiana summer afternoon with crickets chirping and the ratcheting of cicadas in the background. Since I was at the back of the building, I wasn't hearing too much traffic noise. The view isn't that great back there. Your vista is out over asphalt lots half full with cars to sun dried grass lots in an industrial park. It was so quiet and peaceful that it was almost like being in the country. I forgot for a while that I was at work and on the edge of the city. In my mind, I half expected a tractor to come grumbling by.

And that's when the weirdness happened. Off from a great distance, the sound echoing through the clearness, came these three words: "TIN ROOF, rusted." Yes, from the classic B-52's anthem "Love Shack." Nothing proceeding those words, nothing after. Weird. And yes, the damn song has been running rampant through my head ever since. Damn it.

Art, wonderful art and the people who create it.

Under cool links I have listed a couple of websites for you to check out. Two women I've had the pleasure to get to know through another blog (um, that would be Haven's again.) I've added a link for art by Cathy DeLeRee and updated Sher Fick's link for her new site. Both women do outstanding - and affordable - work with found objects in completely different ways.

Kate McKinney (or Miss Kate Cake for me) is the next link down that you will find. She's a mother/writer/wife who has a way with words that is sorely under appreciated. She can make you laugh in one moment and make your heart and soul sing in the next one. I had the pleasure of briefly meeting her last year at one of Haven's (there she is again) book signings here in Indianapolis.

The next one is John Svara, potter extraordinaire. I've not had the pleasure of seeing his work in person, but just the photos alone make me catch my breath. I know of John indirectly and can tell you with complete lack of hyperbole that he is quite the renaisance man. Not only does he craft wonderful pieces out of clay, he also is a gifted singer/songwriter. He's also a woodcrafter and home remodeler. Oh, he's also a wonderful husband to a dear friend of mine (um, Haven) and father to their children.

The next "Cool Link" is for a slightly known author by the name of Augusten Burroughs. Some of you may have heard of him. If not, shame on you. His best known book is probably "Running with Scissors" which takes a look at a highly dysfunctional period in a teen boy's life and makes it both amusing and heartbreaking all at once. Unfortunately, I don't know him personally, but I am a huge admirer of both his body of work and his ability to have lived through some horrific times in his life and come out of it a stronger and more beautiful human being. Oh, he is also great friends with another writer I've talked about - Haven Kimmel. (Anyone else seeing a pattern here?)

The last two are more for fun than anything. Well, the last one is anyway. The Belief-O-Matic site is more of a tool for helping you in your spiritual journey. Have fun checking out those links. They've given me many hours of joy.

Yeesh! What a downer! How I try to look at things differently.

I've been looking over drafts of posts that have been sitting out there for a while. Seven total. Six of them downers. Blech. They all seemed to have followed a theme... which I think I covered fairly well in the last two posts. I'm just as tired of talking about the crap as you probably are of reading them.

There seems to be a preponderance of memoirs, blogs, and other stuff out there that take parent bashing to a whole other level. That was never my intent. Things are the way they are. What we do afterward is more important that what is in the past. We can wallow in our misery or get over ourselves and realize that we survived and can become different from what our history would have dictated us to be.

This very fact was driven home to me several weeks ago when I was talking to Kim, a friend of mine, about having to get tough with my daughter about - well, I don't remember what now - but she ended up in tears. I think part of the problem was that she had very little sleep the night before and I had just worked six days straight and was exhausted. And I felt completely awful that I made my two year old daughter cry. Yes, she can be emotional, but she's also a very sweet and loving child. I think she was more upset that I was angry with her than anything.

But my point is that Kim told me that I was not my mother or father, that I'm a great dad, and that parents aren't supposed to be their child's best friend. If I feel like a mean guy sometimes, then I must be doing my job as a parent. It's when a parent keeps their child in tears most of the time that there is a problem. And we all have way too much fun most of the time for that to be a problem.

Riley has developed quite the sense of humor over the past several months. One of her favorite games is for me to pretend that I'm asleep and then she'll kiss me on the nose to awaken me. She thinks it's quite funny to startle me, so I play along. And, I hesitate to share this, but she thinks its hilarious to call me momma. We're pretty sure that she's picked up in daycare that some parents are momma's, and somehow I most closely fit the bill for her. Or she's just being a stinker because she sometimes giggles when I tell her I'm not momma, but daddy.

We have options on how to look at things. We could dwell on the past and be miserable about it. Or we can look at the wonderful things in our lives that we're blessed to have. Personally I'd rather look at the flowers and not dwell on the manure that helps them grow.

A Change in Perspective

Note: This post was started w-a-y back seven months ago. I never posted it (as some of you well know) because... well, because I was scared of repercussions. Fear is a good thing to have in certain circumstances. For instance when being confronted by a bear, fear is a very good thing. Sometimes though, fear is just a useless emotion. In this instance, especially so. But after my last post, I felt it was time to put it out there.

January 16, 2009 - There's a few reasons why I'm writing this post. First is about my relationship with my mother. Or lack there of more precisely. And before you start writing to me about what a terrible son I am, there are things you need to know.

First, I've tried for years to have some sort of normal relationship with my mother. Nothing would make me happier. I'm not sure what though, if anything could make her happy. I've not seen or talked to her since Riley's first birthday party the first weekend in May. I tried to get a hold of her several times over the next month after that without success. Every time I called, I received a prerecorded message that said that the wireless customer I was trying to contact was unavailable. (update: she called once in February after she was released from a hospital stay.)

Even when I was in the hospital in mid June (2008), I tried several times to call and let her know where I was. Oh, nothing really major. Just kidney stones again. I was admitted because they couldn't manage my pain with prescription medication and they had to break out the heavy artillery, mainly morphine. Pure bliss when it hits and the pain is completely gone. If I didn't like being lucid so much, I could understand why people get hooked on it.

Second, I've been blessed to have had some mighty fine substitute mothers in my adult years. One of them is the mother of Haven Kimmel who happens to be a good friend of mine. Some of you might have heard of her. Those of you who haven't, run right over to her website and blog right now. Especially this particular post of hers. http://havenkimmel.wordpress.com/2009/01/26/surely-goodness-and-mercy/ I'll give you some time to check it out. (Her blog is still there, but is inactive at this time... her last few posts will tell you why.)

Are you back already?

I have to tell you that reading that particular post makes my heart ache. It aches for the love of a mother that doesn't exist for me or my brothers. And if Haven reads this she will find some way of trying to ease the ache within me with an emotional balm made from her own soothing words mixed with a good quote or two from someone far wiser than I could ever hope to be. But the point I hope to make is that my mother, while she isn't the most attentive or compassionate mother out there, she could have done a lot worse by us. Susan Smith comes to mind. Mother gets it honestly as her mother could be the coldest woman on the planet and say the most hurtful destructive things to her own children and grandchildren. And while this may explain mother's behaviour, it doesn't excuse her from not making the effort to recognize the same patterns and trying to change. And that is what the true tragedy of her life is.

What can I say?

I haven't been very vigilante in tending to this blog in quite a while. Several reasons for that. And I've debated many a night over whether or not to share what some of the problems have been. But, I think if I don't share, then I won't be able to make any movement forward. This is important because so much has happened to us as a family recently that hopefully will be positive changes.

Two weeks ago, Robbie received an offer from a local college that is expanding rapidly and so he will consequently be leaving retail. Today in fact was his last day. It's been a good job. He's learned a lot from it. But it's not what he's passionate about. College students. Guiding them in their academic lives is what is important. Helping them succeed in their student careers and to reach their full potential .

At the same time he was receiving the phone offer, I received a Facebook message from a woman I had known years ago from the bank I used to work for. My old supervisor was trying to track me down about a possible job for me. So over that weekend I went online and looked at the available job postings, found one that was similar to what I did before we left for Chicago and posted my application for it. On Monday I received an email confirming receipt of my application. On Tuesday I received a phone call for an interview the next day - which is my regular Wednesday day off. That same evening I received a phone call offering me the position. Just this past Monday I received an email confirming the offer and my start day of two weeks from then. It wasn't an easy thing to give notice at a job that I like (for the most part), but the opportunity to have our evenings and weekends back together as a whole family was the deciding factor.

Here's the kicker to all this. My last student loan payment was last month. We just traded in the Trailblazer for a newer Impala with a lot fewer miles and a significantly lower payment. And it gets about 50% better gas mileage. It's been a struggle sometimes financial this past year with both of us in commission retail jobs, but we knew - or at least I did - that we would make it through somehow.

But back to the reasons for the absence from the blog. First was the fact that I hit a depression back in February that I couldn't shake. I ended up on drug therapy to help get me through it. It helped immensely. I was very groggy in the evenings and couldn't keep a thought for more than 5 seconds at a time, but it was worth it if it meant not dragging my family through the hell I went through as a teenager. But the blog suffered as the side effects kicked in.

And that brings me to this: the depression isn't what I've hesitated to talk about, but rather the cause of it. It sounds like a cliche' to blame my mother for it, but in essence she was the cause. Or rather my expectations of what a mother should be versus the reality of who she actually is. February was the first time since last May at Riley's first birthday party that I had heard from her. Not for lack of trying on my part. We sent picture books, birthday cards and other things to her to let her know what was going on in our lives and to see how much Riley was growing. Many phone calls that went unanswered only to find out that she had moved at some point but didn't let anyone know. After six months of not receiving any acknowledgments from her, we gave up.

In February, I finally received a phone call from her. She had just been released from the hospital that morning. I won't go into the details of what she was there for, they aren't important, here's what is. During the conversation I counted at least three to four lies. And no acknowledgment that I hadn't heard from her in over ten months. With every passing second I felt myself getting more and more angry. I finally ended the phone call by letting her know that she was interrupting our dinner. (Sidebar: we eat as a family at the table almost every night that we're home together. That's how important the new jobs are to us.)

Since then I've learned from my aunt that mother has been back in the hospital twice. And the hospital she's been at is only about five minutes from where we live. The first time, in April, my aunt called me while I was at lunch to ask how mother was doing. When I told her I didn't know, she told me what was going on. Back at work, I was debating if I should go see her or not when a woman I work with looked at me and said "Jim, I've never met your mother and I don't like her. If she wanted you there, she would have let you known that she was there. You deserve better than that." And just like that, my guilt was gone. She was absolutely right. If mother wanted me to be there in her life, then she would have included me in things. I know money is tight with her, but a postage stamp doesn't cost much.

The second reason for my absence was the demise of a friend of mine's blog. Haven Kimmel had created an online community purely by chance that was unlike anything else I had ever experienced. It started out as a small little thing where she could break away from time to time as a serious writer and be a little less so. It evolved into an online discussion of favorite books, authors, musicians and artists. And from there it became an inspiration for not just a few of us participants. If it weren't for that spark I caught from her site, this blog wouldn't exist - for better or worse. And I most certainly wouldn't have the small group of people that I've met through there that I consider friends.

But from there it started becoming something else entirely. Some people came into the community with agendas of their own. Some to grab as much attention to themselves as possible by using a popular writers forum as a captive audience. Others to criticize the people who had been longtime participants as not being inclusive to new people. And as one private commenter to Haven said, it was becoming very gynocentric with the constant barrage from some women about their medical woes. It finally got to the point that Haven couldn't control the content any longer even with the help of spam filters and filters to catch outright pornographic postings by some people. So on May 24, 2009 at 5:07 pm, Haven pulled the plug. I hated to see it go, but she really didn't need the aggravation.

Just yesterday I saw a comic strip on line that summed up the whole experience in a four panel joke that I fear is much closer to the truth than actually being funny. In the strip the artist is speaking with one of his characters. The strip is "Pearls before Swine" and here is the link for that particular strip. http://news.yahoo.com/comics/090812/cx_pearls_umedia/20091208;_ylt=AkA8h5R2NQQwFEMclI4rApsD_b4F

If that didn't work, here is what the strip said:
Writer: "What are you doing, Rat?"
Rat: "I am ripping you on your 'Stephen Pastis' Facebook page. Then I am ripping you on your blog. Then I am ripping you on my favoritist Web Site ever, The Comics Curmudgeon."
Writer: "WHY!
Rat: "Because it is fun. And because the Internet was specifically invented so that living beings everywhere could be anonymously rude to one another."
Writer: silent in the next panel
Last panel is of the writer sitting in a box with another character Pig. Pig created the box labeled "Internet Happy Box," a place where Pig can go to escape the negativity of the web.

So the last few months have been me in my own Internet Happy Box. I guess the thing to remember is that the Internet does create a safe, anonymous place for people to trash others, for whatever reason. And really, do I need to care what those people think?

I've missed my online community. I hope you're all doing well. Just remember that while I do read all comments posted to this blog, I don't have to post them. If you feel like you need to criticize, do so in a constructive manner please.

Happy existence

"I cannot believe that the purpose of life is to be happy. I think the purpose of life is to be useful, to be responsible, to be compassionate. It is, above all to matter, to count, to stand for something, to have made some difference that you lived at all." Leo Rosten 1908 - 1997

When I first happened upon this quotation, I was a bit flummoxed. Why wouldn't he believe that we should be happy? Then I really read the entire quotation. Useful? I hope I am. Responsible? I believe by being the first to admit I've made a mistake would fall under that. Compassionate? Well, I'll have to let others speak to that quality about me.

But "...to matter, to count, to stand for something, to have made some difference..." that is the difficult part. I know I matter to some people in my life and to a few people who have come to know of me through this and other blogs. One of the things I stand for is treating all people with some sort amount of decency. Well, almost all. People who won't or can't fathom that all people, even the ones who don't believe the same things they do, deserve to be treated as an equal won't get much sympathy from me. And as far as making some difference, only time can be the judge of that.

Just a little update from the goldfish bowl

I wanted to update you a little on what's been going on. I have been working on some new posts, but the goldfish that has taken the place of my brain is in full control at the moment. Hopefully, over the next few weeks I'll be able to ween myself off the anti-depressants that make it nearly impossible to hold onto a thought for more than a few moments. I needed to go on them back in February while trying to deal with the reality of who my mother is and with some problems with the environment at work. Both it turns out, I have absolutely no control over. Um, duh.

What I can control is how I react to them. Thanks to Judy, a woman I work with, I finally realized that there is nothing I can do except to walk away from my mother. I found out that my mother was in the hospital just 10 minutes from my house and was debating on if I should visit her or not. Judy looked me right in the eyes and said "Jim, if she wanted you there, she would have got word to you somehow." And in that moment I knew she was right.

So, the posts I've been working on have delved deeper into these events. They've not been easy to put down in words due to the facts that they are one: extremely personal, and two: I have a goldfish as a brain right now.

I know that several of you have been checking on things over here to see if there is anything new and I thank you for that. George, I would be remiss for not acknowledging what your words on Haven's blog have meant to me. Thank you. I really can't take all the credit for the family that I have created for myself. It was just a matter of making the right choices and recognizing what God has presented me with. Sher, your example of how you live your life and who you have become from what and where you came from is truly inspiring. I feel incredibly lucky to have you both as friends. There are so many others that I want to thank also, but the goldfish is still swimming around saying to himself "Ooh, isn't this lovely!"

So for now, goodnight and thank you. And if you have the chance, drop some flakes in the bowl for the fish, would ya?

Lasik

(Note: This is a post that I started in February, a few weeks after undergoing Lasik surgery. I finally finished it. Thank you for your patience)



I've looked into corrective eye surgery off and on for years now. The promise of not having to wear contacts or glasses has a certain appeal to it. Especially when my glasses have fogged up once again from the cold. Or when I'm at a pool or the beach and can't see because I've had to remove my glasses or contacts. Nothing like trying to ogle a hottie from afar only to find out that a) they aren't so hot or b) it's your brother!

I've known several people over the last ten to fifteen years that have had corrective surgery. They all have said the same thing "I wish I had done this years ago!" The kicker for me to finally look at it seriously was when I went to one of my doctors in December and noticed he wasn't wearing glasses any more. When I asked him, he said that he had Lasik surgery several weeks before and it was just amazing. He had the surgery on a Friday and was doing surgery himself on the following Tuesday.

Mid January I finally went in for a consultation. My concerns were: How much will it hurt? What happens if something goes wrong in surgery? Will having a problem with dry eyes be a hindrance? How well will I see after surgery? How much does it cost?

I seemed to be an excellent candidate. There is minor discomfort with the majority of it being within the first three hours after the surgery. You receive a generic Valium to take to help you sleep through that first part. Thank god! Turns out there's a bit more than minor discomfort right after and I didn't think I could get to sleep fast enough. It felt like I had sand in my eyes, which thankfully went away in my sleep. I couldn't touch my eyes or the area around them for the first week and I had to sleep on my back. With goggles on. I've always been a side sleeper, curled up in the fetal position. At this point I'm thinking that the only way I'll make it through the first week after surgery is to be strapped down to the bed at night. A dream come true for Robbie, I must say.

We scheduled the surgery for two weeks after the consultation. I also elected to get a procedure called Mono-vison so that I wouldn't need reading glasses. They figure out which eye is your dominate one and make that one focused for distance vision. My left eye was to be corrected so that I could read without glasses. Very important to me since I consider myself an avid reader. If it's in print, I read it. Books, magazines, newspapers, cereal boxes. It doesn't matter.

The morning of the surgery arrived and Robbie took me to my appointment since I wouldn't be able to drive home. Nobody knew just how freaked out I was until the doctor came in and told me it was pretty normal to get a little freaked. I said "No. You don't get it. I'm not a little freaked. I'm thinking you have got to be kidding me! I'm going to let a machine suction itself to my eye, laser a flap on my cornea, laser what's under it into a different shape, smooth the flap back down and be okay with it? And then do it again on the other eye?" No, sirree bob. I'm not letting you or that machine touch me until I know how many times out of the 10 thousand you've done that this hasn't worked.

Only a fraction of one percent of the surgeries the doctor has performed have not ended with the desired results. He's done thousands of them and only had bad results a few times. Once was when he was trying to correct what another doctor had botched. And the other time he could think of was an instance where they could correct the problem on a subsequent visit. Then I started breathing normally again.

They guarantee 20/20 vision or your money back. That's great, but what do you do then with the resulting bad vision? Back to wearing glasses and/or more surgeries. And it only costs 24 monthly payments interest free with approved credit. Have to say, it's a little weird getting elective surgery on the same terms as buying a sofa or carpeting, which we did last fall. And as it turns out, the finance company is the same for both. At least I'll be able to see the new carpet and the bills with the new vision.

After the Valium took effect, they walked me into the operating room, which looked amazingly like a room at a spa, but with a huge mechanical contraption in the middle of it. It was like a cross between a CAT machine and facial steamer on steroids. I'm not too sure exactly what it looked like since my glasses had been left in the other room. And hopefully in the next few minutes, I would never need them again.

My personal concierge, Rachel, walked me over to the table and had me lie down. The staff made sure I was comfortable while the Dr. readied me by explaining that he would use retractars on my eyelids to keep me from blinking during the procedure. If you've ever seen "A Clockwork Orange" then you have a very good idea of what the apparatus looks like. He then positioned the machine over my right eye and had me focus on a green dot that was surrounded by several red ones. I felt a little irritation while the laser cut the flap in my cornea, sort of like having dust or grit in my eye. Then the Dr. peeled the flap back and let the laser reshape my cornea. after that, he smoothed the flap back into place and moved onto the next eye.

Each eye took less than two minutes and the whole procedure lasted less than ten minutes. And true to their word, I could read the clock across the room. It was a bit like looking at something after coming out of a pool with water running down my face. But I could SEE! Then it was on to home, take another Valium, sleep for four hours and enjoy my new eyesight.

All in all, the procedure has went well. I can see well enough to read or watch television without glasses for the first time in my life. If I had to do it over again, I think I would have waited until summer when it's humid out to have it done. I've had a lot of dryness in my eyes due to the winter air having less humidity in it and subsequently some shooting pain in my left one from time to time. I'm not sure what that's about (other than being overly dry) but I took a picture of it to see if any of you out there can see what the problem is.

Goldfish in a Bowl

It's confession time. Sort of. You can't confess what is obvious. And you probably know that I haven't had a new post in quite a while. Four days from being three months to be exact. I've written a couple of things since - more accurately I've started two things since then but never finished them. One of them I promise to post in a few days. The other... too much darkness in it.

I've been like a goldfish in a bowl lately. I can't seem to remember anything or keep track of a random thought. I've actually been at work, turned around to get something out of the cabinet behind me and paused trying to remember what the hell I was doing. Completely maddening!

There are a few reasons that my mind is in such a state. And I can't remember a one of them. For the most part, I think the probable culprit is the pharmaceuticals I've been taking during this time. They're helping me get through some rough times at work and family issues. Specifically, my mother. I'd been trying to reconcile her treatment of me (or lack of more accurately) over the past year specifically with my feeling guilty by not wanting to put up with the craziness anymore. It finally came to a head a few weeks ago when I found she was in a hospital only ten minutes from our house. My aunt had called while I was at lunch to ask how mother was doing and of course I had no idea what she was talking about.

After I got back to work, I debated if I should go see her or not. A woman I work with looked at me and said "I've never met the woman and I don't like her. If she wanted you there, she would have let you know somehow." And just like that, my guilt was gone. Now I just need to work on getting off the anti-depressants and get my mind back. Well, at least my memory. What was I talking about?

I Finally Know What This Blog Is All About!

Family. Merriam Webster Online Dictionary defines family as:
1 a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head
2 a group of persons of common ancestry; a people or group of peoples regarded as deriving from a common stock
3 a group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation
4 a group of things related by common characteristics
5 the basic unit in society traditionally consisting of two parents rearing their children; any of various social units differing from but regarded as equivalent to the traditional family

A friend of mine stopped in to see me at work last week. In the course of the conversation she asked if I had sent out any emails in a while as she hadn't seen anything new in a while from me about Riley or how we were settling in here. I told her that I really hadn't sent anything out a mass email to people but was doing a blog instead. She asked me what the focus of it was and I didn't have an answer. I said I usually just write about whatever comes to mind... if it comes to mind.

This was last Thursday and I've thought about it since then and looked back over some of my earlier blog postings or at least the headlines. I think I know what my focus is and has been all along. It's about family. It's about the ones we're born into. It's about the ones we marry into. And it's about the ones we create.

I have the family I was born with. It's not in any way perfect. But there it is. Two brothers whom I admire for the way they have managed to make something out of the cards they were dealt from an early age, but I hardly ever see them. A mother who did the best she could with what she had in raising three boys on her own after the death of my father and that I've not heard from in over 8 months now. Plus numerous aunts, uncles and cousins that I absolutely love and adore (their stories I'll share as time goes on.)

I have Robbie's family that I married into. I can't say enough about his parents. They are true Christians who love unconditionally and never judge. If they could be cloned, I could corner the market on good parents. Robbie has three brother, one sister, and their spouses who have never once made me feel any less a part of the family than anyone else. And as I've said before, they can be loud and disagree with each other, but they also love just with just as much enthusiasm. I'm truly blessed to be a part of all that.

I have the family that Robbie and I created through our marriage and our adoption of Riley. We moved back to what we consider our home town to raise our daughter. This is the place we met, the place we married, and the place where we decided that we wanted to be fathers together. Hopefully, by being here in Indianapolis, we also change a few minds about what makes a family.

And I have a family of loosely associated friends from all over the country that are more precious to me than anything else in this world. We might not have a drop of blood common amongst us, but we are tighter than most families and just as important to each other - if not more so. If any of us are able to help the other, we do. It may just be a word of support, a comforting note, a funny email or a quick phone call, we're there for each other. But we because of them, we know that we matter in this world. I think that's all anyone really wants... To know that they matter, that their presence in this world makes a difference to someone out there.

Letter to Riley

I have an enormous task before me today. How do I impart upon our daughter how huge an event took place today with the inauguration of our country's first President of color? This is an open letter to Riley on what is possible in this day and age when President Barack Obama took the oath of office for The President of The United States:

Riley,

Today you are barely twenty months old and you have no idea of the importance of the events that took place today. And really, why should you? Your only concerns should be about getting fed, having a dry diaper, and having a warm snuggly place to sleep at night. Oh yeah, you also need people who love and cherish you, and you have that in abundance.

But back to today's events. It is a very big deal. Just fifty-one years ago, President Eisenhower had to nationalize the Guard in Arkansas to make sure that nine school children of color were escorted safely into what had been and all white school. That's a piece of history that seems impossible even to me today. It may seem like a long time ago, but that was only, ONLY, three years before I was born.

Our country had declared it's independence from Great Britain 176 years before that event in Little Rock, and within that document are these words: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. It is my hope that today we have finally seen the realization of that statement.

It also wasn't that long ago that people of different races weren't allowed to marry each other, that people of color weren't allowed the right to vote, that they were expected to "know their place" which wasn't in the same theater balcony, restaurant, or part of the bus as their caucasian counterparts. It didn't matter who was better educated. It didn't matter who was more decent to other human beings. What mattered was the color of their skin. A truly horrifying and small minded way of doing business. And yes, while it's true that even today people still judge others by their appearance, it's become increasingly less acceptable.

As a caucasian man, I could never presume to truly know what the struggles of the African American community have been in this country over the centuries. Or what they have had to endure in that time. I only have my own experiences as some one who grew up looked down upon because we were poor and whose father was a drunk. The only other thing that would give me the smallest glimpse at what it's like to be a minority is being gay. But, I have to say that with a few exceptions, it's not been the hardest thing to deal with. I've not had people call me words that I won't repeat here. A couple of books to read when you're older are "To Kill a Mockingbird" and "The Adventures of Huckelberry Finn" which are two classics of American literature that address race relations in this country in their proper historical context.

More than likely, when you are old enough to vote, you'll look back on the events of the past 76 days and wonder what the big deal was. You won't be able to fathom that even the thought an African American could be elected president (or hopefully even a woman) was in the realm of almost impossible. Maybe you will just look on the inauguration of another person of color as just another presidential event in the history of this country and will look upon it as you did today... laughing and eating diced pears as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

I love you sweetie,
Daddy Jim

I've been sitting here all afternoon trying to think of something profound to write. We all know where that leads for me. Profundity is not my strong suit. Instead, I've just been chilling out, with our Westie right by my side (he's literally squeezed himself between my side and the arm of the chair) and watching the snow drift slowly slowly from the sky in big fluffy clumps. Hudson hasn't ventured out as much today as usual. It's too cold outside even for him. Not much is accumulating yet, and I'm not sure how much is forecast for us here. It doesn't matter because I'm planning on staying in.

We have a couple of bird feeders that we inherited with the house. I thought they might be a pain to keep filled, but it's truly calming and a joy to watch the birds gather in, on and around the feeders each morning and evening. The previous owner was smart and included a squirrel guard on the double shepherd's hook that holds the feeders. Just yesterday I watched with great amusement as a squirrel shimmied up the post trying to figure out how to get past the guard. He wasn't successful.

All in all, it was a nice afternoon. Quiet house, soft snow falling, and a warm dog sleeping beside me. A perfect time to just relax and be.

Connecting The Dots - Part 1

I was going to make a really bad attempt at humor today. The plan was to talk about my experience with a colonoscopy a few weeks ago. This was going to be the "I got anal probed in my sleep and I wasn't even abducted by aliens" post, but I've since thought better of that. Lucky you.

Instead let me tell you a tale. A tale of how I got to here. I call it connecting the dots. Milan Kundera called it "The Seven Unlikely Events Without Which We Would Never Have Fallen In Love" (thank you Haven.) Usually I play the game backwards where I'll start with a person and end up with how we got to be connected. This time I'll start at the beginning and work my way forward.

Pretty much everything starts with my father's death. I was twelve years and two days old when the accident happened. It was a violent end to a man's life who could no longer control the hold alcohol had on his life. Or for that matter the hold it had on our lives as his family. We're told that out of every ending there is a new beginning. I don't believe that is entirely true for everyone involved. Sometimes and ending is just that and things move in the path that they have already started on. Like a game of billiards, the trajectory of one ball can affect the motion and direction of the other balls on the table. But some of them are never touched by the action and so remain rooted where they are. Luckily for me, I was one of the balls in the path.

A few years after dad's passing, when I was fifteen, a church elder named Mark took me under his wing to be a father figure in my life. He knew that I didn't have any grandfathers living and that dad had passed.Mark  decided that he would be a surrogate grandfather to me. He would take me on errands with him in the summer. He let me drive his AMC Matador on old back country roads and talked me into attending a church camp that summer. It was something that I hadn't wanted to attend the year before or even that year, but Mark thought it would be good for me.

Great. Spend a week in a musty cabin out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers. Gang showers in the bathroom, no doors on the stalls, and I'm 15 and I'm becoming increasingly attracted to guys. I'm not admitting it yet, but it's there in the back of my consciousness. Sign me up! I couldn't think of any possible scenario that could have been worse, but I couldn't come up with a reason not to go other than "I don't want to" which wasn't flying with anyone. Mom wanted us out of the house for the week. The pastor at our church was trying to save our heathen hides and David was trying to gain my trust. I was, in a word, screwed.

So, the pastor loads us up in his van, drives us to somewhere south of Terre Haute to an old Bible College that had been converted into a summer camp for Christian teens. Only one building remained of the original college. Cabins, a swimming pool and a dining hall had been added to the grounds over the years. It was depressing. No TV, no books other than our bibles and no escape. We had absolutely no alone time except for after vespers and before bed time.

My bunk mate was a few years younger than me and was attending with his two sisters and brother. His name, coincidentally was also a Mark. As the week progressed, we became closer and closer, staying up late at night talking about the people we had met and the days' events. My brother became even closer to his younger sister and would take the evening walk with her along "lover's lane" which was just a big circular path through the grounds.

The week ended and we said many goodbyes to the people we had become friends with in that short time. Mark and I stayed in contact sporadically, gradually tapering off communication over the next few years. With college looming on the horizon, I thought it was one of those friendships that would stay back in childhood.

Then I was accepted to Ball State University. My brother did the mapping out of our route to my freshman orientation. I started late and it was only a one day event - or non-event since it was pretty much watching a slide show and signing me up for classes. He discovered that the town Mark and his sisters lived in was just north of Muncie. My brother still had a crush on Mark's younger sister and got their phone number and arranged for us to meet up. They had an older sister my age who was at the camp that summer I met Mark, but I didn't remember her.

It was arranged so that we would go on a double date because the younger sister wasn't old enough yet to date on her own. Again, lucky me. Our first date (double date) was at an Arby's where we all met up after my orientation sessions. And there the groundwork was prepared for an on again, off again relationship with the older sister that would end badly (for the sixth time in nine months) when I realized that I was more attracted to Mark than I was to her. And, no, I didn't tell her that was the reason. Her immaturity was the reason I ended the relationship. Seriously. Six breakups in nine months. Way too much drama for this small town boy.

(to be continued)