There’s a 2×4 board in our basement.  That in itself is rather unremarkable, there’s lots of 2×4’s in our basement but this one runs vertically from the floor to the ceiling, and although I’m no expert at construction this one seems pretty important.  It’s part of the support structure for the stairs, but that’s not the only reason I think it’s pretty important.  This 2×4 has a series of lines and numbers on it starting about a third of the way up.  You see this is the 2×4 that I would back my son up to and tell him to stand straight and tall, then I’d put a ruler on the top of his head and draw a line.  He’d step back from this board and then we’d measure it to the floor…this 2×4 and the lines and numbers on it represents his growth chart.

The first date on the board is January 30, 2008.  We moved into this house in April of 2007 and if I would have been smart I would have measured him the day we moved in, or maybe on his birthday in August or a specific day every year like New Years Day, but for some reason January 30 is the first date.  Looking up that date, it shows that it was a Wednesday, and not much really happened on that day.  It was probably a cold winter day in Michigan and we were probably in the basement playing after dinner.  He would have been 6 years old then, still small enough to ride his little bike in the basement.  He’d go down there and just ride around doing laps for about an hour.  As a parent is there anything better than an activity that keeps your kid busy for an hour and it tires him out?  Or we might have been playing floor hockey with mini floor hockey sticks and some makeshift nets and a ball. Some time during the evening I must have had the idea to measure him.  The numbers next to the line say 3′ 10″.  Looking at it now it comes just past my belly button.  He was still small enough to pick up and carry around, small enough to hug and kiss whenever you wanted, small enough to still wrestle around with for fun.

It would be a year and half later before I measured him again, July 16, 2009 and the numbers next to it say 4′ 2″.  A little bit bigger but certainly no big growth spurt yet.  I sit here wondering why were we in the basement on a summers evening in July.  Perhaps a summer thunderstorm blew in and chased us inside for the rest of the night.  During that time we had a cat who lived in the basement, mainly because our dog would chase her to the basement whenever she tried to come upstairs.  She would usually be sitting in her box on the shelf watching over us, she had learned the hard way to stay away from the small child on the bike or throwing the ball around.  If there was a thunderstorm she would make herself even scarcer, hiding behind boxes until it was over.  She passed away last year but sometimes I still expect to see her down there in her box on the shelf.

The lines and numbers continue February 16, 2011….February 8, 2012, wow almost exactly a year apart, good job by me, and then March 3, 2013.  He had grown to 4′ 11″ and then just 5 months later another line and he crossed the 5 ft. barrier.

Then a curious thing happened, there are no lines and numbers for the next 4 years.  Not until July 12, 2017 and by now he’s 5′ 11″, the same height as me.  I sit here trying to recollect why didn’t I measure him during that time period and I honestly don’t know why.  Four years, that’s a long time.  He went from being 11 years old to being a teenager, that had long since past his mom’s height.  The years just seemed to pass, he went from the little kid riding his bike in the basement to the kid playing lacrosse, going to friends bonfires, and talking about high school.  It was all just a blur and the lack of lines on the 2×4 seem to represent that.

He had his 16th birthday last month, he’s up over 6 ft. tall with long curly hair.  The little kid with the buzz cut who’s shorter than me is only seen in pictures now.  He passed drivers education and went and got his license.  He’s got my old car, and I bought a new one.  He runs cross country on the high school team and he’s able to drive himself back and forth to practice  On weekends he goes over to a friends house for team bonfires and as he goes down the driveway I stand looking out the window.  He pauses at the end of the driveway, he puts his turn signal on, I wonder how long that’ll last.  I picture him looking left, then right and then left again like I taught him, and then slowly pulling out onto our road.  As he disappears down the road with his newfound sense of freedom, I can’t help but think…I hope he follows his dreams and has no regrets.

 

Thought for the day….

Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be.  But what will happen in all the other days that ever come can depend on what you do today….

Hemingway

 

 

 

 

 

It was the end of a long work week. Only 5 days long but one of those weeks that seemed much longer.  Too many deliveries, too many miles, the days running into each other.  I drove home on Friday night wanting to unwind, shake off the week, end it on a positive note.  Although dinner was waiting, I had no interest.  I checked with my wife about her plans for the evening, she had none except for a book and the couch, evidently her week was also long and frustrating.  I usually like to work out as soon as I get home, lift some weights perhaps do some yoga to unwind, but tonight felt different.  I wanted to be outside, wanted to take advantage of a beautiful summer evening  at the end of a difficult work week.  My bike was calling me.

I hopped on and began my regular route, a 16 mile loop through the back roads and farmlands around my house.  Within the first mile of my loop is a freeway overpass, a short little climb that gets the legs moving and the heart pumping.  Whenever I’m on one of my rides I’m always accompanied by the voices in my head.  The voice that talks to me about work, how I can do better, how I should have handled a particular situation.  Sometimes that voice stays with me for a long time, tonight I pushed that voice aside quickly.  Then there’s the voice that talks to me about my teenage son.  This voice tells me about the things I should be telling him as he approaches his 16th birthday, things he needs to know, responsibilities that need to be met.  Some of these are things I wish somebody had told me when I was his age, not that I always would have listened.  Then there’s the random voice, talking to me about friends or other family members, my aging parents and their declining health.  Usually these voices stay with me for the first couple of miles, and there’s always one constant voice…the voice on my phone app tracking my distance……

distance traveled 1 mile

time 5 minutes and 33 seconds

speed 12.4 miles per hour

split speed 12.4 miles per hour

I reach a straight paved stretch of road that has very little traffic on it so I know I won’t have to move off to the shoulder.  It’s a 4 mile stretch on a slight decline, so slight you probably wouldn’t notice it in a car, but on a bike, it’s noticeable.  I’m in a rhythm now, the up and down of the pedals, the sound of the chain as it goes around, the hum of the tires on the pavement.  Only one voice in my head now, all the others have been pushed aside, no longer bothering me, no longer a distraction…..

distance traveled 5 miles  

time 25 minutes and 16 seconds

speed 13.6 miles per hour

split speed 15.2 miles per hour 

That was a fast mile, I wonder if I have a tailwind but the flag on a passing house stands limp.  I’ll probably pay for the increased tempo on the way back, but for now it feels good, the miles passing quickly as I pass fields of corn ready for harvest and pastures of cows grazing at the end of the day.

I turn onto the bike path that connects our small town with the nearest one to the south.  On a weekend ride, when I don’t have anything else to hurry home to, I might ride this path to the next town extending my ride to 20 or even 25 miles, regretting the last few miles as my legs feel like jelly and my ass gets sore from the bike seat.  As the summer day is quickly becoming a summer night, I only stay on it for a mile and then turn for home….

distance traveled 8 miles

time 41 minutes and 11 seconds

speed 13 miles per hour

split speed 13.8 miles per hour

The paved road I’m on quickly turns to a dirt road and an ever so slight incline and I know the long slog home has begun.  The dirt road is bumpy and uneven, my tempo decreases and I feel like I’m going so slow as I weave back and forth across the road trying to find a flat stretch.  I no longer look at my surroundings, only focusing on the 20 feet immediately in front of me.  The voice tells me of my progress……

distance traveled 12 miles

time 53 minutes and 44 seconds

speed 13.5 miles per hour

split speed 12.4 miles per hour

Another slow mile passes but I’ve made one last turn for home.  It’s a 4 mile stretch and I know the worst is over, the dirt road smooths out and I know it will soon turn back to pavement.  I pass a house that has one of those little free library’s at the end of their driveway.  I’ve always wanted to stop and peruse the books to see if there’s anything that would catch my interest.  I should probably bring a small backpack because I would probably find more than one book and then how would I navigate the last few miles home holding books as I steer.

distance traveled 15 miles

time 1 hour and 9 minutes

speed 13.4 miles per hour

split speed 12.8 miles per hour

One mile to go and I see the freeway overpass.  Just a short climb and then an easy downhill all the way to my driveway.  I check behind me to see if anything’s coming, there’s not, then I shift gears, rise out my seat and begin climbing.  As I crest the overpass, I see a vehicle approaching from the opposite direction.  As it draws near, I suddenly see a small brown object catch my attention in my peripheral vision.  It’s a fawn about to jump the guardrail and cross the road.  All three of us, the fawn, the vehicle and me are converging at the same place and time.  At the last second the fawn becomes spooked and heads back down the hill, back to the pond by the freeway.  The vehicle passes, probably never even seeing the fawn.  I coast down the hill pondering what just happened.  If that fawn had jumped that guardrail it probably would have crashed into me or just avoided me, either way I probably would have lost control and fell towards the oncoming vehicle.  The driver probably would have been startled and not having room to maneuver on a freeway overpass….well….

I spread my arms out wide, lean back as I far as I feel comfortable and feel the warm summer air rush over my face and body as I coast down the hill to my driveway…

distance traveled 16 miles

time 1 hour and….

I turn off my phone app and just enjoy the silence

 

Thought for the day….

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about…..

Be kind….always

 

 

 

 

Last day of school….let those words sink in, think about them and what it means.  Say it out loud…last day of school.  Even to adults those 4 words bring back powerful memories.  At the end of every school year I hear those 4 words and I get a little bit jealous, I think about the absolute joy the last day of school brings to kids, perhaps only Christmas morning brings more joy and excitement.

I hear those words and I dream for a few minutes how wonderful it would be to have the summer off, to sleep in if you wanted to, or to rise early if that was your way.  To have no plans and still have a day filled that left you wishing there was more time.  To spend hours with friends not because you’re in the same class or school, but because you want to be with them, to do stuff or do nothing at all, and quite frankly either option is fine.  So for a few minutes I’ll dream of that summer vacation and make summer plans.

I want to ride my bike for miles and miles and miles until my legs burn, and only then will I turn around and head home knowing it’s going to be a long slog back.  I want to find a trail I’ve never been on, and ride or run it hoping it takes me somewhere I’ve never been but nowhere in particular, and then back to where I started again. I want to enter a local 5k race that starts early on a Saturday morning and run like I used to with joy and happiness not worried about how I’ll feel next day.

I want to kayak in the river and swim in the lake maybe on the same day.  I want to stick my hand into a cooler filled with ice and find a bottle of beer on the bottom that’s so cold and refreshing that I drink it down in 3 long gulps.  I want to lay in my hammock on a hot summers day and read a book until  it falls out of my hands because I have fallen asleep.  I want to have bonfires in our backyard as day turns to night and roast marshmallows and make s’mores.  I don’t really even like s’mores but a lot of people do and I like to watch other people eat them as they get all gooey and sticky.

I want to walk along a beach and watch the waves make my footprints disappear behind me, erasing my presence seconds after I was there.  While I’m at the beach I’ll sit in the sand, bury my feet and wait until the stars come out and then I’ll lay back and just be there.

I want to see fireworks in all their glory light up the sky and watch the wonder and amazement in the eyes of little kids.

I want to sit on my deck, and watch the fireflies come out blinking here and there like little lighthouses of the bug world.  While I’m sitting there I’ll watch the bats come swooping around the yard, fluttering wildly from the front yard to the back chasing and (I hope) eating thousands of mosquitoes.

I want to attend a minor league baseball game with my son, a game where I don’t care who wins or loses and I don’t know any of the players, I just want to watch baseball on a warm summers night played by guys who just love the game.  Speaking of baseball, I want to fall asleep with my phone, used to be a transistor radio, under my pillow listening to a game from the west coast, a far away destination like Los Angeles or Seattle and listen to the radio announcer describe the action as I drift off to sleep.

I want to eat ice cream, perhaps every day, although I shouldn’t and try to find a place that makes sundaes in little baseball batting helmets, and then I’ll take the helmet home and wash it out and add it to my collection.

On the longest day of the year, the summer solstice, I’ve always wanted to see the sun rise over the lake on the east side of our state, Michigan,  and then later drive over to the west side of the state and watch it set into another lake that night.  A perfect beginning and end.

Thought for the day…..some pursue happiness, others create it

 

I started playing tennis again.  This in itself is not earth shattering news except for the fact that I can’t really remember the last time I played. It’s probably been 20-25 years since I seriously hit a tennis ball around.  About 5 years ago I tried to get my son interested in it.  We went out a couple of times and hit the ball around but it never caught his interest.  My dad got me interested by dragging me to the courts with him.  I think my mom made him take me to get me out of the house and doing something, he played with a buddy once a week and I followed along.  He’d give me a ball and tell me to hit it against the backboard while he and his friend played.  Sometimes I’d hit the ball over the backboard and fence and have to go search for it, eventually that became less frequent and I became good enough to hit with my dad.  I remember hitting the ball off our garage door which was made of wood and had these panels.  I became accurate enough that I damaged the one panel so that my dad had to keep nailing the panel back into the door.  I took lessons in the summer at the local courts, and when I got older I went to a week long tennis camp at the big state university.  I lived in the dorms, ate in the cafeteria and played tennis for 6 hours a day…best week of the summer.

Tennis became my thing.  I was a tall, skinny kid.  My basketball career ended when I was cut from the high school JV team.  I never even tried football, I’m quite sure I would have had various body parts broken, and my baseball career ended early in Little League when I got plunked in the square of the back by a hard throwing but wild side-arming pitcher.  After that I always had one foot in the proverbial bucket if not dugout, which is good for not getting hit, but not good for actually hitting.

Tennis was my thing and I was into it, lived it, breathed it, read books and magazines about it, lamented why there wasn’t more tennis on TV.  I had a few friends and of course they also played.  We spent many a summer nights at the courts.  We’d go late after all the “beginners” had gone home.  We were serious or so we thought.  There was nothing worse than being on a court with a couple of beginners on the court next to you and their stray balls kept rolling onto your court interrupting your play.  We knew when the lights came on and more importantly when the lights went off, and there were many a night we were the last ones on the courts as the lights flicked off and we were left scrambling to collect the balls in the dark.  Eventually one of us would pull our car up to the fence and turn on our headlights to find that one ball that had disappeared into the darkest corner.  Surprisingly, none had us had girlfriends, but that’s another story.

In a cruel twist of fate, my high school did not have a boys tennis team.  The millage failed to pass before our freshman year and a bunch of the minor sports got cut.  When the millage passed a year later only some of those sports were reinstated.  There was a girls tennis team but not a boys one, and no, I’m not still bitter about that.  Although I’m not the only one who has that feeling, whenever I see one of my old tennis playing buddies its a guarantee one of us will say something like…”can you believe they had a girls tennis team and not a boys team, what the hell was up with that.”

Sometime during my 20’s, the buddies I played tennis with started moving away, moving on or both.  Spouses were acquired, soon babies followed, eventually I followed suit and the couple of hours on the weekend that I used to play tennis were taken up by pushing a stroller, then by kids activities, then the dreaded organized kids activities, and next thing you know your helping coach one of your sons teams and you have equipment in your garage and the team tents are transported in the back of your truck.

My tennis racquet used to be in a prominent place in my closet, the master closet right in the master bedroom.  I don’t remember when, but my beloved old Wilson wood racquet became banished to the basement, and not just any part of the basement, but that far dark corner of the basement where the light doesn’t seem to reach as strongly and it always smells a little damp and musty.  In fact a lot of my old stuff seems to end up in this corner.  A box of trophies, yes there are some tennis ones, and yes I should probably get rid of those, my old baseball cards and no I’m not getting rid of those, and also my tennis racquet, one step away from the donation pile.

I was talking to a friend at work a month ago.  We were killing time waiting for freight to arrive, chatting about sports and what we used to play back in the day.  Much to my pleasant surprise she said tennis was her sport and that she had been on her high school tennis team.  I asked if she still played and she said it had been awhile, maybe like 10 years since she had seriously hit the ball around.  She thought she still had her racquet kicking around in the garage somewhere, it had survived various moves but she actually hadn’t swung it for quite some time.  We decided to get together when the weather became nicer and just hit the ball for awhile to see if either one of us still could.  Both of us must have been a little apprehensive about playing again because we both made clandestine visits to the local courts to hit the ball off the backboard to knock the rust off our swings, and then we agreed to meet one Sunday morning at 9:00.

We’ve played 3 times now, and I’ve never had more fun playing tennis than these last 3 weeks. We’ve progressed to where we’re playing games and sets, and sometimes she wins and sometimes I win, but I honestly don’t care about that, I’m just happy to be back out there on the courts again.  We laugh and joke around and even do a little good- natured trash talking (she’s originally from New York so she’s much better at that than I am).  She’s very good, you can tell she used to play a lot and she’s competitive in a good way.  She surprises me sometimes with her ability to chase down shots I thought were winners and yet she gets them and usually hits winners past me.  We always play on court 3, the net appears to be at the right height unlike on some of the other courts, and there’s less cracks and less puddles after it rains.

I used to dislike it when my opponents played well, I wanted to win all the time, tennis was my thing so I had to show everyone I was good at it.  I had to beat my dad, could never stand to lose to my friends and my little brother who hardly ever played, well I showed him no mercy.  Now, its different, and not just because my knees ache the rest of the day after I play.  I want to play well, but mainly I just want to have an enjoyable experience for both of us.

I hope she plays as well or better than me every time.  I revel in those times we have a long rally or when she hits a winner past me.  I want her to do well and get better, and mainly I want to play something I loved once before, but forgot how much I loved it, but rediscovered it on court 3 at 9:00 on Sunday.

Thought for the day…..If you can meet with Victory and Defeat and treat those two imposters just the same

 

My job as a courier for a package delivery company takes me to many places every day.  Depending on the route I’m doing, some days I go to lots of businesses, and you get to know the people on a first name basis.  You know the stops that can be difficult, the packages usually heavy and plentiful. You get to know which stops the people are friendly and which stops their miserable.  And, of course you get to know which stops have the cute receptionist that is willing to sign for the packages.  I might linger at those stops a little longer, ask them about their weekend or their family.  Some days I have a lot of residential deliveries, the stops unmemorable unless there’s an aggressive dog there.  I’ve been bitten twice, most of the people I work with have been bitten at least once, and we all remember those houses.

I occasionally have deliveries for senior citizen, assisted living facilities.  In the elevators there is usually a posting of the activities for the week.  It’s usually a rotation of bingo, chair exercises, movies and sing along nights.  I silently think to myself that I’d rather be dead than live in one of those places, but I’m sure the people who are living there never thought they would end up there, but age and circumstances led them there.  For most people there, it’s probably the best thing for them and once you accept that fact you can get on with living.

A few years ago I had a delivery to one of these places.  It was early afternoon, just after lunch time, the dining room was empty, the tables cleared as I walked toward the kitchen where I heard the workers conversing loudly over the sound of dishes being washed.  I almost missed him as I walked past, but there was a solitary older gentleman sitting by himself at a table looking out the window.  All the other residents had left the dining room, some were probably doing some afternoon activity like crafts or playing cards, others were probably watching TV and napping.  He was the only one in the dining room and he was just looking out the window, he didn’t see me as I walked by either time, once on my way to the kitchen and then on my way back.  He never moved , he just sat there looking out the window.

I’ve often wondered what he was thinking, alone with his thoughts on a random Tuesday afternoon.  The romantic in me likes to think that he was remembering a long ago lover and their short but passionate love affair.  He thinks about her in quiet moments and softly says her name out loud so he doesn’t forget it, he wonders whatever happened to her and mostly he wonders if she still thinks of him as he thinks of her.

Or he might have been thinking he wished he had a dog to take for a walk on such a beautiful day.  He’d take it to a park and let it off it’s leash and let it run around freely, perhaps he’d have a ball to throw to him and the dog would bring it back enthusiastically.

Maybe he was thinking he wished he still had a car and he could just go for a ride, maybe he’d end up at the beach and he’d watch the sunset into the lake.  Then he’d drive to the local ice cream stand and get a banana split with whipped cream and eat it quickly before the ice cream melted.

Perhaps he was thinking about his time in the service, the friends he made, how they promised to be friends for life.  Some of those friends never made it back and he thinks about them every day.

I think about this older gentleman every time I have a delivery to one of these places.  I wished I would have stopped, I had a couple of minutes, heck I probably had 5 minutes.  I could have stopped and asked him his name and how is day was, maybe ask him what his career was or if he had any advice for a young guy.  What struck me the most was the absolute silence of the place.  It was so silent I could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, the endless march of time.

As the years have gone by I wonder if I really saw him, was he really there or was he a figment of my imagination, or perhaps I was seeing myself years in the future.

 

Thought for the day…

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?

 

 

I ran into an old friend the other day.  She was leaving somewhere as I was going in, we literally bumped into each other.  It had been years since we had seen each other, we both said that at the same time as people often do when its been years since they’ve seen each other.  We were part of a group of friends that all used to hang out together years ago.  We would all get together for dinner or drinks, or go on outings together.  Over time people got married, some got divorced , others started families, people moved on, the group started breaking up and we all saw less of each other, until the only time we saw each other was when we bumped into each other, someone leaving somewhere as someone else enters.

After about 5 minutes of catching up on jobs, families and what other friends in the group were doing, the conversation started to lag, there were awkward pauses.  She said she had to be somewhere, I don’t remember where, but she left me a question to ponder.  She said someone had just asked her this question and it really made her think, and now she was asking everybody she knew the same question.  She said she wanted a thoughtful response,  I could take my time and text her the answer in a few days and with that she scribbled her cell number on a piece of paper and gave a quick hug and hurried off.

If you could have dinner with one person in the history of the world, living or dead famous or not, known to you or just somebody you always wanted to meet, who would it be?

I pondered the question all the way home and was still thinking about it as I lay in bed that night.  Who would it be?  Perhaps a famous president like Lincoln or Washington and we could discuss great moments in American history.  Maybe another founding father like Alexander Hamilton, although I would have to try to explain to him why there was a hip-hop musical about him and the other founding fathers.  I laughed as I thought of this, my knowledge of hip-hop is probably as limited as Alexander Hamilton’s and I’m afraid dinner would be a disaster.  I’ve always enjoyed sports and famous athletes, a dinner with Babe Ruth would certainly be memorable or maybe Jackie Robinson.  Or maybe a famous comedian like Robin Williams, that would be an interesting dinner, you could just say anything and off he would go and you could just sit back and watch him, dinner as performance art.

I was still thinking about this question as I was shaving the next morning.  I was also pondering if I should shave my goatee, it had turned all gray in the last year and I was worried it was making me look old.  As usual I was over thinking the question, about dinner and the goatee, the answer, about both, was literally staring me in the face.  It was someone I knew but also didn’t know at all, someone with an interesting story who had overcome hardships, someone who’s story I should know better.  The answer about the goatee would have to wait, the answer about dinner was easy, it was my grandfather.

My paternal grandfather was an old man from the very first time I remember him.  As a kid, every old person seems old but he seemed really old.  He was short with gray hair and glasses, he walked slow and occasionally he would argue with his wife in a foreign language.  We would see him at holidays and a couple of other times during the year when we would visit.  Usually it was on a Sunday and we would have the traditional two o’clock Sunday dinner.  I never actually remember doing anything with my grandfather, no outings to the park or store, no playing catch in the yard.  We would just go over and visit, and I would think to myself….he’s very old.

But, I would choose my grandfather for this unique experience because you see my grandfather was an immigrant.  The details of his journey to America and the life he led are not known to me, perhaps I have not been as curious as I should have been.  He immigrated from the Slovak region of Europe.  It was probably after World War 1 but before World War 2.  He was part of the great wave of immigrants coming to America lured by the American dream.  I would start there, asking him about the old country, asking him about the hardships and difficulties of every day life and what had he heard about America that enticed him to pack up and leave.

I’m sure like most immigrants of that time he arrived with the clothes on his back and maybe all his possessions in one suitcase, maybe a few dollars in his pocket.  I would want to know how he ended up in Detroit, had he heard about the growing auto industry and that there were good paying jobs available?   I would ask about my grandmother, a woman I had never known, she had died when my father was quite young.  I would want to know all about the hardships of an immigrant in America, the language issue, did he know people already here who helped him get settled?  Did he face anger and discrimination being an immigrant?  Did people think that there were too many of “those people” coming over to take their jobs and use the system without really contributing?  And most of all I would ask about my father and his siblings and what life was like  in Detroit in the 40’s and 50’s when Detroit was one of the greatest cities in America.

I imagine we would drink some cold beers and finally I would take out my phone and show him some pictures, although I’m sure that would be a 10 minute conversation about why my phone was in my pocket and how did I have pictures on it.  I’d show him pictures of my son, his great grandson.  I’d tell him his great grand son was a pretty good kid who was growing up quickly and had ambitious dreams for the future.

I would tell him that life was good, and I would thank him for taking a chance and being brave, more brave than I could ever imagine, for coming to America and overcoming great odds and hardships and for being a good father to my own father.  I know he must have been a good father because my own dad is one of the most kindest, gentlest, patient souls around and he must have got that from him.  I imagine we would share one last long hug before going our separate ways, far richer for the experience.

 

Thought for the day…..

Those who are truly open minded are not easily offended

 

 

 

Ski season is winding down here in Michigan.  It never seems to last long enough, it either starts too late or it ends too early.  Here it is the middle of March and its just about over.  I always plan on skiing more than I actually do, whether its work or family commitments the season just slips by and I’m left wishing I had gone a few times more.  In Michigan we don’t really have mountains to ski on, we have hills.  Sure we have some big hills and some medium sized hills, but I get to the bottom of them and I always wish they were longer.  Sometimes it feels like you spend more time riding the chairlift than you do skiing.  Because of that you can meet some pretty interesting people on the chairlift.

The most bro-tastic chairlift ride was with two college dudes who happened to attend the same college I did 30 years ago.  What commenced was a rollicking conversation as I quizzed them about some of the bars that I had frequented and if they had also been there.

“So is the Cabin still there I asked,”

“Oh dude that”s a great bar, that’s the first bar I went to in Mt. Pleasant.”

“How about the Wayside”

“Of course dude, that’s where you go to pick up chicks.”

I was a little disappointed that they had not heard of the Pub.  The Pub was a little bar in downtown Mt. Pleasant , it wasn’t very big and I think all they had was a jukebox, but it was a great place to hang out with your friends and drink and talk.  It also had Thursday night drink specials featuring 2 for $5 Long Island ice teas.  If you were going to go to the Pub on Thursday nights and drink Long Islands then you either didn’t have Friday classes or you were blowing them off.

They said they would have to check and see if the Pub was still around.  By this time we had reached the top of the hill, we fist bumped each other and went our separate ways with them bellowing at me “have a great run dude.”  Ah, college kids, don’t ever change.

Another memorable ride was with a high school girl who didn’t even realize I was trying to talk to her.  This was because she had her ear buds in listening to her music.  She was kind enough to take them out and indulge me in some conversation.  Although she spoke flawless English, she had a wonderful European accent.  She said she was an exchange student from Germany and when I remarked how great her English was, she said it was mandatory that every student learn English beginning in the third grade.  I’ve always thought that Europe does some things better than us and their willingness to learn multiple languages is definitely one of them.  She said that she had been skiing since she was 3 and that every year year her parents took them on a ski trip to the Italian alps.  I said she must be a little disappointed skiing in Michigan compared to the alps and that she needed to go out west to ski on some mountains comparable to the alps.  I saw her many times that day, she was an excellent skier and with her ear buds in and music playing she seemed to be having a wonderful time.

Another memorable ride was with a precocious young girl who was not skiing but was snowboarding.  I asked her how she was doing and she took one big breath and said the following with no pauses or stops or anything…

“I’m doing fine, isn’t it a great day, its so beautiful today, my dad works here so I’ve come out every weekend since they opened which was Thanksgiving weekend, I taught myself how to snowboard, well I did take one lesson but all the instructor wanted to teach me was how to stop and I already know how to do that, I wanna know how to go fast.  I keep trying to go over the jumps but sometimes I fall but it doesn’t hurt or anything.  I have a brother and he snowboards too and he’s better than me right now but I told him someday I’m going to be better than him.  I have a special needs sister and on Thursday they have a program here that lets special needs kids come out and a bunch of volunteers help them ski, my sister has spina bifida  so they put her in a sled and ski down the hill with her in the sled.  Isn’t that a great program, you should see the smile on my sisters face.”

By now we had reached the top and I had maybe interjected a “wow” and a “really” into the conversation.  My head was spinning with everything she had told me and I seriously needed to take a break.  She jumped off the chair said over her shoulder “see ya.”  What I really wanted to tell that little girl was…don’t ever change.

The one person I wanted to ride in a chairlift but never got the opportunity to was “Batman.” I’m not kidding, there’s a guy who dresses up in a full Batman costume and skis all over Michigan.  I’ve seen him a couple of times this year, he has his own Facebook page called “Batman on the slopes.”  I’ve remarked to other chairlift companions as we’ve watched Batman ski down a hill that you have to be a pretty good skier to wear a full Batman costume and ski, you can’t be a beginner or even average.  And believe me Batman is good.  The funny thing is I’ve never seen Batman actually ride a chairlift or even be in a chairlift line, but he’s always at the top of the hill or on his way down.  Hmmm…makes me wonder how Batman gets to the top of the hill.

There were many other memorable people I rode up the hill with this year…the guy who insisted on putting the safety bar down because he had issues with heights and then proceeded to tell me about the new skis he just bought and how great they were.  I bought new skis this year too, but I don’t tell everyone about them even though they are great and better than yours.  The lady from Romania who lived in Chicago and was with a ski club from the Chicago area.  The two middle school age boys who talked cattily about their friends the whole ride up the hill….and I thought only middle school girls did that.

I was on one of the last rides of the day, the hill was clearing out, the sun was disappearing, the wind had started to blow, it was getting colder.  I was riding in the chairlift by myself lost in my thoughts, reflecting on what a great year of skiing it had been.  The season had passed too quickly, I hadn’t skied enough, there were missed opportunities when I should have been skiing but I wasn’t.  I noticed a lone skier coming down the hill, it was my son.  He’s only been skiing for 3 years now and he’s still needs to improve his skills but he loves skiing, loves being outside, loves going fast.

I realized what I was going to miss was the long car rides with him to the hill, sometimes the miles passing in silence, sometimes him remarking about my taste in music, (I’m stuck in the eighties), and sometimes his opening up about what was happening in his world with school and friends and such.  I was going to miss our ski day lunches in the crowded lodge as we ate a brown bag lunch we hurriedly packed that morning…a sandwich, a can of Pringles, some fruit, trailmix and maybe some jerky.  And most of all I was going to miss watching him improving and getting better each time we skied, him loving the same thing I do.

I had reached the top of the hill and I quickly jumped off the chair and raced down the hill…I had one more chairlift ride of the season and I knew who it was going to be with.

 

Thought for the day…

When you forgive, you don’t change the past you change the future

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last Sunday I went for a walk in the woods.  It was a cold, overcast winter day in Michigan.  One of those gray days that makes you wonder when was the last time you saw the sun, but in reality it had probably only been a couple of days.  I was sitting around the house, there was nothing on TV I wanted to watch.  I’m not one of those people that “binge” watches an entire season of a show in one weekend.  I know some people do that, and if that’s you that’s fine, it’s just not me.  I had finished a book a couple of days before and I hadn’t decided what to read next, and although there were probably a couple of projects around the house to do, I wasn’t really in the mood to get started on them.  In other words I was restless.

As an afterthought, I asked my teenage son if he wanted to join me and much to my pleasant surprise he accepted.  He was sequestered in his room under the guise of doing homework although I suspect he might have been watching “you tube” videos or “snap chatting” with friends.  My son had reached that age, 15, where he wants to spend less time with his parents and more time with his friends, either in person or in the virtual world. He’s an outside kid at heart and he might have been feeling a little cabin fever which is why he accepted my offer.  I thought this might be a good opportunity to have some father and son time, to talk with him about how things were going in his world, his adjustment to his first year of high school.  We pulled on our coats, hats, gloves and boots and headed outside.

We have a 4 acre piece of property with half of it being an open field and then farther beyond that a thicket of woods.  If the first 5 minutes were any indication it might be a pretty quiet walk as my son was silent as we traversed the open field.  But there must be a certain magical quality about the woods for as soon as we entered them my son started opening up as if the great towering trees would hold all secrets that couldn’t be discussed in the open field.  During the warmer months of spring, summer and fall my son regularly walks our property usually at dusk and then reports back to us on all the wildlife he has seen, the number of deer grazing off in the distance, the flock of turkeys strutting around. He probably knows the property as well as anyone except his grandpa who has lived out here for almost 50 years.

“I’m going to be getting my permit this week” he started with.  Ah yes, his driving permit.  Is there anything more frightening to a parent than the thought of their kids beginning to drive? It seems like yesterday I was wiping his nose and cutting his meat and now I’m going to be handing him the keys to a vehicle?  I didn’t want to tell him, but at times it actually frightens me to think of him driving.  I drive for my job so I see it every day, the distracted drivers, the angry drivers, the distracted angry drivers.  I keep trying to impress upon him the importance of being a safe, defensive driver and not letting friends dictate how you drive and for gods sake never drive and text. I’ve said all this to him numerous times and I hope he has listened, so now I just told him that it’s a major responsibility and a milestone moment as a teenager, but it’s a privilege that can be easily taken away if he’s careless.  He gave the typical teenage “huh huh, I know.”  God I hope so.

The woods were very quiet on this Sunday as if the cold had forced all creatures to hunker down.  My son pointed out some trees that had fallen since the last time he had been back here, some had fallen completely to the ground and others were being propped up by an adjoining tree.  I wondered how soon those trees would also break, unable to support the burden of holding up a partner.

“I usually sit on this log when I come back here” my son exclaimed suddenly.  We had come to a massive tree laying on the ground, how long it had been there was hard to tell but it had moss growing on it so it must have been awhile.  We sat on it and I instantly felt the cold of the tree permeate my body, if he also felt it, he didn’t show it.

“How’s school?” I ventured.  The adjustment from middle school to high school had been a difficult one.  My son spent the first month of school proclaiming he didn’t like any of his classes or teachers and if this was what college was like then he wasn’t interested in college.  We tried to tell him that it would get better as he got used to the workload, and his grades were still very good but I knew it didn’t come easy.

“I think I might want to go to a trade school after high school” he said.  He had mentioned this before and we said that was certainly a possibility, that those were very good jobs and when you need a plumber you need a plumber.  I mentioned to him that he still had a couple of years before he had to make that decision, but it was good that he was thinking about it.  I don’t want him to totally give up on college just because high school is hard, so I told him that not everyone who goes to college knows what they want to do, that a lot of people find what they want to do in college, and perhaps if he tried it that might also happen with him.  I also told him that college was more than just classes and studying.  The whole experience of being on your own and living and interacting with different people was the real benefit of college.  We sat there awhile longer in silence and he said he wanted to go down by the stream.

There’s a small stream that meanders through the back half of the property that if I could draw or paint it would probably be the prettiest little stream you ever did see.  It makes a couple of sweeping “S” curves around some trees and then disappears in the distance to I don’t know where, the mystery of it makes it so much better, so much more grand.  It’s actually not much of a stream and more like a small creek that probably goes nowhere and in the winter when it’s frozen it’s not so grand.  We scrambled down the bank to the edge of it and stood there looking at it, the top of it frozen, although not all the way through as we could see a trickle of water flowing underneath the ice.

“I could join the military after high school” he proclaimed.  Another topic we’ve talked about before.  “It was good enough for grandpa.”  My father-in-law is a Vietnam vet, so my son is curious about the idea of serving in the military.

“Well that’s true” I said “but you realize that grandpa didn’t make a career out of it, and it was a different time, there was a war going on.” I was proud of my son for even considering military service but I am apprehensive about the whole idea.  I was beginning to realize this walk in the woods was very different from any other, these were adult size questions on his mind, questions that had no easy answers.  As a parent you try to guide, motivate, nudge, and mentor your kids in the right direction or in a direction that you think is right for them.  As they grow older you realize you can’t make all their decisions for them, but letting go and letting them make their own decisions and possibly mistakes is very difficult.  The instinct to protect them is powerful, perhaps the most powerful of all parental emotions, but whether as parents we like it or not, we have to let go a little and let them choose their own path.

I suddenly wanted my son to stay 15 forever just like I wanted him to stay 10 forever and 5 forever, to not have to make these big decisions in the coming years, to just be a teenager wandering around the woods on the weekend.

We turned away from the stream, he gave me a hand getting back up the bank and we headed in the direction of home.  We emerged from the woods into the open field, our house appeared off in the distance a 5 minute walk away, but it looked farther in the diminishing light.  I wondered how it looked to him as a 15 yr. old compared to me as a 51 yr. old. Did he see a place he could always come back to, always find comfort and love or did he see a place that he wanted to get away from.  A wisp smoke emerged from the chimney, my wife had started a fire in the wood stove, the house would be warm when we got back, that suddenly seemed very appealing as I noticed that my feet were cold and wet.  God I hate wet feet.  We stood there a minute lost in our thoughts….

“C mon, I think there’s some pizza from last night in the fridge” I said.  “Nah, I ate it all for lunch” he proclaimed.

I silently cursed the appetite of a teenage boy, he must have seen the look on my face because he grinned that grin I know so well and laughed and said  “I left one piece for you, I knew you’d want it.”

We went for a walk in the woods the other day…it won’t be our last, they’ll be many more.  My son knows himself better than I do, that’s tough for a parent to admit but it’s true and it’s a good thing.

 

Thought for the day….4 things you can’t get back

The stone after it’s thrown

The word after it’s said

The occasion after it’s missed

The time after it’s gone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was working out tonight, lifting some weights, and I had my pandora music app on the 90’s alternative station.  Usually I go for the 80’s rock or maybe the summer hits from the 80’s but sometimes when I’m lifting weights I feel like playing the 90’s grunge music. Just seems to fit with the whole lifting weights thing.

Anyhow, the song “Bittersweet Symphony” came on. Great song, great tune, not much in the vocal department but it works.  The problem with that song is I never can remember who sings it, because around that same time a song came out called “The Freshmen.”  One of them was sung by “The Verve” and the other one was sung by “The Verve Pipe” but I’ll be damned if I can remember who did what.  I’ll admit I can’t name another song by either group so my reference for both groups is the one hit song that each group put out.  I’ll also admit I’m not the most knowledgeable person about music and the artists and bands and who did what, but I’m guessing I’m not the only one with this problem.  My wife is one of these people who is very knowledgeable about music and in fact can recall just about any song lyrics and sing just about any song upon hearing the tune.  It’s really quite remarkable, I often joke with her that it’s too bad there isn’t some way to “cash in” on this talent.  When the movie Beauty and the Beast was coming out last year and all the commercials were on TV, she would launch into the entire soundtrack each time a commercial for the movie would come on until finally myself or my son would tell her to please stop before we heard another round of “Be our Guest.” What I’m trying to say is she knows music.  But when I asked her who sang “Bittersweet Symphony” she said she couldn’t remember, that it was either “The Verve” or “The Verve Pipe.”  So I say again I don’t think this is just a “me” problem.

So I had this idea, what the two groups should do is tour together and play each others songs.  And I’m guessing unless your really a hard core fan most people might not notice that there doing each others songs.  People would probably look at each other for a moment and perhaps even remark that they didn’t know they played this song, they thought the other group played it, but they probably would think they just had the one group confused with the other and just go with it.

Imagine being a band and playing for years in small bars and clubs in your hometown and struggling to make a name for yourselves and then finally you hit it big, like really big with a pop hit that everybody knows but around the same time another similarly named group hits it big with their first hit.  What would the feelings be, anger, jealousy perhaps resentment or after awhile acceptance and maybe even humor.  I think if either group came to view it as humorous, that it must have took a while to achieve.

Thought for the day….You didn’t come this far to only come this far

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was grocery shopping in the local mega super store. It seems every community has at least one of these now, the groceries on one side the general merchandise on the other…one stop shopping.  I had my list, meticulously made by my wife. My son needed a new water bottle, he had dropped his other one and the top had cracked or something like that and never mind that he had 2 or 3 other ones in the cupboard, for some reason those weren’t right, this was the water bottle he takes to school and fills up throughout the day.  He wanted one with a locking cap so it wouldn’t spill in his backpack, and the ones in the cupboard didn’t have that so he needed a new one.

I figured there might be a handful of different models to choose from at my local mega super store.  In fact much to my surprise there was an entire aisle of nothing but water bottles, so many that the aisle had its own name at the end of it to let you know where you were, although I’m quite sure anyone would know that you were in the “hydration” aisle. There were big ones, small ones , medium sized ones. Some came with a type of agitator if you wanted to mix something in with your water. There were bottles that could keep your liquid hot or cold for up to 8 hours at a time and I suppose if you needed that then that’s a great feature. Some had locking lids, some had straws, and some had straws, locking lids and agitators.

I never knew we had advanced the water bottle market so progressively. You see the water bottle I use is an old Gatorade bottle that I fill up with water and carry it with me throughout the day and after about a week I get a new Gatorade and then use that as my bottle for the next week. I never knew what I was missing or what I needed.  But do I really need any of these fancy water bottles, after all its just water I’m carrying around.

I spent about an hour doing the grocery shopping that day, and by far the most time I spent in any aisle was the “hydration” aisle.  My son got a new water bottle with a locking lid but without a straw or agitator and without the 8 hours of guaranteed coldness.  I got a new lemon lime Gatorade.

Thought for the day…..

Don’t take life too seriously.  Don’t plan too far ahead, nothing ever happens the way we expect, so don’t waste your energy