24 and there's so much more

"Old Man look at my life, 24 and there's so much more."
Written by Neil Young at 24 years old (talking to the caretaker - the "Old Man" - of his ranch) bemoaning his confused lot in life, shy and uncomfortable with relationships (especially with women) and uncertain if he will be able to live out the favored life that appears to be laid before him. Of course he had no way of knowing how fortunate (despite some avoidable and unavoidable hardships along the way) his life would eventually become.

"4 and 20 years ago I come into this life. Son of a woman and a man who lived in strife, he was tired of being poor."
Written by Stephan Stills at 24 years old, bemoaning his confused lot in life (he keeps switching from 1st person to 3rd person story-telling throughout the song). Of course he had no way of knowing how fortunate (despite some avoidable and unavoidable hardships along the way) his life would eventually become.

"24"
the TV show detailing the intense and suspenseful (and seriously hard to believe) events that unfold in a 24 hour period, leading you to believe that at the end of 24 hours the story is complete. Of course the show has run for many seasons, meaning that of course the story never ends - it just transforms and expands and finds new angles.

At 24 years old I felt very much like Mr. Young and Mr. Stills (without the Rock Star fame and fortune and drugs and groupies). But I had the good fortune at 24 to meet the Hanlon Family and in particular, Susan Hanlon. Of course I had no way of knowing how fortunate (despite some avoidable and unavoidable hardships along the way) my life would eventually become, but very fortunate it's been. Susan was 8 years younger than me - 16 when we met, 18 when we dated, 20 when we married on August 27th 1983.
And now it's August 27th 2007 - and I'm the old man looking at my own life after 24 years of marriage and there's so much more (yet to come). This show has had it's share of intense and suspenseful (and seriously hard to believe) events unfold in a 24 year period, possibly leading you to expect that the story must be just about complete. Of course the story never ends - it just transforms and expands and finds new angles. Having already lived through the many dramatic and humerous and suspenseful and romantic and unlikely and unbelievable "drama/sitcom" events of our life, I can only imagine and can't wait to see what the next 24 years will have to offer. I'll be 76 years old at that point, with grandchildren (Mary will be 47 and Joe will be 34 so very possibly no Great-Grand kids yet), and I fully plan to still have my much younger "Trophy Wife" (remember, Sue is 8 years younger than me - and she will make sure you never forget- so she'll only be in her sixties) who will still be pushing me to keep up. I'll still be insisting that I'm the one leading the way and pulling her along in my wake (maybe not - at 76yrs old "Wake" is not a word you want to use much). I plan on being much more gracious about allowing Scott and Margo and Paula to express their amazement and admiration over the depth of our love. I suppose I will still have moments when I frustrate and infuriate Susan, and then she will get annoyed at herself because she still gets that school-girl-in-love feeling of excitement in her stomach as she waits for me to come home. I will still be getting annoyed at her as she wonders when that baby urge will go away. I hope she's still eagerly learning new things. I hope I'm still finger-picking Helplessy Hoping on my 1955 Martin (no - I should hope for a 2015 Martin bought for me by my kids for a 60th birthday present). I hope I'm still physically fit enough for Sue to be justifyably mad at me for not dancing with her enough at our anniversay party. I hope that over the next 24 years I will finally figure out what the right thing to say is and when to say it. If not, I hope I still remember the words to Jim Croce's "I'll Have To Say I Love You In A Song" - I promise you she'll still remember the first time I sang it to her (and where we were sitting and what color shirt I was wearing - Some things will never change).

Through the years as the fire starts to mellow,
burning lines in the book of our lives
Though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow
I'll be in love with you
(Longer by Dan Fogelberg)

It's the Time Of The Season 4-H'ing

Mid-August

Time to put up the 4-H Fair tents at the East Middleboro 4-H grounds. After 8 years or so, we have gotten pretty good at this. Last weekend they put up four tents without us -- this weekend we put up five tents in three hours. Pay particular notice to the undoctored photo of Corey swinging a sledge hammer. Friday August 31st the Fair opens with the first night of the auction (poor country folks ebay the old fashioned way) - Saturday during the auctions 2nd night Corey should receive a scholarship ($100 - $500) for all his years of participation and work (yes, I said Corey and Work in the same sentence) - Sunday morning when we would normally be working at taking it all down, we will be instead driving Corey to Northeastern University to start his college career.

Cheryl at work always views it that this is THE sign that summer is almost over - when she drives by on her way to work and suddenly the tents are up.

4-H tents and back-to-school.

Last Call for summer fun because no matter what your calendar say's about September 23rd being the Autumnal Equinox -- you only have one week left once the tents are all up.

Goodbye Summer!

The BUSY SCHEDULE competition - my turn again

Some people just never get it – you can never one-up us with the busy schedule card.

3:45pm left retreat house in Wareham refreshed and relaxed
3:50pm receive call from oldest daughter Mary saying she is waiting at the house for her birthday
4:15pm stop at Shurtleff Park to pick up sound equipment loaned to music group (only to find out they didn't actually borrow it so I didn't actually need to make this stop)
4:20pm entertain Mary & friends at house
4:45pm get Sue to bed (has to work at 11:00pm)
5:15pm remove cap from truck
5:30pm head for Hanson to pick up Queen Size Bed platform from Nenna’s house
(no small feat – Henry built it, and if you knew Henry you know what I mean)
6:00pm discover Red Sox BLEW another game to Baltimore and the Yankees won
6:45pm return with bed, pick up Julie and head to Kohl’s for back-to-school shopping
8:15pm finish shopping and treat Julie at Friendly’s
9:00pm return home to unload bed from truck (again – no small feat)
9:10pm send Corey out to gas up truck while I prep Sue’s supper
9:30pm wake up and feed Sue
10:15pm send Sue off to work
10:20pm send Corey & Julie off to purchase essential feminine products
10:30pm shower
11:00pm type letter
11:30pm bed
6:45am discover Phone message left at 6:30am about cat getting spayed today (we thought it was tomorrow)
7:15am call Sue (who’s driving home from work) to update her on the morning issues
7:20am return call to spay person – left message
7:25am return call to Chicken inspector to verify his visit later today
7:30am find cat carry cage
7:45am pick up Jamie from sleepover (because we thought the cat thing was tomorrow)
7:55am answer return call from spay people to verify the cat will be there between 8:00am & 8:00am send Corey to Duxbury with cat, send Sue to bed, send Jamie back to friends house (Corey insisted he didn’t want Jamie’s help)
8:05am leave for work (1/2hr late)
8:35am arrive at work (1/2hr late)
8:45am relax and start work
(total 17 hr time span)

cost incurred for above noted events: free retreat $50 (and well worth every penny btw), birthday (nothing YET - wait 'til wednesday), gas for van $30, bed $ hernia, Red Sox $ my sanity, Kohl’s $50, Friendly’s $12, gas for truck $20, feminine products $10, gas for car $10, the letter $ Sue’s sanity (ok – initially it will be lost but eventually saved), cat spay $65, chickens health check $5 (total $252)

Hello Corey (the original Corey)

So Corey (the one my son Corey is named after) moved away many years ago and is happily married and living in Monticello, Indiana. Long ago - before wives & kids - we played hockey & softball together, coached softball together, hiked together, hung out together - typical 20-something buddies. He was an usher at my wedding. At that time he was living in PA and we stopped to visit him on our way home from our honeymoon. Then he and Beth got married and moved to the midwest where she was from. They did come to visit once when Mary & Tim were very little, but I haven't seen him in about 20 years. Every couple of years we (I) would randomly call to say "hi" and we'd chat for half an hour - mostly about the good ol' days. Eventually I got hold of his email address and we would occasionally send a note - mostly notices about major events (Sue's parents deaths, Mary's wedding, etc...). The last couple of times we emailed, it ended up with about 10 responses back and forth. I told him it would be so much easier if he just signed up for IM. Lo and behold, the next day he emailed me to say he did. Ok - so I had to email him back to request his screen name - but now we can just chat. It's been a long time since we just chatted, but IM'ing is so great for that - you simply spot that the other person is "in the room" so to speak and if you have something to say - you do. So maybe it's sad that our first IM chat was still "do you ever hear from so-and-so" and "do you remember when...", but it's nice to think that now we can stay more current more easily. So many times he has talked about coming back to Ma. for a visit, and Sue and I were even ready to go visit him on our way to a rabbit convention - but for various reasons none of the trips ever panned out. He say's he wants to come here next summer, and for some reason I feel like it will actually happen this time. Maybe cause with IM, we can stay on top of the plan better (i.e. I can harrass him daily)! So day 2 of IMing with Corey - I've probably created a monster but what the heck, Corey is kinda like the big blue monster in Monsters, Inc - just big and friendly and well meaning - a sort of lovable gentle giant. Always has been, and after all this time and distance - it's nice to get a friend back considering that too often in life they just leave. So even if we only ever talk about the old softball team or old friends and good times, who cares - I often think about them, so why not have someone to talk to about them who lived through them with you. Welcome back, my old friend.

Goodbye Jason

My friend Jason is moving back to Arizona. I met him 8 or 9 years ago when he answered my add online looking for a bass guitar player. Aside from the unmistakable fact that he considerably taller than me (and I am 6'3") he stood out with his easy going and somewhat flambouyant attitude and excellent musicianship. He could play, sing, and he stood out in a crowd! Most importantly, Sue also thought he was great - the "Anti-Bob" as she referred to him as (inside joke) - despite the fact that she was appalled that I would trust meeting someone off of the internet. After a few years playing together in the band, Jason quit when he moved to Worchester. A while later when I had the need for a fillin bass player, I called him to ask if he could help out. Surprizingly, he said he had recently dreamed that I called him and we played together again - so he accepted. This lasted a while longer, but the travel distance and lack of steady band work was too big an obstacle, so he joined another band. Still, we made attempts to keep in touch and get together a couple times a year. The kids totally loved him and fight for his attention when he visits, and he is very patient and amused by them. When he called the other day to say he was moving back to Arizona where is mother and sister and many friends live, we were sad for us but happy for him. So a simple cookout and singalong at our house served well as a going away party, where we all got to do our best to make him feel loved (and feel bad for leaving us!). Julie & Jamie set him up with an "Instant Message" screen name under the assumption that he might actually IM with us, I gave him all of our blog links (so maybe he'll actually read this), recorded his special song "Interstate 80 Iowa", and of course took lots of pictures.





Goodbye Jason :-(
Peace be with you!

Hotel California - For What It's Worth

My Mary gave me the book “Hotel California” for Fathers Day, with her handwritten inscription “here’s a look at the crazy, wild, wacky, and just plain weird things that CSN&Y, James Taylor, The Eagles, etc got up to along the years”. Of course the mid sixties through the seventies was my music listening “Prime Time” and I know much about my icons. My musical heroes were young (only 5 to 10 years older than myself) men and women swept up by the power of music, witnessed music’s ability to move people and even culture and who were determined to propagate that movement. More than biographies about specific people, this is more of a story about the growth of the music industry through that particular era, and of course contains many stories about how the musicians helped start, create and change the industry. But unlike an authorized biography, the authors does not feel obliged to put a positive spin on anyone in particular, and paints a much broader picture of the musicians, the music, the times and the effect they had on each other.

The book chronicles how these rebellious young singer/songwriters and music industry upstarts congregated in L.A. in the 60’s – hungry, restless, motivated, committed, and eager to change the world. Of course, as they start to succeed in changing their world, their world changes them. Eventually most of them become the exact people doing the exact things that they so vigorously protested against when they were starting out. Their rebelliousness against the establishment was the reason that listeners loved them so much and bought records and concert tickets which afforded them the ability to stop being hungry, restless, motivated, committed, and eager to change the world.

“Come on people now, smile on your brother. Everybody get together; try to love one another right now” and “There’s something happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear. There’s a man with a gun over there telling me I’ve got to beware. I think its time we stop, children, what’s that sound. Everybody look what’s going down”. Music could change the course of society’s evolution – or so they/we thought.

As young listeners, we were moved emotionally by certain songs, bands, players – and eagerly took sides, defiantly defended OUR bands. We argued who was better – the Beatles or the Dave Clarke 5 (yes, that preceded arguments that continue to this day between the Beatles or the Stones), or even who was better within a band – John or Paul, or Stephan or Neil. Songs weren’t just favorite melodies; they MEANT something to us – as they obviously meant something to the songwriter/performer. I always gravitated towards the “singer/songwriter” types, as their lyrics and the performance of them seemed so personal and committed. Sonny and Cher sang songs that were written by someone else who wrote songs all day that could be sung by anyone else. Neil Young wrote songs that nobody but Neil could do properly. Sonny and Cher could never had sung “The Needle and the Damage Done” while Neil could never had sung “I’ve Got You Babe”. I (and most every young musician wannabe) felt a certain allegiance to certain performers, and learned to play and sing their songs with as close to the same intensity as I could master. The music was personally important, it meant something, it became a part of our beings, and it helped to drive us and even politically motivate us. Bands or songs could motivate us to take a stand and protest against war, injustice, prejudice, government wrong-doing. Of course I am now well aware that many of my icons became drug and people abusing, money hungry egomaniacs, but their self-destructive outcome didn’t change the honesty of their previously expressed idealist views and artistic talent.

Maybe I’m old and blind and out of touch, but I don’t see that these days. Certainly my own kids have favorite bands and songs, but I don’t think it’s with the same sense of commitment. I’m sure Mary or Corey have “their songs” and have learned to play them on their guitars and years down the road will make them smile when they come on the Oldies station, but I’m not sure they have songs that will make them cry (now or 30 years from now) or that make them want to become better people or join a cause. I do. And I’m not saying I’m better or they are lesser – of course they are good people and will do good things. I just don’t think that the “power of music” contributes as much to their developing psych-ee as it did to me and my contemporaries.

These days, people scoff at the summer/oldies/reunion concert tours that these aging throwbacks perform. Certainly these 60-something rockers & bands are a far cry from what they once were. Lack of health, voice, energy, and current relevance is obvious. They are no longer a “force to be reckoned with” as they originally were. I agree that their efforts to record and sell new material generally fall far short of their own previously set standards. By all logical reason, they should have hung it up long ago – so why do they still survive? Because even though they are no longer the idealistic rabble-rousers they once were, they still remember the feelings they had when they wrote those anthems so long ago. Maybe CSNY or Joni Mitchell are not relevant to today’s music industry, but they are still relevant to us who first learned about the world through their songs. WE still remember the power and the emotion evoked by the songs, and long for that feeling that once drove us (or celebrate that it still does). I wonder if Corey will go to a Counting Crows or Green Day concert when he is in his 50’s? (Not that at 18 I could conceive of going to a CSNY concert at 50!)



The book ends with a short, recent interview with Ned Doheny – a lesser known member of the old Laurel Canyon 60’s-70’s Singer/songwriter clique – talking about how those artist’s collective rise to superstardom ruined themselves, and their effect on the world in general.
[In selling their souls for fame and riches, the stars of the 60’s and 70’s helped create a world where passive consumerism replaced emotional engagement and political commitment. The apathy of twentysomethings over the environment and Iraq is shocking when one harks back to the civil rights and Vietnam War protests of the 60’s. Nobody is writing songs about what George Bush is doing. And you get to thinking ‘maybe the power of music is over’. He pauses and proffers a sad smile. “Maybe I should go downstairs and not worry about it,” he says. “But I keep saying to my son ‘Don’t you guys get it?’” {taken from the book Hotel California by Barney Hoshyns}] These last lines haunted me.

I wonder what art form will inspire our children to desire to make their world a better place? I don’t think it’s music – at least not now. Maybe their world is so comfortable that they feel no need to improve it, they have no hunger. Or they simply don’t know what they hunger for, and have no spokes-person to point it out in a way that moves them. One of their own music icons even points out the apparent apathy in one of his own songs, singing

[Now we see everything that's going wrong With the world and those who lead it We just feel like we don't have the means To rise above and beat it So we keep waiting Waiting on the world to change We keep on waiting Waiting on the world to change
{John Mayer}]

If this performer wrote this lyric in the late 60’s / early 70’s, Neil Young and Lynyrd Skynrd would have ganged up and retaliated and mobilized their fans so much that it would have been the last song this guy ever sung. Ah but that was the good old days – not that they were so good, they weren’t – which is why people united together, rose up and did something about it. The difference in my generation was that, instead of Presidents and Generals and Adventurers, our heart and soul leaders were our poets and singers. I don’t know who my own children’s heart and soul leaders are (Bart Simpson, Steven Colbert?). It’s not me – I’m who they are supposed to be rebelling against. On one hand I’m glad they are not, but on the other I’m not sure that’s good. Our country was built on rebellion and desire for social improvement. If we are so well off and our children so complacent that they no longer care to rebel and improve their world, then we might be in big trouble.

Cooped up with Joe

Joe has had chickens for over a year. Recently he became seriously interested in them, reading about how to properly care for them and about all the different breeds. Since one of his pair perished, Joe has taken it upon himself to be the remaining ones playmate - sitting in the coop, talking to it, teaching it to let him hold it, setting up a cleaning schedule and system for the coop. Pretty in-depth for a 10 year old. Sue has been so impressed with Joe's level of commitment, she got him two more adult hen's to join his other one. Then she mail-ordered him 25 baby chick's - due to arrive this week. This meant the need to build a new, bigger chicken coop. Joe had plenty of ideas and with Sue's help had already scoured the scrap pile for salvagable materials. So - I had my weekend project. Normally when I build, I retreat into my own little world, ignore the family, forget to eat, etc... Jamie is usually the only one who ever wants to help, but this time Joe - who can't focus or sit still long enough - wanted "in" on every aspect. So father & son spent 6 hours (ask Joe) working on saturday and more on sunday. Joe learned to use the drill and change the bits with the chuck key. He got to climb on the shed roof. He cut boards with the chop saw, hammered nails, used a post hole digger, planned and contributed ideas - and maintained a sense of amazement and pride throughout. He didn't fight me over things I said wouldn't work. We shopped for what lumber we couldn't scrounge, and picked out hinges. In two days he turned from a monkee into a carpenter. Now that I'm back to work and he's home, I have to hope that with his newfound knowledge of power tools, he doesn't turn into a danger! I'm afraid I'll come home one day to see what he "Built" while Tim was babysitting!

I was born in the sign of water and it's there that I feel my best, the albatros and the whale they are my brothers (sorry Wes, Eric & Dave)

If there’s one thing in my life that’s missing
It’s the time that I spend alone
Sailing on the cool and bright clear water
It’s kind of a special feeling
When you’re out on the sea alone
Staring at the full moon like a lover
(Cool Change by The Little River Band)

“The Shain Gang” (or what ever our band name is to actually be) and spouses/significant others spent the evening cruising the Cape Cod Canal on Robs boat. It was a casual gathering which pleasantly turned into a sort of “team building” bonding trip. Rob (our boat captain and keyboard player), Nelly (his girlfriend for the past year) and Marcus (his 5 year old Golden Retriever) were our gracious hosts on his 32ft boat “Seascapes”. Joni (our drummer) and her husband Joe (master electrician & “Mr. Fixit”), Ken (our bass player) and his wife Nina (who used to be neighbors and best friends of Sue’s former/favorite boss), and Sue and I rounded out the crew. After friendly introductions and taste testing the hors d’ourves we embarked on our 3 hour tour (ok – it was actually 4 hours, but we were having fun!). Of course, being “Cape People” everyone else had plenty of good boating stories to tell and knew about boating rules such as “Red on right when returning”. Sue and I – being “Off Cape” landlubbers – only had canoeing stories and one old boating story about when I was 5 years old (look for this in “Growing Up At Nenna’s House”), but could readily contribute in the wedding planning conversations (Ken and Nina’s daughter will be getting married soon).

The weather was perfect (75 degrees at Monument Beach Marina), water was calm and boat traffic strangely absent (did everybody else know something that we didn’t? approaching monsoons? Power plant meltdowns?). We headed for the canal and approached as the train bridge was being raised – stroke of perfect timing that we got to watch it but not be delayed by it. Rob eased us gracefully along, pointing out various points of interest from his upper deck and newly upholstered (his own handiwork) captain’s chair – with his two new co-pilots on either side of him (Sue on the left – of course – lefty! - and Nelly on his right). The upper deck actually fit us all (except for Marcus who couldn’t climb the ladder) snuggly but comfortably. At the eastern end of the canal we opted to bypass the “Aqua Bar” and simply anchor off the southern jetty, watch the sun set, and enjoy the food & drink we brought. Of course there were the obligatory “Gilligan’s Island” references even though our cast & crew didn’t quite match up with theirs. OK – so Rob bears a slight resemblance to “The Professor” and Nelly could have easily put her hair in pony-tails and been Mary Ann and if Ken put on another 100 pounds he might pass himself off as “The Skipper”, but that would leave Sue & Nina to fight over who got to be the Movie Star or Mrs. Howell, and Marcus and I to be Gilligan and Mr. Howell (and me having no money and being tall and once-upon-a-time skinny would make me a lock as the 1st mate).

As we cheerfully conversed and bonded, the sun set and dusk took over the canal and fog took over the bay. Rob determined it was time to start the trek back and fired up the twin engines. Oddly enough, the upper deck lights, the flood light and GPS randomly decided to not work. After a near-miss with a channel marker buoy, we were on our way just ahead of a tug & barge. Properly gauging my interest level, Rob offered me a turn at the wheel and set the throttle for me. After a few minutes I got the feel of how the boat reacted and how much to turn the wheel and ride the wake of the barge. Maybe it's genetic or an "Ancestral Memory" thing, and Great Grandpa Billy Annis and Uncle Happy were smiling my way, but it all felt very natural. Before long, Rob relaxed and settled in next to Nelly and offered occasional words of advice and encouragement. Little did he know of the recurring images from “The Perfect Storm” I had going through my head as we mildly listed and lurched a couple of times. Steering a boat through the canal is actually work! (but fun) As Sue doesn’t actually like driving period, she was happy to let me have my fun – and Rob let me take us all the way back to within a hundred yards of the pier. He then proceeded to impress one and all with the ability to turn a 32 foot boat around backwards in a 35 foot space, and back into his slip without hitting any neighboring boats, pilings, or docks.

So with lots of happy “thank you’s” and “good byes” and promises of future excursions (and electrical wiring advice) we all made our separate ways home. Our “Community Building Mini-Retreat” a success, we are eager to get this band out of the water and on the road!


I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory
Some happy, some sad
I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had
We live happily forever, so the story goes
But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold
But we'll try best that we can to carry on

Come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me
(Come Sail Away by Styx)

On The Verge

Well it’s been a few years and a few unsuccessful attempts since I’ve played in a band. Cousin Tommy and I jammed for a while with high hopes, but it was hard to find the time and it wasn’t coming together as smoothly as I had hoped. Then I met Bill from Whitman and the first few meetings were extremely encouraging as our song knowledge and styles seemed to just fall into place. Unfortunately, as we should have been getting tight and ready to play out – things seemed to regress. Then I met with a group from the Cape – 3-pieces who had been playing together but had their singer/guitarist/leader retire. They needed someone to both play guitar and carry about 3/4 of a nights worth of lead vocals.

So here it is about six months later, we are practicing about three times a month and just booked our first official gig – a private party. Not a big deal but a start – a paid start! (and a good morale boost). At least now we can honestly tell prospective clubs/ booking agents that we are indeed a working band. We’ll let you all know when you can come to a club to hear us – we’ll be counting on you all to show up and make us look good! “The Shain Gang” has arrived!

Hiking Trip

My brother Wes & sister Laurie have been great about inviting their Carver nieces & nephews (as they get old enough) on backpacking adventures. Jamie is 14 yrs old now and it's his turn. A 3-day hike up and over the Franconia Ridge in New Hampshires White Mountains, with 2 nights staying at Greenleaf AMC Hut where Jamies cousin (Wes' son and former Appalachian Trail thru-hiker) Nathaniel is working as part of the Hut Croo. I've climbed Mt Liberty and Mt Garfield (opposite ends of the ridge) but never the Ridge (Sue has, with Wes one summer long ago) so I'm feeling small pangs of jealousy/wistfullness.



Oh how I remember the "Good Old Days" when Laurie & I shared many backpacking trips.

"Now I think I'm going down to the well tonight and I'm going to drink till I get my fill. And I hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it, but I probably will. Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture a little of the glory of, well time slips away and leaves you with nothing mister but boring stories of glory days" (Glory Days by Bruce Springsteen)

Leading the League

I don't actually have all the facts, but I will simply jump to the conceited conclusion that I lead the league in "dumped comments". It makes me feel good to think I am the best at something - even if it's only the talent of irking a friend with smart@$$ comments (gee - I hope she doesn't think that my calling her "a friend" is a smart@$$ comment)

(although I still maintain that I actually complimented her by comparing her to HerMajesty, who not only confidently assumes people are talking about her, but always replies when people mention that somebody was indeed talking about her "are you kidding? People have MEETINGS about me!")

The Garden - before (2005) & after (2007)

The Garden/Patio = circa 2005

The Garden/Patio = circa 2007

and the meek shall inherit (or at least crush their older sibling accomplishments and rub their noses in it)

Mary played basketball, softball, and baseball – and while not overly competitive, she enjoyed playing the games and strived to do well. Typically she did do pretty well and played JV softball in 7th & 8th grade. She opted to not play varsity ball after witnessing from the safe distance of the JV field, the (shall we say) zeal of the varsity coach. When Timmy’s Babe Ruth League baseball team needed bodies, she switched to baseball – platooning at first base and batting cleanup by the end of the year. Coach DiCarlo STILL brags about her.

Tim played one year of soccer (didn’t particularly care for it) and played Little League, Babe Ruth League, and JV baseball. Timmy loved playing and would practice in the yard as often as possible. He had deceptive ability – he looked nonchalant and did not run gracefully, but he could catch, throw (even threw some knuckleballs in Babe Ruth), and had a knack for clutch hitting (with power). He hit a key home run (bounced off the outfielders head and over the fence) in a Little League game, and hit the longest triple I’ve ever seen in JV ball (OK, so it would have been an easy home run for anyone else). In the end, he quit playing baseball at school for much the same reason as Mary. Why do some coaches think that louder & meaner = better?

Corey is the most intensely competitive of the Blauss children. From eight years old, he knew the playing rules and the rules of competition. He knew when to cover the base or play the ball, knew he could tag and score on a caught pop-foul ball. Like Tim, his talent wasn’t obvious – you had to watch the little thing he did right and realize his understanding of the game. His natural physical abilities were not such that he instilled confidence in his coaches. Most of his coaches didn’t rate him as a “player”, and despite all the pre-season coach speeches about hard work in practice determining playing time Corey was keenly aware of the injustice of how the prima dona players could screw up and screw off and still start every game and play the key positions. All Corey ever did was throw strikes (one game with 16 strikeouts despite no fastball), hit in the clutch (sure he could look bad when the bases were empty, but had a knack for starting a rally when one was needed) and make heads up base running plays (6 years later coach Johnson STILL talks about the tag&score on the foul ball play). To this day Corey remembers being on the bench for four innings in a minor league game, coaches who promised he would play certain positions but reneged, and the JV coach who chewed him out for stealing third base (uncontested) in a game they were losing by 19 runs (and he then proceeded to score his teams only run). When Corey realized that no matter what he did, the Varsity Coach was not going to give him any playing time (if indeed he made the team), he switched to cross country. He knew every runner he needed to beat, worked hard and even made league all-stars. Yes, Corey got the Blauss competitive gene for certain. A personality conflict with the CC coach and a collapsed lung made him decide to not run cross country in his senior year.

Julie could care less about sports. What good is softball or basketball going to do for her as an artist & Egyptologist? Because as parents we promote physical activity and sportsmanship, Julie was coaxed into playing baseball/softball and basketball. Oh how the basketball coaches drooled when the nearly 6 foot 6th grader walked onto the court. Oh how they cringed when they realized she didn’t know how to play, and quite honestly didn’t care that much. Although she did have a huge game against the leagues best scorer (shut her down for only 6 points, and scored 10 herself along with key steels and blocks) to win the championship – she would still tell people she played because her parents made her (not accusingly, just matter of fact). At Corey’s insistence, Julie ran cross country freshman year. Although she ran the 3 miles about 10 minutes slower than the top runners, she willingly plugged along. When asked how she liked cross country she replied “I like talking with the other girls on the bus rides, but the running part isn’t much fun” (I never knew cross country had a part besides running). She was happy knowing that if she never crossed the finish line, the times of her much faster team-mates would not count at all – so as slow as she was, she was as equally important a member as her undefeated team-mate. In the spring she switched from running to throwing (it seemed like less work, while still filling the parental request for participating in a physical activity). She tried the shot put and discus. The disc was bad (only around 50 feet) but the shot was worse – so she gave up on the shot put. With only one event, she could get her throws done in about ten minutes and spend the rest of the meet reading or drawing. So now it’s spring of sophomore year and she is competing in her one event again. Strangely enough, she is improving. She started by throwing in the “60’s”, then improved into the “70’s” and quickly into the 80 foot range. When she threw 87+ feet, she qualified for statewide competition. Granted she never expects to throw the improbable distance of her team-mate Kayla (110 feet) but she was quite excitedly anticipating throwing a “90” and then she proudly accomplished it. It also seemed to please her that she was out-throwing some of the “athletes” who were on the track & Field squad with her. Now she discusses the advantages of different techniques (she does better with the style that assistant coach “Jocko” showed her than with what head coach “Frac” prefers). Because of her throw of over 87 feet, she was invited to the State Class Meet where she threw against all of the other qualifying girls from all of the Division 4 teams across the state. She came in third place with a throw of 104+. This means she goes next Saturday to compete against all of the top 4 throwers from each division (I believe there are 5 divisions) which means (while only a sophmore) she is one of the top 20 female discus throwers in the state of Massachusetts. Julie is taking great pride in her accomplishments (which she should) and is excited about her next challenge. And although I don’t know how it is going to help her be a better artist or Egyptologist, I am totally proud of her and happy for her.

Each child has enjoyed the bragging right of having been on a championship team at some point in time.

Funny how the one who cared the least about excelling in sports, has suffered the least amount of disillusionment and has progressed further than any of them.

GO JUJUBEE-AMAZON!!!!!

One Busy Day

Good things come to those who wait.

So I waited until I was 28 before I got married, but she was absolutely worth the wait.

Sue was 20 and our marriage (or more accurately, the two children who soon followed) interupted her college education prior to her completing senior year. But now- 20 years later - she, and the child who made it too logistically difficult to finish school way back when, graduated together from BSC (the only parent/child combo to do so this year).

So the mother who sacrificed her own progress for the sake of her children, and the son who at age two was diagnosed as autistic (later clarified to Hyperlexia) and who benefitted immeasurably from her decision to interupt her formal education and be devoted and dedicated to his (correction = NOT immeasurably, receiving his college diploma is a very clear and impressive measurement) both conquered incredible obstacles to arrive fittingly at the same place on the same day == mother first, son about five minutes later == after listening to a 24 year old 3-time Nobel Peace Prize nominee talk about the importance and priviledge of children receiving an education and how young college grads should dedicate some time and energy helping to make it happen for others less fortunate.

Sadly we missed witnessing Julie receiving the Sacrement of Confirmation - 'tho her sponsor Maureen and her elder sister Mary generously took over the responsibility of her wonderful event so that the rest of us could focus on Sue & Tim's acheivement.

Nikki missed softball practice and Joe missed a game (although I presume both were certainly cancelled due to inclement weather so they didn't actually miss anything).

Corey got to end the busy day by stealing the show (or at least the first half) as the "semi-sadistic" dentist in Carver High's production of Little Shop of Horrors. Once little Joe was convinced that Corey wasn't really dead, he decided that he wants Carver to do the play when he is in high school so that he too can play the part (he would get to say bad words and nobody would actually be mad at him for it!). Yon got to buy a Venus Fly Trap plant duing intermission.

All in all - a very successful day. God is good!

Class of 07

How does she do it?

Within the span of 60 hours (started last night so some items are already completed) she will:

1. be a doting mother of 7
2. be a loving wife
3. be a sympathetic ear to a friend who just had cancer surgically removed
4. work the graveyard shift
5. help save a mans life (literally)
6. counsel others who feel like they might die
7. get kids off to school
8. sleep a couple of hours
9. attend a college dinner ceremony with Tim
10. get Yon home from work
11. be a tired, but still loving wife
12. organize the next days schedule
13. get a couple hours sleep
14. get kids dressed
15. graduate from college
16. miss Julies Confirmation Ceremony but still make her feel special
17. entertain 8 people throuhout a celebratory meal
18. watch Corey perform in the High School Play
19. organize the next days schedule
20. get a couple hours sleep
21. attend church
22. host Joe’s birthday party

(not to mention all of the other little things she takes care of and fits in like cleaning and cooking and attending to everybody else’s needs)

(my goal is to do something to prove myself worthy of her)

Opening Day

Softball season officially starts today with Nikki’s first game. We have been able to practice three times and look as good as any 3rd thru 5th grade team can look. I love the start of softball as it has been an important part of my life for 32 years. OK – sadly I can’t tell you how many years I’ve been married but I can tell you how long I’ve been coaching. Of course gone are the good old days when I was young and single and was not only a head coach of the Hanson 13 – 17 year old travel team (8 years) but also Hanson Girls Softball League President (7 years) and North River Girls Softball League President (4 years) concurrently - and could spend endless hours plotting and planning rosters and schedules and practices and game lineups. Now I am an assistant coach (and with family schedules and commitments, only a part time assistant at that) for Nikki’s team with a new head coach I barely know. So the dilemma is how to be the helper and not let 32 years of experience make me sound like a know-it-all? I don’t want to sound like I’m telling the guy how to coach HIS team, and I don’t want to see him spend a lot of valuable time negotiating the learning curve when I could lead him through it much quicker. See – just explaining it makes me sound like an egotist. I feel guilty over any amount of time I invest in preparation, and worry about offending him. Last year worked out good because Nikki’s coach Gordon had been an assistant coach for me 8 years ago in Little League. So last year even though I wasn’t even officially his assistant – he gladly put me to work with the pitchers whenever I was able to be at the games or practices. Now Gordon is the Carver Girls Softball League President. He tried to convince me to be a Head Coach, but the time commitment is still just too much. But he promises to have a spot for me whenever I am ready because he feels I would be a good influence in the league. I read the list of league guidelines and rules and philosophy that Gordon put together. I think he plagiarized every philosophy I ever espoused when he and I coached together (I was flattered, and he is welcome to steal any ideas I have ever expressed) – so I guess that even if I never get to be a head coach again, I can be happy thinking I did influence the league in an indirect way. Maybe I will figure out how to influence a new head coach in a similar way.

Anyway – although surrounding circumstances have greatly changed (jobs, bills, school, supper, yard work, graduations, band, 4-H, etc.... can all wait until tomorrow), it’s officially softball season, the sun is shining, we’ve not lost a single game, and I am eager to get onto the field. Play Ball!

The Week Ahead - 4/23/07 to 4/27/07

(note 1: that there is no accommodation for preparing & eating supper, or helping kids with homework, or paying bills, cleaning house, etc… these are simply assumed to get squeezed in during spare time)
(note 2: that quality time with kids or spouse is also simply assumed to get squeezed in during spare time)
(note 3: that I will be punished dearly and deservedly so for not scheduling in spousal quality time)
(note 4: that this list is simply from memory off the top of my head without the actual calendar in front of me, so simply assume that I have only included about 2/3rds of the ACTUAL schedule, and that up to 1/3rd of what is written may actually be inaccurate)
(note 5: on any given day if Julie has a track meet instead of practice then we don't acually know for sure when she needs to get picked up)

Monday: (degree of difficulty = a bit tricky with timing)
Sue HUGE 4 hour GRE test at school
3:50 drop off Corey & Yon at work (Shaws)
4:00 pick up Nikki at Elementary School
4:10 pick up Julie at High School
5:15 bring Joe to Little League game
5:30 – 7:30 Joe's Game
Don 5:05 home from work
5:45 -7:30 bring Jamie to Dog Agility 4-H club
8:00 pick up Yon from work
9:00 pick up Corey from work
Tim 5:30 straight from school to Joes game

Tuesday: (degree of difficulty = straight forward)
Sue 8:00 – 2:30 school
4:00 pick up Julie at HS
5:45 – 7:30 bring Jamie & Nikki to Dog Obedience 4-H club
Don 5:05 home from work
6:45 bring Yon to YMCA swimming
Tim 6:45 – 7:45 set up for bingo at church
8:45 – 9:15 pick up Yon from YMCA

Wednesday: (degree of difficulty = straight forward unless Sue also has PTO meeting)
Sue present proposed commencement speech to school Deans
4:00 Drop off Corey & Yon at work
4:10 pick up Julie at HS
7:00 – 8:00 grocery shop & pick up Yon
Don 6:15 – 10:45 band practice (includes travel time to Cape)
Tim 9:00 pick up Corey

Thursday: (degree of difficulty = too complicated, will not actually work out)
Sue 8:00 – 2:30 school
3:45 bring Joe to band practice
4:00 pick up Julie at HS
4:15 pick up Joe from band
4:30 – 9:30 sleep in preparation to work overnight
10:15 leave for work
Don 5:05 home from work
5:15 bring Joe to Little League game
5:55 – 6:45 bring Nikki to softball practice (1st of year)
6:45 – 8:15 bring Yon to YMCA basketball
9:15 prepare Sue’s supper
Tim 6:00 attend Joes game
6:45 – 7:45 take down bingo at church
(this doesn’t actually work, so Yon misses BBall so I can stay until 7:00 end of Nikki’s practice and go back to LL field where Joes game will end around 7:30ish – otherwise they would be left unattended and have to walk home 4 miles)

Friday: (degree of difficulty = not too bad)
Sue 4:00 drop off Corey & Yon at work
4:10 pick up Julie at HS
4:30 – 9:30 sleep in preparation to work overnight
10:15 leave for work
Don 5:30 – 7:00 bring Nikki to softball practice
8:00 pick up Yon
9:15 prepare Sue’s supper
Tim 6:00 – 7:00 bring Joe to baseball practice
9:00 pick up Corey

Happy Birthday & Happy Re-Birth Day

Happy Birthday to Sue
Happy Birthday to Sue
Happy Birthday dear Suzie
Happy Birthday to Sue

and Happy Easter to everybody else!!


(posted one day late,
but as Jesus would probably say when you finally got with the program,
better late than never)

Pulling Rank

After all the grief she gave me about wanting to buy a pickup truck, now that we have it - when we both have to go in different directions at the same time, she wants to drive it. In fact, she even resorts to reminding me of the technicality that it is HER truck.

(but she does look so darned good wearing my plaid jacket, my cowboy hat, and sittin' behind the wheel of my - yes, technicalities be damned, I said MY - pickup truck)

(and wait til Julie starts driving it - also wearing my cowboy coat & hat. Every teenage boy in Carver will suddenly "go Country" and start drooling. There will definitely be songs written about her - think Colin Raye "My Kind Of Girl" or Brooks and Dunn "Rock My World Little Country Girl" - no, I don't want to think about it)

(I'm gonna get stuck sharing the station wagon with Tim, aren't I?)

Truckin' like the Do Da Man

Her Majesty's fathers Malibu has officially died. I have been dreading this moment knowing the sentimental value it holds for her, but have been looking forward to replacing it. We already have the 15 passenger van and the station wagon, so I envisioned that a pickup truck would be viable and useful as the third vehicle. It is the vehicle I will typically drive to work in, go to the dump, pick up hay & grain or a load of mulch with, load a canoe and pond equipment into (if "pond equipment" confuses you, you have obviously never gone swimming with this family), etc...

My only real guidelines were that it was a club cab (with back seat of some sort), less than full size ( for gas economy), and mechanically sound (didn't have to be "pretty").

Well the tax return is in and the truck is ours (notice I say "ours" not "mine").

It is two years older than the Malibu was, but has 40,000 fewer miles.

It is in immaculate condition - body and interior - and fire engine red.

It even has a cap, visor, tow hitch, 5-speed & 4x4 - complete bonuses.

The kids are excited beyond belief.

And because the Malibu was in Sues name, to simply transfer the plates meant that the truck had to be the same.

And because the Taurus was technically sold from her parents estate to her for $1, that car is also soley in her name.

And when we got the money to buy the van, she shopped while I was at work and bought it on the spot - so that ended up soley in her name.

So I don't have a single vehicle with my name on it.

So now it's truly "til death do us part" - because even if I wanted to leave her, I don't have a get-away car!

Thankfully she still loves me and lets me drive HER new pickup truck.

(and nobody can suggest that it reflects a mid-life crisis or 2nd childhood issue for me - it's hers, not mine)

The Parental Dilemma

In a very simplistic nutshell, a successful parent raises a child to be able to make good decisions as an adult.

The dilemma is that after spending 20+ years choosing, guiding, protecting, and overseeing their every move you don’t actually know how well you have taught and how well they have learned – until you step back and let them succeed or fail on their own. This totally contradicts every move you have made for 20+ years. But one day they say “I Do” and you have to say “I won’t”. And then they get confronted with a BIG decision which will raise the all important question – “who makes the decision?” Again, they must say “I Do” and we must say “I won’t” – but it’s not easy. How much advice do you give before it crosses over into telling them what they should do? (When they are kids you basically tell them what to do but try to make it sound like advice) Will I be able to make the transition?

My beautiful oldest daughter Mary is very smart, creative and talented. Her husband Matt is apparently very much her equal in these regards. Their unique talents and focuses are in different fields but there is every indication that they will each excel in their chosen careers. Matt graduated from college and stepped right into his dream job (computer game designer/programmer) almost two years ago. Mary graduated last year and is now working on her masters (Colonial American History/Artifacts - museum stuff) which will take another year still. So in a sense, Matt is three years ahead of her on the career track, and was recently recruited for a prestigious position. What could be better than your dream job? Doing your dream job on a ground breaking project under the direction of Steven Spielberg – that’s what.

But it would require moving to Los Angeles.
But it would be working with Steven Spielberg.
But it would be a major setback in Mary’s career track.
But it would be a top secret project – with Steven Spielberg.
But it would be a difficult move -- logistically, financially and personally.
But it would be a promotion on a top secret project with Steven Spielberg.

In the end we are proud to say they made a wise decision, and I believe in the end, mostly on their own. They recognized that all that glitters isn’t guaranteed to be gold, and that the risk and anxiety and disruption of their current good life was not worth the bragging rights or a promised new life. Matt loves his current job, which he is very good at and his talents are clearly recognized and appreciated. Mary loves her current studies and is clearly honing her talents towards a fruitful future. They love each other and their surroundings. They have a very good life and are smart enough and wise enough to recognize and appreciate and embrace it. They have decided to keep it.

I wonder if this will make it easier to not interfere with their future big decisions. We really had to measure what we said and how we said it. (I think Susie & I did a good job!)

Will it be easier to do the same for the other children when their times come?

At what point do we get to say we were successful parents?

Lent & the IRS

My Lent has been full of waiting and preparing and waiting. I start each day's drive to work (or elsewhere) with an Our Father, and I tack on a request for Him to see me safely to my destination without accident or incident. This is not so much a sacrifice but a necessity - I am waiting for our Malibu to die. It is dieing a slow but steady death and probably (hopefully) won't make it 'til Good Friday. It certainly won't be resurrected by anyone (transmission, front end, suspension, exhaust, ABS system, an unsolved intermittent dashboard electrical problem, and a constant check engine light). So I am preparing to buy a new used vehicle to take it's place. What I really want is a club cab pickup truck (a cap, trailer hitch and 4x4 would be cool but not a necessity). The little kids are ecstatic and Sue has bought into the idea (so now she's hoping for a 5-speed). Tim is leery about the prospects of a truck and a manual transmission, Corey (who should have his license in a few months) figures if Mom can drive a stick so can he, and Julie (who actually can get her permit anytime now) likes the idea of wearing my cowboy hat, driving a truck, blasting Brooks & Dunn and singing at the top of her lungs. So I have been shopping and am prepared to buy. We even (vaguely) have the money, except we are waiting for the IRS to send it so I can't actually do the deal yet. Let me tell you how this little hitch annoys used car salesmen (funny there are almost NO used car saleswomen). They can't understand why I wouldn't just get a personal loan using my pending tax return as collateral, but I know who did the taxes (me) so I don't fully trust that I didn't make some minor mistake that means I owe them $5000 or something.

So we wait, and pray, and prepare, and wait -- not so patiently (I could have really used that 4x4 today with the snow & ice)

Busy Signal

So - can you tell work has gotten busier for me?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to ME !!!!!!

reminder to self: don't be so self-centered

on a positive note: 4 out of 7 children remembered to say it to me, a stunningly high percentage!

Thank you Mary, Julie, Jamie, Joe
and of course darling Suzie

Dear Paula, sorry to ruin your fun

Concerning PJ's Mardi Gras party -- sorry to have tricked you out of your best fun (you were waiting for us to leave so you could tell Kate your sordid story about us).

You overlooked the fact that when we leave, the party is officially over and the vacuum caused by us going out the door sucked all the other partiers out the door with us (you included) therefore leaving nobody to tell the story and nobody to tell it to!

If I must say so myself, you gotta stay up pretty late to out-do us!!!!


(or so the story goes)

no YOW (part 2)

I felt saddened by the unexpect news that the annual YOW retreat has been canceled. I don't know why it was unexpected because I have been speculating after the end of each YOW for the past three years that it may have been the last, and almost every program OYM used to run has been axed. Maybe it was because the announcement came to me through the grapevine and not from OYM (although certain people said they had been told). I was not the only one who showed surprise and dismay over this. And as I surveyed the room full of youth ministers, most of whom were current or former YOW team members, I couldn't help but realize - we could organize and run it independently with the present talent pool, EASILY.

Except for one hitch -- insurance liability.
We would need to be associated with and authorized by an organization with the right insurance rider.

It would be sad to think that the main strength of the what's left of office for youth ministry (and actually that's not even it's name anymore) isn't the ministry it's able to promote but instead is it's access to the Ardioscese insurance policy, or that this great program would die due to the lack of that access.

Where is an independent Boston area Catholic youth ministry association when you need one?

"When I was a boy living at Nenna's House" story - FRIEND OF THE FAMILY

JR was a lifelong Hanson resident with a good job, who never married, cared for his elderly father, and was very generous in subsidizing the needs of his friends and neighbors who had children and financial struggles. Although he never had kids of his own, he certainly loved being with kids and acted like the favorite uncle. Being a childhood friend of my mothers, he regularly dropped in to visit, play scrabble or whist, always brought a huge fruit basket at Thanksgiving. Rumor had it that at one time he was close to marrying my widowed aunt, who’s three young boys could have used a good father. No one was sure why it didn’t work out, but figured he preferred not having THAT much responsibility. After my parents divorced there was a bit of speculation about the possibilities, but I don't think any of us kids believed much in the probability of him becoming a step-father.

JR loved skating and, although he didn’t play hockey, he was a big fan. He brought us public skating in Brockton (brother David was labeled “The Human Zamboni” for the amount of time he spent “cleaning” the ice – although he did eventually become an all-star hockey player). Laurie was in high school and many of her male friends (all of whom’s parents JR knew well) played on the high school team, so trips to Asiaf Rink became weekly events. WHRHS had a powerhouse team and, being the glory days of the Big Bad Boston Bruins, most games included isolated scuffles to full-blown brawls. Our primary job was to hold Laurie back from joining the fray. Occasionally, the rink lights would be shut out (so nobody could see who they were fighting against and might therefore stop) until the Brockton police arrived. Adding to the adventure, these trips always included either early morning stops at the donut shop or evening stops at the Friendly’s where four to ten of us would shoot straw wrappers and ice chips at each other and be too noisy.

JR was inspired one winter night while watching me create a backyard ice rink by patiently sprinkling water onto our patio, eventually building up a solid inch thick layer of ice over the bricks. Being a mechanical engineer he concluded that he could build an outdoor rink in an used field owned by another friend by pumping water from the nearby stream. He invested his own money to scrape and level an area, bring in telephone poles and plywood for boards, acquire real nets. We would go late at night whenever the temperature dipped below freezing, and pump water into our rink. He founded the local youth hockey association and organized their first ever games – played on our home-made outdoor rink, two years before Hobomock Arena was built. Knowing how tight money always was in our family, I have no doubt that JR insisted on helping foot that bill for my mother’s three hockey playing boys - because I know for a fact a number of other kids who got to play solely because of his generosity.

JR loved riding dirt bikes, and Hanson was an ideal location – with hundreds of miles of cranberry bog service roads and old abandoned woods roads. He purchased two Honda SL100’s and two minibikes from Bettencourts. Many weekends he would drive us to his house where we would take turns (with all the other neighborhood kids) first learning to shift and turn and stop, later doing jumps and wheelies and exploring the long abandoned fields and paths between Pleasant, Main and Reed streets. As we became competent riders, he started to let us keep a minibike and an SL100 at our house so we could ride at will. Younger brothers Eric and David both became very skilled and fearless riders and soon were given permission by my mother to try racing in Middleboro. Before long, JR was bringing them to races all around New England along with a few other boys in their age range.

JR was the one who taught us how to dig clams on the mud flats near the Powder Point Bridge. He knew where the best blueberry bushes in the Great Cedar Swamp were. He loved being outdoors. Not being a hunter - he used “Old Bottle Hunting” as a hobby/excuse to explore old stone walls and back woods dirt roads and overgrown foundations of long forgotten houses or barns. Pretty soon we all knew how to read the landscape, determine prime spots to discover a bottle dump, and recognize double eagle flasks and such. Most of us kids and cousins had our own collections growing and read books about how to identify and gauge the values of different types of bottles.

One year JR took a number of us panning for gold in a Maine river and we hiked Tumbledown Mountain. I remember him taking some of us to Paragon park (but we didn’t get to ride the coaster because Frankie from Elm St wasn’t tall enough). Although JR was just a couple of years younger than my parents, he had a very contemporary taste for music. He was a big fan of The Doors and CCR and other 60’s & 70’s bands that most parents simply didn’t care for.

JR had a co-worker who owned a very rustic un-used house in tiny, rural Washington NH. It was right on the Main street (actually, it was about three feet away from the edge of the tar). There was an old wood burning cook stove in the kitchen and a barrel drum wood stove for heat in the living room. Upstairs were two unheated bedrooms whose beds had old goose-down mattresses and quilts. There was an attached barn where the chord wood was stored. We would have wood chopping contests – most wood cut / fastest time / fewest swings/ etc… An outhouse was located in the rear corner of the barn - no working plumbing here – only a hand pump that you couldn’t drink from (some story about a skunk that had died in the well. We didn’t quite believe it, but didn’t dare disbelieve it either). There was an old player piano and a Victrola with thick scratchy records. At night we played Clue, Yahtzee and whist. JR invented and taught us “Washington Whist” – a two player version.

When we got to go there in the spring, summer, or fall we explored lakes and streams and hiked up Lovell Mountain. We investigated the cemetery where the Dole (the pineapple mogul) crypt is located. There were maple syrup farms, an 80 year old lady who cut and sold chord wood, the little gas station/general store right beside the family who had the hay barn with a rope swing inside. Right across the street was a creepy old library, and next door to that – the Silly family. Winter trips meant great sledding on the hill out back or down by the church on the town green, but the water in the wash bowl upstairs would freeze. One year the whole family (including Grammy even) decided to do Thanksgiving in Washington NH. All of the cooking was done in the wood stove, everybody pitched in, and a grand time was had by all. It even snowed, making things feel more like Christmas. After dinner, Grammy reluctantly headed for the outhouse (the cold breeze coming up from underneath was not a pleasant thing to anticipate). Shortly thereafter a loud “THUD” shook the whole house – a car coming down the hill where the road curved to pass by the house slid uncontrollably straight – right into the corner of the attached barn – 10 feet from the built-in outhouse (ooops, where is Grammy?). The occupants of the errant vehicle were all Ok, but Grammy demanded to be brought back to Massachusetts and civilization.

Another unusual but neat place JR occasionally brought us was an authentic Finnish sauna on Furnace Pond in Pembroke. Run by old Finn immigrants, this was our introduction to good old fashioned northern European health care, skin care, clean pores, cold cures, and sweaty old naked men wrapped in towels by the room full (the ladies had a separate adjacent sauna room). There was an indoor shower room, but the real thrill was to go out into the pond in authentic Finnish fashion. In the winter you would timidly go in about waste deep and squat down, and if you stayed very still the water around you would actually warm up from the heat of your body. But if somebody wanted to “get” you, they would jump in next to you – disrupting your warm water zone, and your would feel the freeze! One evening we actually had to break a thin skim of ice to get into the water. Still, this was more fun than warmly showering with naked old men.

When I was officially too old to skate in youth hockey, JR talked me into coaching and found a team that needed an assistant. He was always a good source of advise, and being the league president, what advise he offered was well worth listening to. He was impressively knowledgeable on a wide range of topics, very systematically could figure out who had what for trumps in their whist hand or who held which suspect/weapon/room card in “Clue” games. He was about 6’2” tall, clean cut and athletic, always keeping the crew cut and physical fitness habits learned from his days in the service. He was a confident debater, an insightful evaluater of people, who despite being financially very well off never flaunted or acted better than anyone else. In short, he was the ideal person to emulate – even though I was always a bit jealous that he paid more attention to my younger brothers, cousins and neighbors than me.



PS:
Now, for all of you readers who’s VIRTUS training antenna’s have been zapping uncontrollably through all of this – congratulations. This was a “text book case”. Rumors had even been prevalent around town, and some parents wouldn’t allow him near. But Uncle Mac and Dad assured Mom that although gay might be a correct label, they felt that nothing more than that was likely. Many friends & siblings (myself included) expressed complete confidence that nothing inappropriate had ever happened. Mom was distraught and torn – not wanting to believe but not able to deny - when years later a Marshfield man (former childhood friend of my brothers and a former member of JR’s young entourage successfully brought JR to civil court (criminal statute of limitations had since passed) and key corroborating testimony was given by a very close relative. In hindsight – with this knowledge and the general acquired wisdom of adulthood, it is so easy to see and even predict with complete confidence who the other of his “favorites” were.

Certainly my pain of being betrayed by a role model doesn’t hold a candle to the pain suffered by his victims, but the haunting questions of how things might have been different for me, or how easily things could have been prevented for others, or how such a good person can be such a bad person linger to this day – for me and many others I’m sure. If I erase the final two paragraphs, these are stories about some of the best times of my teen life. Are they now to be viewed as bad times? Many of the interests that are still near and dear to me today developed in large part from JR’s positive influence on me. Are they now tainted? Am I?

Let It Be

"When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me speaking words of wisdom"

Another thing I am not -- is a "clothes" person. Other than to keep warm, dry, and presentable to others, I do not spend much time contemplating clothes. I have had a couple of favorite articles in my lifetime, though (usually a tee-shirt with a smart or smartass expression). Last Christmas I received a hooded sweatshirt with the title "Let It Be" and the classic photo arrangment of the four Beatles from the album of the same name. I love it because it was given to me by a loved one, and that I grew up as a big Beatles fan (as were so many who went through their formative years during the 60's). As a music lover and a musician, I have often been in discussions concerning the Beatles popularity and cultural importance. It started way back when debates would be over who was the greatest band - the Beatles or the Dave Clarke 5 (yes, you youngsters who don't know any better - The Dave Clarke 5 ---- ya had to be there!). I'm happy to say that I was on the winning side of that arguement. My children have often gotten me to dispense wisdom on the historical importance of the Beatles and why they are indeed the most importance influence on popular rock music ever. But my approach was always simply matter-of-fact, of course it's true, unquestioned belief. But recently I noticed something that has gotten me to think deeper. Inveritably, when I wear my Let It Be shirt - people comment about it. Total strangers - young and old - randomly comment about it. Little kids recognize it and are proud that they know who those four faces are - and make a point to let me or their parent know it. Older people react as if they have been instantly brought back to a simpler, happier time - and make it a point to make some expression as if to tell me as much. I was a bit confused as to why my wearing this shirt seemed so important to so many people. I loved the Beatles, but it's not like they changed my life or anything. But maybe -- maybe they did?

I was nine when I first heard them. I was certainly too young to comprehend the mania surrounding them. But I remember that my dad and Pete Grover and Sonny Hefler and Billy Howland would sit in the living room on friday nights playing guitars and singing (we called it our hootanannie) - and I remember the unbridled excitement when Pete brought that first "Meet The Beatles" record with the other classic photo (black & white, semi-sihloetted, 3-in-a-row and 1 set lower than the others, mop-topped). I remember the four local wanna-be guitarists listening to and copying all of the songs - over and over. I remember staying up to watch the Ed Sullivan Show, The Beatles, the screaming audience. I remember learning to play guitar (along with my sister Laurie and cousin Tommy), buying or borrowing any Beatles record we could get our hands on and figuring out chords and harmony lines. I remember discussions of who liked which Beatle best and why (me / Paul -- it wasn't just their music, but they themselves that people clung to), I remember heated arguments with Tommy about whether Paul was really dead or if it was just a publicity brainstorm by them or their management and listening to records played backwards. I remember the disbelief and disappointment over them breaking up way to soon.

So maybe they didn't change or save my life - but they certainly are an integral and important part of the fabric of my life and were therefore part of the creation of my personality and life's direction - and it must be the same for so many others. Now like so many of us and our own lives, two out of four are dead - one taken too young and one of health and age issues. One struggles financially and professionally but still plugs quietly along. The fourth appears to be successful and relevent, still doing OK for himself despite some recent relationship issues. They seemed to represent our lives back in the 60's and evidently still do. They were excitement and change and hope of youth, and today we wistfully remember those good old days. And evidently when people see my shirt it becomes an instant time machine for baby boomers and it is a trigger for youngsters who are proud to show their knowledge some of the most significance men of recent history. They were indeed more famous than Jesus at their peak (or at least people treated them as such). That claim never upset me because they themselves were humble enough to recognize that people were misled to treat them that way, and they had tried from day one to be simple musicians who just loved making music. I sometimes wonder if to this day too many people still revere them more so than Jesus. We would be better off if Jesus was the more noticeable fabric of our lives instead of the Beatles. I admit I sometimes feel a sense of true peace when I am at church, but I ALWAYS can achieve that level of bliss by putting on my headphones and Rubber Soul. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, but maybe I shouldn't. My guess is that God was a big fan of the Fab Four. He certainly bestowed unto them abundant blessings in their hey day -- and through them, we too were blessed. Many of us continue to be reminded of those blessings .

"Let It Be"

Parents, Teens, and Faith

I stood along the back wall of the chapel with all of the Confirmation teachers while Father M was wrapping up a Confirmation Class. Mrs. DRE was trying to get the teens to sing along with a YOW type song – complete with hand motions. The teens were mostly non-committal and chit-chatting amongst themselves – either ridiculing the adult’s efforts or of topics completely unrelated. The teachers started to quietly comment (complain) amongst themselves about the teens lack of interest in the immediate happenings, their lack of enthusiasm for church in general, and (biggest fear of all) possible rejection of the importance of faith (or at least their reluctance to actively participate and openly express their faith). As the teachers conversation progressed, individuals started to relate how they themselves didn’t go to church as kids – or hated being dragged to CCD – or didn’t get involved until they got married or had their own children. Now these are sincerely and happily and actively Christian people, of whom a surprising number (myself included) either didn’t become Catholic, or get confirmed or get “it” until much beyond their teen years (the predominant time frame was late 20’s to 30’s). They were basically upset – feeling that although they themselves didn’t grasp the value when they were teens, these teens should now be able to learn from our mistakes and accept the truth now and bravely show it.

Myself, I was raised (vaguely) as a Congregationalist, switched to Catholicism after our children were born (took the Readers Digest edited and condensed version of Confirmation with the BSC campus priest) and didn’t do a whole lot with it until my oldest was in high-school. I guess I always had a basic but uneducated belief in God + Jesus, but didn’t get too involved until my wife (who had been a Catholic School girl and who’s father had nearly become a Priest) decided we should do something to create a youth group sort of thing (similar to the old CYO model she grew up in) that our kids could get involved with at Our Lady of Star Market. Mrs. DRE got me to a “Leaders Retreat Weekend” which would prep me to later chaperone a YOW (Youth Outreach Weekend) evangelization retreat in New Hampshire with a dozen kids from our church. I knew nobody but met lots of Youth Ministers, listened to their stories, felt the spirit, had an experience – which I then got to expand on with the kids on the YOW Retreat. And there was music – new music – God music, but unlike any that I had ever encountered at any church service I had ever been to. And what the performance of the music lacked in technical competence, it made up for in enthusiasm and raw power.

So there we were – a group of adults, active and faith-filled all, confessed late bloomers nearly unanimously, believers and followers of the greatest and most influential man in history who himself at the wedding in Cana – even though he had quietly started gathering disciples around him - had to be pushed by his mother into making an open public display (as Jesus at 30ish years old was still claiming that he shouldn’t be made to do this yet!)

It is therefore easy to see that my conclusion is this - while it is good and right to try to teach the importance of faith and belief (building a foundation in our children), we don’t need to be overly concerned if they don’t “get it” or openly display it until what time they are ready to. Children in amazing numbers follow in their parent’s footsteps – no matter how hard they try to reject us during their teen years. As long as we blaze a clear path and keep it well lit and maintained our children are likely to follow it sooner or later.

The Dog Days of Winter

I was always a cat person – not that I didn’t like dogs (although it always appeared that they didn’t care for me) but growing up we never had dogs. Grampa Roddy had a beagle named Dinah that howled a lot when we walked through the yard, and step-brother Billy had a Weimaraner named Dusty for a while. Billy shipped out to sea and Dusty stayed, until his constant jumping the fence became too much trouble. Meanwhile I would get bit doing my paper route and even Golden Retrievers would growl at me while hiking. Then I married HerMajesty – the ultimate dog lover (if you’ve seen her with a baby, put a dog in it’s place – same effect).

Now I must admit we have owned some fun and friendly dogs over the years. Currently we have Lily the shy Bearded Colley, BamBam the uber-friendly Pomer-chon (1/2 Pomeranian, 1/2 Bichon), and Champ the gay Beagle (male dog who ADORES men).

Every December there is a big dog show at the Bayside Expo and as part of HerMajesty’s Christmas I bring her in for a day. She always contemplates which breed she should get into when she someday decides to show, or which breeds would be good for the various kids when they get to have their own purebred someday. Of course, she would always try to get me to commit to a breed(s) that might interest me. As I have indicated, I’m not specifically a dog person – but I admire a lot of the super-sized dogs. Using the disclaimer that “if we had the money and lots of land” (fenced in – fencing is expensive so the less likelihood of it ever becoming a reality) I could see myself with a Newfoundland, a Bernese Mountain Dog, a Great Pyrenees, or my true favorite – an Irish Wolf Hound (seriously – I’m 6’3” and a bit shaggy myself and like to be different and stand out, and not so seriously – they have a short life span).

So again we spend the day with the dogs, with HM reveling in the sights, sounds and smells of a thousand dogs in a large but enclosed space, with me tagging along carrying her chair and soaking up the overflow of love (cause some of that abundance of love is likely to spill onto me if I’m not stupid and blow it).

This year had an extra element to it. Our Jamie joined a 4-H dog agility club and is training BamBam, and HM has a college professor who shows nationally in agility. So we spent a good period of time and attention to this sport. Far different than showing for conformation where the handler simply puts the dog on display for a judge who compares it to the description of what the perfect example of the breed should look like, this is a SPORT (NOW you’re talking my language)! This is a personal challenge! This is a very skilled trainer teaching a very smart dog to follow some very difficult maneuvers through a very complicated obstacle course at a very fast speed! The dog can get too excited and make a mistake which loses time or points, or the handler can make a mistake which confuses the dog into going the wrong way. But winning or losing is totally based on ability, intelligence, strategy and being on the mark on a given day – and performing better & faster than the competition on that day. Not much different than a relay race, a hockey game, or doubles tennis (except that the dog is ecstatic at the finish line win or lose). THIS I could get interested in. And this can be done with any dog – granted some are better suited than others (I'm thinking my future WolfHound would not be a natural - envision a small horse going through the weave-poles! - I would have to downsize to something zippier), but there are different qualifying times for each breed. So you can have your dog for loving companionship, train him to be reliably obedient, and then get the challenge of true team competition – and if you are an adrenalin junkie, get a Border Colley and it becomes an Extreme Sport!

OK – so at my age and with our lifestyle and finances (or lack of) I am pretty safe. It’s highly unlikely that we shall go beyond Jamie and BamBam and 4-H exhibitions – but now I can honestly say to my wife “if we had the money and lots of land” and not have it sound like a blatant easy excuse out. The tightwad builder in me says “give me some plywood and PVC piping and I could make those obstacles cheaper than buying them”. So if you see me in the side yard with some strange contraptions everywhere, give my cats a pat – they may be feeling neglected.

"The Dance" (for a moment, wasn't I a king)

Lookin' back,
On the memory of
The dance we shared,
Neath the stars above
For a moment,
All the world was right
How could I have known,
That you'd ever say goodbye?
And now, I'm glad I didn't know
The way It all would end
The way It all would go
Our lives, Are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain,
But I'd have had to miss
the dance.

(The Dance by Garth Brooks)

There goes the bride

"Goodbye. Be happy. I love you Mary!"

I am usually supportive, but....

so HerMajesty is taking a criminal psycology course at college. I think it's great - her finishing her degree. But this week she has a test about spousal homocide.

I hate to sound unsupportive but I'm thinking I might feel better if she flunks this one!

no YOW

YOW officially starts in 20 minutes, and I am not there :-(

I had almost forgotten but at 5:30 PJ called to ask if I had a wireless mic he could borrow (which I do and he can). So between finishing supper and going to rescue a disabled car at the mall, I fit in running to the church to grab my mic, running to south Plymouth, to drop it off (and spending a few minutes saying hi to the team). Shawn is doing the music, and he is excellent (I kid that I hope not too excellent, but I kinda mean it too!). During a prep meeting, I gave a "for instance" to explain how I would pick an opening song - one that everybody would know, upbeat, sing-along-able. Recent animated movies seem to be good for providing songs for YOW - we've drawn from 2 Shrek movies in recent years - so I simply offered as a for instance "Life Is a Highway" remade by Rascal Flatts for the "Cars" movie. To my surprize, that is the song he chose to open with. Thanks Shawn - for in your own little way letting me be there in my own little way. Funny how some things become a part of you so easily. I LOVE YOW, the planning, spending the year listening for potential YOW songs on the radio, meeting with the team, performing, watching and helping the kids transform from reluctant skeptics to eager participants to sad-that-it's-over proud-to-be-Catholic teens - all in about 40 hours. They have more kids this year than in recent years, but I can never understand why it isn't sold out and demanding a second weekend like in the good old days --- it is just such a tremendous retreat experience (for the kids and leaders alike)

YYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW

Daddies Little Girl

I've been doing fine. I have my task list to focus on. She's been gone at college for the bulk of the past four years so I've already gotten used to it. But tonight as I was dropping Yon off to swim at the Y, Butterfly Kisses came on the radio.


Unfair sneak attack. God shouldn't need to sucker punch me like that. Damn, I was doing so good up until then.

the punch line is "a baby in a microwave"

"I don't need no one to tell me about heaven I look at my daughter, and I believe. " (from song Heaven by the band Live)

I have three beautiful daughters to whom this lyric easily applies, but last night it was all about Mary. In nineteen days, my Mary will have a different last name than the one I gave her 22+ years ago. "HerMajesty" and "Her Harlequin" looked through the boxes of family pictures - particularly focusing on those that documented the life and times of "the Princess". Newborn polaroids, baby 35mm, toddler instamatics, all the way through digital images of the bridal shower -- the ever-evolving child is documented through the ever-evolving photo-technology. Through it all one can see the big blue eyes taking it all in, the cheerful, inquisitive, and fun-loving expressions - the unmistakable love of life. Most of the photos were taken by HerMajesty - who always has a knack for capturing an emotion or a "look" in even the most ordinary (seemingly) shots. During our journey through the past, Mary came in and got caught up in the process. It was such a pleasure watching the expressions on her face as she looked at herself; the excited recognition as some long forgotten moment returned, smiles for a childhood toy, sympathy for a foster sibling long since moved on, or amusement over a picture she had never seen before.

One day when Mary was 6 weeks old, HM was out for the afternoon and it was just me and Mary home having quality time together. I decided I should take some pictures of her and wanted just the right settings. I propped her up with my guitar across her lap, I tucked her into her little baby seat with my headphones on - all very cute and humerous. But then I thought about Nannie. Being a premie baby nurse, she had a silly sick love of "Baby" jokes (what's red & white and hangs from telephone wires? a baby run over by a lawn mower). Why she thought these were funny is any psychologist's guess, but her favorite one was "what's brown and knocks on a window?"

So I just had to take THAT picture! Well Mary had apparently never seen that particular picture. The look on her face when she realized that baby was indeed her, and that she was indeed inside a microwave (oh stop it - the door was wide open). Such a fun moment. The good news/bad news is that sometime (probably soon) we will go through them all again / but have to decide which ones to give to her and which ones we can keep. Thankfully we did lots of double-prints developing.

It's going to be real hard giving away my little girl - both in person and in photographs.

One of Her days - or - some day off

I can't complain because it is a rare day for me but common for her.
My day off from work:
6:30am = wake up and get kids ready for school (Carver)
6:50am = see middle kids off
7:15am = call HerMajesty to make sure she is awake as she drives home from work
7:25am = check oil in older kids cars and see Mary off to work
7:40am = welcome HerMajesty home
8:10am = see little kids off to school
8:15 am = see Tim off to college
8:30am = treat HM to breakfast out
9:00am = post office
9:15am = put HM to bed
9:30am = dump run (Rochester)
10:00am = call school nurse (Carver)
10:15am = bank stop
10:30am = get medical form from school nurse
11:00am = feed HM's bunnies
11:30am = work in garden
12:00pm = sew new patch onto referee shirt
12:30pm = stop at dry cleaners
1:00pm = grain store (Hanson)
2:00pm = doctors office (Brockton)
2:30pm = Grossmans Bargain Outlet (Brockton)
3:00pm = pick up Amy (Brockton)
3:30pm = get Yon ready for job interview (Carver)
4:00pm = bring Yon to Shaws
4:30pm = drop off presciption at CVS
5:00pm = drop Julie off at friends house
5:15pm = pick up at CVS
5:30pm = cook supper/ make driving arrangments for Corey/Amy
6:00pm = serve supper
(things slow down here)
7:00pm = walk Nikki to friends house
8:00pm = give Joe a hair cut
8:15pm = give Jamie a hair cut
8:45pm = check emails and write blog
----
still left to do:
9:20pm = prep Sue's supper
10:15pm = see Sue off to work
5:00am = wake up
5:30am = drive to Dorchester
7:00am to 8:30am = ref hockey games (Dorchester)
11:15am = bring Nikki to basketball tryouts (Carver)
12:00pm = pick up Julie

(rest up for Danvers saturday night, Sunday morning hockey Bourne, afternoon hockey Hingham)

so don't get upset when I'm not showing the proper sympathy when you tell me about your busy day!!

and this is just a typical day for Her!

The true meaning of Halloween

People talk about how we forget about the “true meaning” of Christmas and of course this is a very important issue. We should not allow society to alter the basic fundamental reason for and acknowledgement of Christ entering the world. But what about other holidays? There are plenty of stories about the origins of Halloween, but it seems OK that this night has transformed into something more modern – or at least is treated much differently than in times past.

Last night it was a time for children (and kids-at-heart) to loosen up, to be excited about doing something frivolous, to plot and plan about something that has little meaning and likely has no consequences. My little ones selected costumes and make-up (there was no fear of being “wrong”). 15 year old Julie and friends (without direct parental supervision) determined which streets to trick-or-treat on (they are all nearby side streets, mobbed with little ones and parents, and aside from a few mouthy middle-schoolers trying to be cool – totally trouble free). 21 year old Timmy’s goal was to be home from college in time to not miss any trick-or-treaters. 22 year old Mary talked 22 year old Katie (her bridesmaid) into dressing up and going out, then raced home from post-grad college classes to catch up with the gang. Corey casually went to work because none of his friends were going out this year (too old), but when he got let out early – raced to catch up with Mary. No house refused them candy on the grounds that they were too old. 32 year old Yon lost the battle with Katie over who got the cow costume, and settled for the clown suit – and then had to battle Tim over who passed out candy to the next group.

1/4 mile away is “the development” with 8 intersecting roads, hundreds of kids and hundreds of dollars of goodies on every street. Parents are dressed up, yards are dressed up (the merging of art & technology is impressive). Jeeps & ATV’s towing tricked-out trailers (expanding the range of youngsters whose little legs would never take them so far) are equally impressive.

I loved that even my “too old for this stuff” kids could throw caution to the wind and decide to not be too old. And it occurred to me that this is something that society desperately needs. A chance to be silly, creative, young, carefree, out after dark, mingling with strangers, getting rewards for no logical reason or accomplishment (other than for making the afore-mentioned choices). Our lives and our kid’s lives have become so intense, so focused on advancement, so fearful of failure, so devoid of pure fun – we need this night. We need to be ghouls and pirates and ninja’s and cows and clowns for a foolish night – just to get a break from being US. We need to make decisions that DON’T affect what college we might get into. We need to put on a uniform that won’t come with a critiquing coach. We need to step outside of our established boxes and be creative and artistic in whatever medium we choose.

As much as I wish Christmas would stay true to it’s origin, I am very pleased that Halloween has evolved into what it is today – meaningless, foolish, lavish, fun. As much as we need our lives to have deep meaning for our souls sake– we also need it to have moments that are free from any deep meaning for our sanity’s sake.
Happy Halloween!!!