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)
Friday, March 16, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
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
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
Thursday, February 22, 2007
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)
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)
Monday, February 19, 2007
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?
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?
Monday, February 05, 2007
"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?
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?
Saturday, December 23, 2006
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"
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"
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, December 11, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
"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)
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
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!
I hate to sound unsupportive but I'm thinking I might feel better if she flunks this one!
Friday, November 10, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
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.
Unfair sneak attack. God shouldn't need to sucker punch me like that. Damn, I was doing so good up until then.
Monday, November 06, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, November 03, 2006
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!
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!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
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!!!
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!!!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
When Fall Comes To New England
Autumn! Fall! Call it what you will, I love it! For many people spring is THE season – new beginning, rebirth, the whole Easter/flowers/bunnies feeling, new baseball season. And I admit it – those first warm days (over 45 degrees) with a brilliant blue clear sunny sky and you wear a T-shirt – definitely make me want to skip work and go hiking in New Hampshire. But September and October is my time of year. Days are comfortably warm with dry clean air and you can lug 35 lbs on your back without over-heating. Canoeing on water (still warm) surrounded by exquisite foliage colors only makes you wish the days were longer so you could paddle forever.
Nights are “see-your-breath” chilly – perfect for evening campfires and toasty warm sleeping bags and hot chocolate. Mosquitoes don’t exist anymore. Many years I took a week’s vacation in mid-September to hike or camp. Kids are back to school, grownups are back to work, the woods are empty and quiet, and you can pick any site you want at any campground. Some of my best backpacking trips were done in mid-September or over Columbus Day weekend. Vermont’s Long Trail, Acadia National Park, White Mountains – all near perfect, making me wish I had taken two weeks off. I want to play outside. I want to work outside. I want to live in the New Hampshire mountains. One of my few regrets is that I don’t get to go hiking or canoeing very often any more.
The other “new” about Autumn is the start of a new Youth Hockey season. I loved the anticipation as a player, and now as a referee for the past 23 years I still look forward to getting the skates on and being a part of the game. It’s exercise, it’s hobby, it’s challenge, it’s teaching, it’s learning. Each year I have the same wish that other referees would call games tighter. Each year the head honcho’s who run the mandatory seminars and insist that we crack down which will make the games better in the long run. It is encouraging to be part of an organization that is always striving for self-improvement (and means it), even when they don’t improve as much as they hoped. Next year they will come back trying all the harder. And the games are fun. The Mite-C players - 7 & 8 year olds who can barely stand up on skates – treat each game like the Stanley Cup finals. When you have never played before, every game is the most important one you have ever played. I get to help them learn - in some ways better than the coach can (I can talk to the player at the face-off or while skating and quietly give hints or advice one-on-one. The coach has to wait until the player returns to the bench – and both have long since forgotten the exact play to be discussed). Even the older players can benefit from some friendly advice – even if it is while I am closing the penalty box door for him. I can treat a penalty as a teaching opportunity instead of a punishment for doing wrong. Even hormone-fueled teenaged boys appreciate a calm word of instruction over an irate tirade from the coach. I get to take on as many hockey games as I want – fitting them into the weekend at my own (the families own) convenience - or choosing to not take games on a day or weekend when we are just too busy. It’s good Christmas money on top of all the other reasons I love hockey. Sometimes I think I would like to play again (there are lots of leagues for guys my age) but the thought of paying to play over getting paid to ref keeps me in a striped uniform for now.
And then there are the fall holidays! Columbus Day was always a great get-away time. Three days for camping, hiking, sight-seeing. I still can’t believe that the camera malfunctioned on the Mt. Garfield trip – some of the best scenery I have ever been witness to. I hate that I don’t get the day off from work anymore.
Halloween was always a big holiday at my childhood home. First, the idea of people giving you free candy was incredible. Later, the exhilaration of sneaking up to toilet paper a friend’s house without getting caught was addictive. Me, Mark & Dave Tanner, Dana Colley, occasionally others, later my girlfriend (Sue) and friends Eileen and Corey– we prided ourselves on our artistic ability. No heaving whole roles into the tree branches. We decorated shrubs and bushes and lawn ornaments (I even got onto Mr. Robinsons porch roof and tied a toilet paper scarf around the neck of the wooden eagle on the chimney --- and they were expecting us!) as if we were doing gallery work to be judged. We only did our friends houses, people who found humor and appreciated our efforts. One Halloween, Dana’s father wouldn’t let him go out with us – worried that we would get in trouble – and told us not to do his house. Dana TP’ed his own house that year just to get revenge. One year Caron and Kendra lay in wait for us, determined to catch us in the act. After they realized we had come and gone – successfully – Caron came out looking for us. The police happened to come by just then and scolded her and confiscated her softball bat. We were hiding about ten feet away in the bushes. Those days of youth (ok – I was in my late teens and early twenties) are gone but the feelings never leave.
So it’s Autumn, I’m wistful, I’m happy, I am antsy. Luckily for Mary I wouldn’t have gotten away this fall for any grand adventures – so I can’t blame her wedding on my not living my dreams. She will be starting a whole new life this fall. I get to give her away. I wonder if she will feel like I do about fall (that would be nice). I wonder if this will change how I feel (I doubt it).
To sum it up – here is one of my favorite songs
When Fall Comes To New England Words And Music By: Cheryl Wheeler
· When fall comes to new england The sun slants in so fine
· And the air's so clear You can almost hear the grapes grow on the vine
· The nights are sharp with starlight And the days are cool and clean
· And in the blue sky overhead The northern geese fly south instead
· And leaves are Irish Setter red When fall comes to New England
· When fall comes to New England And the wind blows off the sea
· Swallows fly in a perfect sky And the world was meant to be
· When the acorns line the walkways Then winter can't be far
· From yellow leaves a blue jay calls Grandmothers Walk Out In Their Shawl
· And Chipmunks Run The Old Stone Walls When fall comes to New England
· The frost is on the pumpkin The squash is off the vine
· And winter warnings race across the sky
· The squirrels are on to something And they're working overtime
· The foxes blink and stare and so do I
· 'Cause when fall comes to New England Oh I can't turn away
· From fading light on flying wings And late good-byes a robin sings
· And then another thousand things When fall comes to New England
· When fall comes to New England
Nights are “see-your-breath” chilly – perfect for evening campfires and toasty warm sleeping bags and hot chocolate. Mosquitoes don’t exist anymore. Many years I took a week’s vacation in mid-September to hike or camp. Kids are back to school, grownups are back to work, the woods are empty and quiet, and you can pick any site you want at any campground. Some of my best backpacking trips were done in mid-September or over Columbus Day weekend. Vermont’s Long Trail, Acadia National Park, White Mountains – all near perfect, making me wish I had taken two weeks off. I want to play outside. I want to work outside. I want to live in the New Hampshire mountains. One of my few regrets is that I don’t get to go hiking or canoeing very often any more.
The other “new” about Autumn is the start of a new Youth Hockey season. I loved the anticipation as a player, and now as a referee for the past 23 years I still look forward to getting the skates on and being a part of the game. It’s exercise, it’s hobby, it’s challenge, it’s teaching, it’s learning. Each year I have the same wish that other referees would call games tighter. Each year the head honcho’s who run the mandatory seminars and insist that we crack down which will make the games better in the long run. It is encouraging to be part of an organization that is always striving for self-improvement (and means it), even when they don’t improve as much as they hoped. Next year they will come back trying all the harder. And the games are fun. The Mite-C players - 7 & 8 year olds who can barely stand up on skates – treat each game like the Stanley Cup finals. When you have never played before, every game is the most important one you have ever played. I get to help them learn - in some ways better than the coach can (I can talk to the player at the face-off or while skating and quietly give hints or advice one-on-one. The coach has to wait until the player returns to the bench – and both have long since forgotten the exact play to be discussed). Even the older players can benefit from some friendly advice – even if it is while I am closing the penalty box door for him. I can treat a penalty as a teaching opportunity instead of a punishment for doing wrong. Even hormone-fueled teenaged boys appreciate a calm word of instruction over an irate tirade from the coach. I get to take on as many hockey games as I want – fitting them into the weekend at my own (the families own) convenience - or choosing to not take games on a day or weekend when we are just too busy. It’s good Christmas money on top of all the other reasons I love hockey. Sometimes I think I would like to play again (there are lots of leagues for guys my age) but the thought of paying to play over getting paid to ref keeps me in a striped uniform for now.
And then there are the fall holidays! Columbus Day was always a great get-away time. Three days for camping, hiking, sight-seeing. I still can’t believe that the camera malfunctioned on the Mt. Garfield trip – some of the best scenery I have ever been witness to. I hate that I don’t get the day off from work anymore.
Halloween was always a big holiday at my childhood home. First, the idea of people giving you free candy was incredible. Later, the exhilaration of sneaking up to toilet paper a friend’s house without getting caught was addictive. Me, Mark & Dave Tanner, Dana Colley, occasionally others, later my girlfriend (Sue) and friends Eileen and Corey– we prided ourselves on our artistic ability. No heaving whole roles into the tree branches. We decorated shrubs and bushes and lawn ornaments (I even got onto Mr. Robinsons porch roof and tied a toilet paper scarf around the neck of the wooden eagle on the chimney --- and they were expecting us!) as if we were doing gallery work to be judged. We only did our friends houses, people who found humor and appreciated our efforts. One Halloween, Dana’s father wouldn’t let him go out with us – worried that we would get in trouble – and told us not to do his house. Dana TP’ed his own house that year just to get revenge. One year Caron and Kendra lay in wait for us, determined to catch us in the act. After they realized we had come and gone – successfully – Caron came out looking for us. The police happened to come by just then and scolded her and confiscated her softball bat. We were hiding about ten feet away in the bushes. Those days of youth (ok – I was in my late teens and early twenties) are gone but the feelings never leave.
So it’s Autumn, I’m wistful, I’m happy, I am antsy. Luckily for Mary I wouldn’t have gotten away this fall for any grand adventures – so I can’t blame her wedding on my not living my dreams. She will be starting a whole new life this fall. I get to give her away. I wonder if she will feel like I do about fall (that would be nice). I wonder if this will change how I feel (I doubt it).
To sum it up – here is one of my favorite songs
When Fall Comes To New England Words And Music By: Cheryl Wheeler
· When fall comes to new england The sun slants in so fine
· And the air's so clear You can almost hear the grapes grow on the vine
· The nights are sharp with starlight And the days are cool and clean
· And in the blue sky overhead The northern geese fly south instead
· And leaves are Irish Setter red When fall comes to New England
· When fall comes to New England And the wind blows off the sea
· Swallows fly in a perfect sky And the world was meant to be
· When the acorns line the walkways Then winter can't be far
· From yellow leaves a blue jay calls Grandmothers Walk Out In Their Shawl
· And Chipmunks Run The Old Stone Walls When fall comes to New England
· The frost is on the pumpkin The squash is off the vine
· And winter warnings race across the sky
· The squirrels are on to something And they're working overtime
· The foxes blink and stare and so do I
· 'Cause when fall comes to New England Oh I can't turn away
· From fading light on flying wings And late good-byes a robin sings
· And then another thousand things When fall comes to New England
· When fall comes to New England
Thursday, October 05, 2006
My kind of baby
My sister Heather at 9:51pm 10/5/06 delivered Jessica Alyson (or maybe Allison) - her first child, my 10th niece. I will happily visit, Susie will greedily hold her (get her baby "fix") and we will return home WITHOUT it!!!!
In case you couldn't guess, HerMajesty was a bit excited as I called her (she was on her way to work) at 10:30.
"JESSICA ALYSON! 7.4lb! WHAT COLOR HAIR? HOW LONG? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T ASk?
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LET THE KIDS TALK TO HER BUT YOU DIDN'T? CALL YOUR MOTHER BACK RIGHT NOW ON THE OTHER PHONE WHILE I'M ON THIS ONE!
So I call but the line is busy. SuB hangs up
So I call my mother back again but who is already on the line with her? You guessed it!
In case you couldn't guess, HerMajesty was a bit excited as I called her (she was on her way to work) at 10:30.
"JESSICA ALYSON! 7.4lb! WHAT COLOR HAIR? HOW LONG? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T ASk?
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LET THE KIDS TALK TO HER BUT YOU DIDN'T? CALL YOUR MOTHER BACK RIGHT NOW ON THE OTHER PHONE WHILE I'M ON THIS ONE!
So I call but the line is busy. SuB hangs up
So I call my mother back again but who is already on the line with her? You guessed it!
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Peaceful Meadows
Dad (Don Sr.) worked for many years at Peaceful Meadows Farm in Whitman. It was a short walk from the house he grew up in and was owned by his good friend Billy Hoag. I can remember going there with him and walking through the cow barns and being nervous that one might swat me with a tail or worse - poop on me. There were some chicken roaming freely, a cool hay storage room, and strange piping and equipment. I think dad was more of a maintenance man and machine operator (not a herdsman) and he occasionally drove a milk truck. The milk trucks were so exciting - with bins filled with little ice chips, milk, butter, eggs, etc...
(actually, another guy was the driver who came to our house and us kids would "sneak" into the truck and grab a few ice chips to eat while he brought the milk in - yes, the milk man delivered to our house will dad was away!). During the summer, Dad drove a supply of milk to Camp Squanto in Myles Standish Forest. I was amazed at how BIG the main dining hall seemed and there was a HUGE moose head hanging on the wall. As a little kid I was greatly impressed. Sometimes for a treat we would drive to the farm and get an ice cream cone (which is what Peaceful Meadows has been famous for over the past many decades). You could take your cone and walk inside the barn and look at the cows (and flies and poop) and even some goats.
I stopped there on my way home from Brockton today - got an ice cream and picked up a gallon of milk. There are only two cows left - a mother and calf for display. With Mr. Hoag old and ill and no local herdsmen to be found, the herd has been fostered out to a farm in Springfield. A bunch of friendly but unknown teens worked the ice cream stand. The woman in the store didn't know who Mr. Hoag was. Barns are empty and fields are getting over grown and new houses are encroaching all around. The Toll House (which was a mile up the road and a night job for Dad as a cook) burned down many years ago and replaced by condos and a Wendy's. Dad's childhood home (about halfway between the two) burned down 10 years ago, replaced by an AutoMart. Get ready to say goodbye to an icon and a childhood memory and a link to my personal history.
(actually, another guy was the driver who came to our house and us kids would "sneak" into the truck and grab a few ice chips to eat while he brought the milk in - yes, the milk man delivered to our house will dad was away!). During the summer, Dad drove a supply of milk to Camp Squanto in Myles Standish Forest. I was amazed at how BIG the main dining hall seemed and there was a HUGE moose head hanging on the wall. As a little kid I was greatly impressed. Sometimes for a treat we would drive to the farm and get an ice cream cone (which is what Peaceful Meadows has been famous for over the past many decades). You could take your cone and walk inside the barn and look at the cows (and flies and poop) and even some goats.
I stopped there on my way home from Brockton today - got an ice cream and picked up a gallon of milk. There are only two cows left - a mother and calf for display. With Mr. Hoag old and ill and no local herdsmen to be found, the herd has been fostered out to a farm in Springfield. A bunch of friendly but unknown teens worked the ice cream stand. The woman in the store didn't know who Mr. Hoag was. Barns are empty and fields are getting over grown and new houses are encroaching all around. The Toll House (which was a mile up the road and a night job for Dad as a cook) burned down many years ago and replaced by condos and a Wendy's. Dad's childhood home (about halfway between the two) burned down 10 years ago, replaced by an AutoMart. Get ready to say goodbye to an icon and a childhood memory and a link to my personal history.
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