Grief, Expect the Unexpected!

Grief is a strange thing. It hits you without warning, even when your expecting it.  Recently, my folks sold the home I grew up in....and while I had left the house of my own volition, it was fairly traumatic thing for me since I was not able to return to the home and send it off in person. So as per usual I wrote,  this time I wrote to my siblings and included a note I have just sent to the new owners. A cathartic send off if you will.  My hope is you might enjoy it, and feel a bit of nostalgia from your own childhood home. Like watching a Christmas Story, wasn't your family, but you can relate.

Siblings,

When mom said a few years ago she was selling the house, I heard her, but didn't believe it would pass.  When last summer I drove out of the driveway, I had said goodbye to the house, but didn't think it would be the last time I would make the harrowing 100 yard dash against traffic onto Pensyl Creek road.  I loved that house and wouldn't have chosen to grow up anywhere else.  I have a strong case of wanderlust, I like the adventure of packing up and moving out, strangely having that base, literally Home Base, always made it easy to move on.  You can always go home so it is easy to go forth.  That house is gone now.  I understand why, I get it was necessary, Im happy to see Mom and Dad move someplace flat, someplace better for them, but my heart is heavy today as I mourn the loss.  That stream was mine, and while I left it, and I hope to see some new young kid own it, it will be hard to knock on the door rather than just open it, in a few years and ask to fish.
The house for me is a collection of memories, a collection we all call "growing up"  and now that we are older we can call it nostalgia.  Nostalgia hurts.  And for the first time, in a very very long time, I feel that I have lost out on something by moving away from Stroudsburg.  The loss is strange, its not about having something once and wanting it back, its about the realization that you can't always return, you can't always go home and you definitely can't go back in time.  We don't get to relive life, a moments experience is spent the minute it enters the memory books. That's not to say I regret living there, but to say I want more moments like those.
I wish I could be there to help with the move, to say goodbye again, one last piss over the wall, and to say thank you to the ground and the home that molded me, and contained our family.  I'm sorry I cant be there.
Rather than turn to a bottle of strong spirits, to avoid the viscous perplexities mom continues to believe lurk in my soul, I like to write. It helps at once calm the mind, while capturing my thoughts for the future before they are lost.  Sometimes writing helps me to know why I'm feeling the way that I am and sometimes it makes things harder to face.  This time around, the writing made my heart ache, and I hope that is the first step in the healing process.
I have now said good bye to the house officially, in the best way I can for the moment.  Someday I may return to it,not steal back in the dead of night, but knock on the door in the middle of the day, "Hi, I grew up here" what else is there to say?  Meanwhile I wrote the text below, which I will send someday soon to the new homeowners, as much for their amusement as for my catharsis. 

The letter to the new owners:

Dear folks,

I would like to welcome into the home I grew up in.  We have not met and are likely never to cross paths, but I feel we are connected by some degree since you purchased the home on Foundry Street.  I have fond memories of that place and it was a great neighborhood to grow up in.  I hope it treats you well and allows your family to flourish.

I left the house 23 years ago for college and I never really returned. Holidays and summer break brought me home for small windows of time.  Those time windows allow you to see the place change like flipping through snapshots. The home has aged well, the stream lives where it always has and the gardens flourish under mothers care and dads back. My folks owned the home for 40 years and cared for it, as it cared for us.  Things have changed though.  I would like to offer you a few of those snapshots.

When I was a kid the roof was slate and there were more trees on the property. There used to be a string of hemlocks on the property line near where the large rock is in the back yard.  It paralleled the stream. Those trees died one by one due whatever disease is wiping out the rest of the hemlocks in PA.  It was sad to see them go.  There was also a tall maple or two near the chimney on the side of the house.  They too died and had to be cut down. Several willow trees lived in the space between the yard and the stream down by the bridge.  These trees where several feet in diameter when they died, and were amazing to watch sway about in the storms. The large maple in the lower yard, near Foundry street had a tire swing on it for some time.

In the bottom of the yard near the magnolia is a spring.  When the water table is high you will see the grass grow faster there, deeper green.  It was never a problem except as kids we would run and slide through it, Mom never liked that since we got muddy and wrecked the grass, but it was fun.  The magnolia tree is my favorite part of the yard.  In the spring it will bloom all at once, provided you don’t get a late snow to knock off the branches. We climbed the tree, camped under it, and hid within it during night tag. We had an orange swing set under that tree for years.

The barn is fairly new.  The original was lost in either the blizzard of 93-94 or 92….the new one was built on the old foundation.  We had great times as kids in the old barn, lots of places to hide and explore.  Since the new barn was built, Dad made it a workshop and completed countless projects, “making sawdust” he would say, so as to never lead one to believe he had more skills than he did. Part of the old barn remains.  It was built as a chicken coup before my folks had the home, and over the course of my childhood housed our family pets which at some points included Dogs, Cats, Chickens, a Sheep named cookie, and rabbits.  The rabbits dug out of the clay floor once, if you look I bet the hole is still there. 

As a kid and well into adulthood we shot BB’s from near the basement exterior door, up the yard.  If you had a metal detector there would be 4 million blips on the screen in that area…..BB’s all, shot over the course of some 35 years.  My sons were taught to shoot in that yard, with the same red rider gun I learned on.  The patio also is fairly new, as a kid the area outside the cellar door was a sand box, which kept my siblings and I content when the stream was too cold or too high to play in.

The cover of the septic tank was broken by my neighbors head maybe 30 years ago…..the corner cracked off as he ran at night, stumbled and impacted during a game of night tag.  Somehow he made it through with just a mild concussion.

The yard is a sea of landmarks, the Big Rock, the Big stairs, Down the Bank.  These are the places my sisters and I named as kids.  Places for adventure.  You will find the area between the yard and the stream (down the bank) full of the remnants of my childhood.  We used to build forts there out of sticks and rocks.  The trails are still there I believe, between what was a large dam and the bridge.  If you were to go down the bank today and fight through the thicket and sticker/ pricker bushes you might find an old ammo box of mine that might have some form of a kids treasure in it…..I don’t remember what.  I lost several knives there and at least one axe through the years. Too many balls were also consumed by the thicket.  Every now and again one of the large walnut trees would fall across the creek and pull up its roots.  This was pounced on and became the new fort…..you might find some of those places still marked by the upturned root wads. The siblings and I mined the shale rocks that were pulled up with the tree roots, if cracked correctly small crystals could be found in the shale and maybe a fossil shell or two.

The Appenzell creek boarders the property, we called it a “crick” and spent as much time as possible there as kids.  In the summer it is shallow and you can play on the rocks jumping from on to the next.  Tip over the rocks to find critters like crawfish and minnows. We would find the soft blue shale or red shale, and the white claystone pebbles and grind them with some water on a harder rock to make a paint of sorts…..the result was hours of fun. We called it “Indian Paint” and decorated ourselves with it regularly.  As you travel upstream from the bridge you encounter a ripple we called the big waves.  The stream bed is on smooth shale and can be slippery, but it is a lot of fun to ride an inner tube on in the summer.  In that area you will also find a grape vine, you will smell the fox grapes in late august.

This stream molded my life as I spent countless hours on the banks or in its waters.  Today I’m in water resource engineering and attribute that career choice to the questions posed by the swirling waters, water I studied as a kid in my backyard.  The stream is excellent fishing and runs clean and clear, and owns many of my best fishing experiences.  You will find a swimming hole downstream, the top of the hole is just visible from the bridge, where the stream turns to the left.  Ask the Fossetts, next door, if you can run through their field or put on old sneakers and walk the stream down.  The water isn’t too deep, maybe three feet but it holds trout and is excellent fun in the summer. I hope the stream is good to you.

Thunderstorms seem to follow the stream.  They come in from the west and are captured by the shallow Appenzell valley, the thunder roars down the valley and runs into the house. When I was older, visiting home, one of my favorite places was sitting on the back screen porch watching the lightening flashes, light up the yard as the storms rolled in, and the fireflies (lightning  bugs) when the storms were gone.  Mom would join me and hand me an iced tea, I will never forget it.

The home was never large enough in my parents eyes.  The houses charms, which many have remarked on over the years, while beautiful, limited what could be done with the place.  The kitchen area was once separated from the dining area by an arched wall.  And the Cedar covered den once had a pass through connection to the kitchen. Dad tore down the wall and locked up the pass through, new cabinets were installed and the radiator was removed from the kitchen.  The room with the fireplace was always moms favorite. She would retreat there and for a time kept us from destroying the room with our toys.  It was the formal living room and has been remodeled several times.  This was our room for family Christmases, and on rare occasions a fire would be started.  As kids we danced in that room to oldies 99 with our parents.

The hardwood floors of the house have at times been covered with carpet and other times left to the savages of a family with young children.  The windows have been replaced in just the last few years.  Before that the house leaked air and you could hear the cars on the road and the stream when it was high.  Those windows also had old glass which had bubbles and waves that distorted light in places and forced rainbows on the dining room floor.

The small room upstairs was mine.  As the only boy I had the only room to myself.  I loved that place.  I believe it is the only room in the house that was not refinished with new sheetrock.  You might find horsehair plaster and lath under the layers of paint.  The teal green was my idea, and I had it up with the damage done, before mom returned from work.  She hated it.  The room is small and cozy, I could open the windows for fresh air, and watch the sun rise over my neighbors fields.  The radiator was never turned on, preferring the cold nights, cold, for better sleeping.  From that room I could predict canceled school for snow days depending on when the plow went up the road.  The earlier Pensyl creek was plowed the less chance there was for a snow day. 

I don’t want to close this letter as it’s my last chapter in the story of that house.  The ground and home made me what I am today; molded the people I love and held us together as long as it could.   I’m not a sentimental person generally, and I know that this transition is natural and for the right cause, but somehow that knowledge does not help. I thought I had said goodbye to the home last summer, but somehow doubted mom would sell it.  Denial, it seems, lurked in my soul; only to surface now, knowing the inevitable came to pass. I miss it more now than I did a moment ago, before I wrote this letter.

So, it’s with a heavy heart that I thank you for taking the time to follow me through the scrap book, allowing me to pull out the snapshots and share them with you.  I hope the house you moved into becomes the home I left behind and continues to shelter and nurture your family as it did mine.  Your experiences will fill the next chapters of the small house at the corner of Pensyl Creek and Foundry and I wish you only the best.

Resonating Powerful Words, Not My Own

Powerful Words, Not My Own

I once found myself stating “Words are the dumbest thing to die from, no one should die from words.” 

Dear readers,

I started this blog out of the realization that there is therapy in writing.  Distilling thought and emotion down to text forces ones brain to slow down, and there is catharsis in that.  I write because I enjoy it, because I want to capture a moment; the bell “dinging” between my ears telling me its time. I write because I hope it benefits someone, anyone, who may share my thoughts or enjoy the story. I write because I’m inexplicably drawn to it. I write because some stories need to be told.

Today I know my unfortunate quote only tells part of the story.  Words can be powerful, seducing, mesmerizing.  Words when issued together, can capture souls, not with their initial gravity but with the weight and power of the emotion pulled from our deep inner selves.  Words do not create an emotion, they remind us of our own; and in the right order, under the right atmosphere, have the power to motivate the masses.   With words, Nations have been created, wars have been started, love eternalized.

People have not died for words alone, but rather the ideas, emotion and connection those words bring when allowed to foment in the mind, and there are certainly ideas worth dying for. Words in this case are powerful.  I encourage you all to ponder what you say, and carefully digest what you hear.  Our social media and traditional media allow us to broadcast and consume words faster today than ever before, and I’m afraid we as a species do not fully understand the consequences.  A few words, in the wrong order, at the wrong time, in the wrong tone, can wreak havoc on the lives of those around us. Think before you speak. 

Today I came across an accounting of the Mayor of New Orleans, Mitch Landrieu’s, speech given on May 19, 2017, and I was moved to share.  His words exemplify the power of speech, and regardless of which side of the issue you stand; you can feel his intent, his need to connect to the people, an attempt to heal old wounds.  His speech, this text, is powerfully eloquent and resonates, and I think our country could use some resonating right now.   In my opinion it is a speech for the records of time, a gift, something to aspire to. Please do read on.

Copied from the Times – Picayune http://www.nola.com/politics/index.ssf/2017/05/mayor_landrieu_speech_confeder.html

Thank you for coming.

The soul of our beloved City is deeply rooted in a history that has evolved over thousands of years; rooted in a diverse people who have been here together every step of the way - for both good and for ill. It is a history that holds in its heart the stories of Native Americans - the Choctaw , Houma Nation, the Chitimacha . Of Hernando de Soto , Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle , the Acadians, the Islenos, the enslaved people from Senegambia, Free People of Colorix, the Haitians, the Germans, both the empires of France and Spain. The Italians, the Irish, the Cubans, the south and central Americans, the Vietnamese and so many more.

You see - New Orleans is truly a city of many nations, a melting pot, a bubbling cauldron of many cultures. There is no other place quite like it in the world that so eloquently exemplifies the uniquely American motto: e pluribus unum - out of many we are one. But there are also other truths about our city that we must confront. New Orleans was America's largest slave market: a port where hundreds of thousands of souls were bought, sold and shipped up the Mississippi River to lives of forced labor of misery of rape, of torture. America was the place where nearly 4000 of our fellow citizens were lynched, 540 alone in Louisiana; where the courts enshrined 'separate but equal'; where Freedom riders coming to New Orleans were beaten to a bloody pulp. So when people say to me that the monuments in question are history, well what I just described is real history as well, and it is the searing truth.

And it immediately begs the questions; why there are no slave ship monuments, no prominent markers on public land to remember the lynchings or the slave blocks; nothing to remember this long chapter of our lives; the pain, the sacrifice, the shame... all of it happening on the soil of New Orleans. So for those self-appointed defenders of history and the monuments, they are eerily silent on what amounts to this historical malfeasance, a lie by omission. There is a difference between remembrance of history and reverence of it.

For America and New Orleans, it has been a long, winding road, marked by great tragedy and great triumph. But we cannot be afraid of our truth. As President George W. Bush said at the dedication ceremony for the National Museum of African American History & Culture, "A great nation does not hide its history. It faces its flaws and corrects them." So today I want to speak about why we chose to remove these four monuments to the Lost Cause of the Confederacy, but also how and why this process can move us towards healing and understanding of each other. So, let's start with the facts.

The historic record is clear, the Robert E. Lee, Jefferson Davis, and P.G.T. Beauregard statues were not erected just to honor these men, but as part of the movement which became known as The Cult of the Lost Cause. This 'cult' had one goal - through monuments and through other means - to rewrite history to hide the truth, which is that the Confederacy was on the wrong side of humanity. First erected over 166 years after the founding of our city and 19 years after the end of the Civil War, the monuments that we took down were meant to rebrand the history of our city and the ideals of a defeated Confederacy. It is self-evident that these men did not fight for the United States of America, They fought against it. They may have been warriors, but in this cause they were not patriots. These statues are not just stone and metal. They are not just innocent remembrances of a benign history. These monuments purposefully celebrate a fictional, sanitized Confederacy; ignoring the death, ignoring the enslavement, and the terror that it actually stood for.

After the Civil War, these statues were a part of that terrorism as much as a burning cross on someone's lawn; they were erected purposefully to send a strong message to all who walked in their shadows about who was still in charge in this city. Should you have further doubt about the true goals of the Confederacy, in the very weeks before the war broke out, the Vice President of the Confederacy, Alexander Stephens, made it clear that the Confederate cause was about maintaining slavery and white supremacy. He said in his now famous 'corner-stone speech' that the Confederacy's "cornerstone rests upon the great truth, that the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery -- subordination to the superior race -- is his natural and normal condition. This, our new government, is the first, in the history of the world, based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth."

Now, with these shocking words still ringing in your ears... I want to try to gently peel from your hands the grip on a false narrative of our history that I think weakens us. And make straight a wrong turn we made many years ago -- we can more closely connect with integrity to the founding principles of our nation and forge a clearer and straighter path toward a better city and a more perfect union.

Last year, President Barack Obama echoed these sentiments about the need to contextualize and remember all our history. He recalled a piece of stone, a slave auction block engraved with a marker commemorating a single moment in 1830 when Andrew Jackson and Henry Clay stood and spoke from it. President Obama said, "Consider what this artifact tells us about history... on a stone where day after day for years, men and women... bound and bought and sold and bid like cattle on a stone worn down by the tragedy of over a thousand bare feet. For a long time the only thing we considered important, the singular thing we once chose to commemorate as history with a plaque were the unmemorable speeches of two powerful men."

A piece of stone - one stone. Both stories were history. One story told. One story forgotten or maybe even purposefully ignored. As clear as it is for me today... for a long time, even though I grew up in one of New Orleans' most diverse neighborhoods, even with my family's long proud history of fighting for civil rights... I must have passed by those monuments a million times without giving them a second thought. So I am not judging anybody, I am not judging people. We all take our own journey on race.

I just hope people listen like I did when my dear friend Wynton Marsalis helped me see the truth. He asked me to think about all the people who have left New Orleans because of our exclusionary attitudes. Another friend asked me to consider these four monuments from the perspective of an African American mother or father trying to explain to their fifth grade daughter who Robert E. Lee is and why he stands atop of our beautiful city. Can you do it? Can you look into that young girl's eyes and convince her that Robert E. Lee is there to encourage her? Do you think she will feel inspired and hopeful by that story? Do these monuments help her see a future with limitless potential? Have you ever thought that if her potential is limited, yours and mine are too? We all know the answer to these very simple questions. When you look into this child's eyes is the moment when the searing truth comes into focus for us. This is the moment when we know what is right and what we must do. We can't walk away from this truth.

And I knew that taking down the monuments was going to be tough, but you elected me to do the right thing, not the easy thing and this is what that looks like. So relocating these Confederate monuments is not about taking something away from someone else. This is not about politics, this is not about blame or retaliation. This is not a naive quest to solve all our problems at once.

This is however about showing the whole world that we as a city and as a people are able to acknowledge, understand, reconcile and most importantly, choose a better future for ourselves making straight what has been crooked and making right what was wrong. Otherwise, we will continue to pay a price with discord, with division and yes with violence.

To literally put the Confederacy on a pedestal in our most prominent places of honor is an inaccurate recitation of our full past. It is an affront to our present, and it is a bad prescription for our future. History cannot be changed.  It cannot be moved like a statue. What is done is done. The Civil War is over, and the Confederacy lost and we are better for it. Surely we are far enough removed from this dark time to acknowledge that the cause of the Confederacy was wrong.

And in the second decade of the 21st century, asking African Americans - or anyone else - to drive by property that they own; occupied by reverential statues of men who fought to destroy the country and deny that person's humanity seems perverse and absurd. Centuries old wounds are still raw because they never healed right in the first place. Here is the essential truth. We are better together than we are apart.

Indivisibility is our essence. Isn't this the gift that the people of New Orleans have given to the world? We radiate beauty and grace in our food, in our music, in our architecture, in our joy of life, in our celebration of death; in everything that we do. We gave the world this funky thing called jazz, the most uniquely American art form that is developed across the ages from different cultures. Think about second lines, think about Mardi Gras, think about muffaletta, think about the Saints, gumbo, red beans and rice. By God, just think.

All we hold dear is created by throwing everything in the pot; creating, producing something better; everything a product of our historic diversity. We are proof that out of many we are one - and better for it! Out of many we are one - and we really do love it! And yet, we still seem to find so many excuses for not doing the right thing. Again, remember President Bush's words, "A great nation does not hide its history. It faces its flaws and corrects them."

We forget, we deny how much we really depend on each other, how much we need each other. We justify our silence and inaction by manufacturing noble causes that marinate in historical denial. We still find a way to say 'wait'/not so fast, but like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, "wait has almost always meant never." We can't wait any longer. We need to change. And we need to change now.

No more waiting. This is not just about statues, this is about our attitudes and behavior as well. If we take these statues down and don't change to become a more open and inclusive society this would have all been in vain. While some have driven by these monuments every day and either revered their beauty or failed to see them at all, many of our neighbors and fellow Americans see them very clearly. Many are painfully aware of the long shadows their presence casts; not only literally but figuratively. And they clearly receive the message that the Confederacy and the cult of the lost cause intended to deliver.

Earlier this week, as the cult of the lost cause statue of P.G.T Beauregard came down, world renowned musician Terence Blanchard stood watch, his wife Robin and their two beautiful daughters at their side. Terence went to a high school on the edge of City Park named after one of America's greatest heroes and patriots, John F. Kennedy. But to get there he had to pass by this monument to a man who fought to deny him his humanity.

He said, "I've never looked at them as a source of pride... it's always made me feel as if they were put there by people who don't respect us. This is something I never thought I'd see in my lifetime. It's a sign that the world is changing." Yes, Terence, it is and it is long overdue. Now is the time to send a new message to the next generation of New Orleanians who can follow in Terence and Robin's remarkable footsteps.

A message about the future, about the next 300 years and beyond; let us not miss this opportunity New Orleans and let us help the rest of the country do the same. Because now is the time for choosing. Now is the time to actually make this the City we always should have been, had we gotten it right in the first place.

We should stop for a moment and ask ourselves - at this point in our history - after Katrina, after Rita, after Ike, after Gustav, after the national recession, after the BP oil catastrophe and after the tornado - if presented with the opportunity to build monuments that told our story or to curate these particular spaces... would these monuments be what we want the world to see? Is this really our story?

We have not erased history; we are becoming part of the city's history by righting the wrong image these monuments represent and crafting a better, more complete future for all our children and for future generations. And unlike when these Confederate monuments were first erected as symbols of white supremacy, we now have a chance to create not only new symbols, but to do it together, as one people. In our blessed land we all come to the table of democracy as equals. We have to reaffirm our commitment to a future where each citizen is guaranteed the uniquely American gifts of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

That is what really makes America great and today it is more important than ever to hold fast to these values and together say a self-evident truth that out of many we are one. That is why today we reclaim these spaces for the United States of America. Because we are one nation, not two; indivisible with liberty and justice for all... not some. We all are part of one nation, all pledging allegiance to one flag, the flag of the United States of America. And New Orleanians are in... all of the way. It is in this union and in this truth that real patriotism is rooted and flourishes. Instead of revering a 4-year brief historical aberration that was called the Confederacy we can celebrate all 300 years of our rich, diverse history as a place named New Orleans and set the tone for the next 300 years.

After decades of public debate, of anger, of anxiety, of anticipation, of humiliation and of frustration. After public hearings and approvals from three separate community led commissions . After two robust public hearings and a 6-1 vote by the duly elected New Orleans City Council. After review by 13 different federal and state judges . The full weight of the legislative, executive and judicial branches of government has been brought to bear and the monuments in accordance with the law have been removed. So now is the time to come together and heal and focus on our larger task. Not only building new symbols, but making this city a beautiful manifestation of what is possible and what we as a people can become.

Let us remember what the once exiled, imprisoned and now universally loved Nelson Mandela and what he said after the fall of apartheid. "If the pain has often been unbearable and the revelations shocking to all of us, it is because they indeed bring us the beginnings of a common understanding of what happened and a steady restoration of the nation's humanity." So before we part let us again state the truth clearly.

The Confederacy was on the wrong side of history and humanity. It sought to tear apart our nation and subjugate our fellow Americans to slavery. This is the history we should never forget and one that we should never again put on a pedestal to be revered. As a community, we must recognize the significance of removing New Orleans' Confederate monuments. It is our acknowledgment that now is the time to take stock of, and then move past, a painful part of our history.

Anything less would render generations of courageous struggle and soul-searching a truly lost cause. Anything less would fall short of the immortal words of our greatest President Abraham Lincoln, who with an open heart and clarity of purpose calls on us today to unite as one people when he said: "With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds...to do all which may achieve and cherish - a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations."

Thank you.

Youth of Nostalgia

Youth of Nostalgia:

It’s been 23 years since I left the sheltered halls of my high school.  I look back and remember bits and pieces.  I think what I remember most was the lack of anticipation for graduation.  Not to detract from anyone, but high school graduation was not something I had to work hard to attain. Graduation was going to happen, almost a foregone conclusion to the path initiated the first day of kindergarten 13 years prior.  My peers and I, who in some cases had been together in the same education track since 5^th grade, had long since looked ahead of graduation by the time the day arrived.  We had completed college applications the previous year and had acceptance letters in hand.  Graduation was a dance we performed for those in the audience.  For some folks the day marked an end to friendships forged in the social fires of middle school or perhaps the realization that the prospect of 2000 mile long distance relationship with your first love was at best a pipe dream.  For others walking away from the school was an awakening.

Not for me and not for those like me.  As children who became self-aware in the 80’s we had a fairly selfish notion of life baked into us.  High school was just a game one had to get through in order to take the next step, move up, move out and make the bucks. For us, graduation was when the BS ended and life began, the end game had begun.

 “To each his own, but mine is better.” Really describes how I was feeling then, and how I remember it today….do your own thing but don’t get in my way since my thing is better, and more important, and mine.  I think it’s a fairly honest way to look at life, we are all selfish, especially as an 18 year old who had no clue.  Things of course are different now.

We graduated, spent a few weeks socializing at various friends’ homes, negotiating the awkward family events where the only sober people were the honorees themselves.  Then college came. 3 months after graduation, the place, people, and events that so consumed your life were gone.  I think we wanted it that way.  Over the years of college and the life that followed I rarely collided with anyone I knew in High school. I returned to my hometown for holidays and a 2 year period as a new parent, and I think crossed paths with only a handful of fellow alums.  Frankly it at once surprised me that fate didn’t bring our circles closer together, while it also makes perfect sense.  We all wanted out, to move on, to get on with life, and it happened.  Like solar orbits, the circles were too big and empty for the chance collisions to occur.

Then I joined Facebook.

Admit it, at first FB was at most a tool for snooping around searching names of those you last saw crossing the graduation stage. Checking in on those you thought were destined for greatness or failure, and the inevitable self-comparisons that follow.  As the camera phone morphed into the smart phone, FB became a place where we could feed our innate exhibitionism, and show off life.  Plates of dinners, duck face photos, weddings, new baby’s…..kids sporting events, Halloween costumes, Date night, Caribbean vacations….and now Prom, graduations, and babies of our children (our grandchildren!). 

We use FB to document our lives allowing others to share in our story.  We all can be proud to have known the each other way back when, knowing we had a ridiculously small roll in each other’s lives, but a roll none the less.  As we scroll through our feeds we can share momentarily in your victories, and suffer, just a bit, in your losses. 

This past weekend, the first few things on my news feed were pictures of Prom.  It was mind blowing a bit. My peers had children attending Prom and they were rightfully stoked to see their kids move through this rite of passage. 

I attended the ‘93 Prom as a Junior and I remember that night with more clarity than my senior prom.  The Jr. Prom took place on a boat in New York Harbor.  We had dinner and sailed around the statue of liberty, somehow there were even fireworks splashing against the New York Skyline.  The venue was excellent, but there were issues.  We had to be bused the 90 minutes from the school to the venue.  So by the time we arrived our dates where already torqued that their dresses were wrinkled and hair staticy from the bus seats.  We got off of the bus and were hit squarely with a wall of wind coming off of the harbor.  The water in the New York harbor is not warm in May, and the wind it generated was best described as biting.   The wind finished what the bus seats started, and frazzled women froze waiting to board the boat, and made haste to the bathroom to repair their hair and makeup.  For the first 45 minutes of the event, the men were all fairly dateless, cigars were found and enjoyed with the stellar topside view….my date wasn’t pleased, but in hindsight I had a great night.

Looking at the prom pictures on FB was like stepping back in time.  I hadn’t seen any of my peers since graduation, but when I saw the pictures it was as if I was looking at 1994 yearbook.  Each son in a tux or dolled up daughter looked to me like their parents who I knew briefly long ago.  Sons looked like Fathers; Daughters like their Moms, all of which makes total sense.  However, seeing the pictures and connecting the dots after 20 years was amazing.  For some the resemblance is so strong you could switch them out of the awkward yearbook photos and few would notice. It all got me thinking.

I was unable to attend the last high school reunion, but I saw the pictures on FB.  Folks looked happy and I was pleased to see that the walls we built as teenagers had long since fallen, swept aside by time and maturity.  Oddly, I feel closer to my classmates now than I did then.  Our lives have moved us each in our own direction but as we age our experiences merge similarly.  With fates allowance, I hope to attend the next reunion and meet men and women I knew as boys and girls, trade laughs over a drink and revel a bit in the youth of nostalgia. Until then, life goes on, enjoy it!

Fucking #45

Forward:

In today's world we often hear people exclaim, "I give 0 Fucks about that." Truth be told I think it is a bit over used and encroaches on the strange space in our vernacular where phrases work as long as you don't think about them, like "I ain't got Nobody" or "Legit." Ours is a living language and we are all free to use it. Those of you who read my Blog know I take full advantage of that freedom, and the literary abuse likely causes Irk and Ire to those more grammatically bound than myself.  

It has been a rough year for many of us.  The political system did its thing and left winners and losers alike, tired, weary, and bored. When it came time to give my traditional Holiday office bottle, I was still hungover from election night and it definitely colored my outlook.  For me the shock of it all is more due to what I see happening in our society more than who was elected.  Perhaps the best way to look at it is the President is a symptom rather than the disease.  All that said, I tried to have some fun with this. I tried to channel a fiery sermon,  and build off of  last years "Booze Preacher" I hope it makes you smile a bit.

Warning! The balance of this page contains text with 45 occurrences of one of English’s most simple yet effective words, with an additional occurrence in the title.  Many find the word offensive, crass, and vulgar.  I, however, feel it is quite effective at conveying my thoughts just now.  If you are concerned you might be offended, please carefully remove and discard this notice without inadvertently reading the text below, and you will be spared.  Otherwise, do read on.  After all, if you’re old enough to enjoy the contents of a bottle, you should be old enough to consume the text.

Fucking #45

“Fuck!”  I said it, and I rarely do. …  “Fuck!”  

If you’re counting, that’s an official “Double Fuck” so you now have one to keep, and one to give.  Which is important because “Giving a Fuck” is what this season is all about, and I wouldn’t want you to be without a “Fuck.” “Fuckless” doesn’t sound like a place you would want to be.

Of course, gifting and receiving a “Fuck” is distinctly different than getting “Fucked,” which has its own pleasures and pitfalls.  Then there is “Fucking.” Depending on who or what is involved, “Fucking” can be both extremely distasteful and complicated or a wonderful Saturday night. 

We can “Fuck Off,” but we don’t “Fuck On.”  We all know “Fuckers” who “Fuck You” but I have yet to meet a “Fuckee” who “Fucks Themselves.”

The nuance of “Fuck” is crucial and can’t be overstated.

With “Fuck’s” blatant subtlety, nuanced crudeness, and unfinished refinement, navigating “Fuck” is a challenge to say the least. We (say) “Fuck” because we can, because it’s fun, because it’s simple…..mostly we (say) “Fuck” because it effectively conveys our complex needs and emotions. “Fuck;” one word, four letters, one syllable.  Satisfying in its simplicity, gratifying in its effect, endless derivations of a verbal action… “Fuck.”

You might ask why I chose to belabor “Fuck” this holiday season, and so you don’t lose your shit worrying about “Fuck,” allow me to elaborate.

2016, a year that started with great promise, has ended far short of its potential. We have been infected by a new national pestilence, a disease of the social fabric, a “Fuck.”  A force so shockingly powerful it rivals the “Fucking” magnificence of “Fuck.” And I’m afraid. 

I fear the strength and the unknown lasting impacts of the infection.  After all, there are few things more powerful than a “Great Fuck” and those things all, demand due regard and consideration.

Since we are co-workers, giving you a “Fuck” more than I have already would be inappropriate.  So I present you this bottle of Polish Vodka, medicinally, to help ease your “Fucking” pain.

I have expounded at length about the proper usage of vodka.  Vodka is medicine of the mind and is best consumed quickly, cold, and in times of “Fuck.”  

Roughly translated in Russian, vodka means “little water” and water cures many things.  Vodka will too.  Vodka has helped countless others “Give a Fuck,” “Loose a Fuck,” and “Get Fucked.” Vodka allows you to quickly get “Fucked Up” so you no longer “Give a Fuck” about the “Fucked Up Shit” the “Fucking Fuck Fucked” and  I feel better already.

“Fuck Yeah!”

I find this vodka smooth and without the pretense of rap videos or ridiculous gimmicks.  The bottle is square and will fit nicely in the far corner of your freezer or medicine cabinet. Shots should be poured so cold they smoke, and chased with a slice of pickle. If you need directions on how to mix this vodka, the year has been “Worse than Fuck” for you and I’m afraid there is little more I can do.  

This booze is ok to drink alone, but not ok to drink while listening to county music which is, after all, what Budweiser is for.  “Fuck” Budweiser. It is part of the cause and can’t be the solution.

I hope that your year outside of our now-shared affliction was good.  I know we will move into the New Year with a poor global prognosis tempered by an outstanding local outlook.  It’s those we see every day that are worth “Giving a Fuck” about and I wish you the best.        

Family Holiday Letter 2016; Third Edition

Here we are, the Junior year of this chronicle: what a fine year it was.

2016 began quietly for the western D…….Family. You can see already I have adopted the paradigm that we are not mere visitors but instead, pioneers who have blazed a path to good eating and excellent climate for those of you back east.  Our year began with a quiet Christmas at home, where Lover and I cooked for 20, and fed 4; 5 if you count the dog.

By January our big snow came and by the next day, went; and we determined to expand our garden.  No the bathroom wasn’t completed, we were just not thinking clearly.  So with shovel and pick in hand and visions of giant tomatoes in mind, we dug a trench, poured footer and created a concrete block retaining wall to contain the garden and added irrigation.  It seemed simple, but I’m here to tell you that laying block is not the party you might expect.  Nor is hand mixing concrete. 

Meanwhile between fits and starts working on the garden, we had additional fits with cussing and swearing as we continued to remodel the bathroom and replace the patio that was dug up to repair our water service line. Once again I’m reminded of the “Joys” of home ownership and promise to get even with all of you who could not wait to see me buy a house.

In late March, we traveled to Southern California with some friends. Before arriving in Oceanside, we visited our companion’s family.  The kids were amazed to pick oranges off the tree and eat them directly…best oranges ever… and they weren’t even completely ripe yet. Our rental overlooked the beach, and the magic of the southern California sunsets was not lost on me.  We visited the San Diego Zoo and enjoyed Fish Tacos at every opportunity. In fact, I celebrated my 40th birthday sitting on the beach with a rum and coke, eating excellent tacos.  The other wonderment discovered was a California burrito….which among other things has French fries and avocado stuffed inside.

I made a business trip to New Orleans and soaked in the Jazz, and the pure funk of a city below sea level surrounded by industry and drenched in beer and human stank. Bourbon street and the French Quarter are impressive both for the good and bad….Fritzles Eurpoean Jazz Pub is just what the Doctor ordered for all of your ills….the live classic jazz made almost every worry or concern disappear, and the beer did the rest. This year, I also managed to catch my first trout on a fly rod.  The San Juan River is famous for large, willing, and numerous trout and I managed to land 2 in a short span on a new fly rod.  My life perspective is changed as I spend sleepless nights planning my next trip to the river.

The kids spent a large part of the summer in PA with the grandparents and loved it.  It was hard for Lover to watch the boys board the airplane without us in Phoenix, but they did it like pros.  Bittersweet to see them grow and not need us as much.  Lover and I loved our kids-free time. We spent time in ABQ touring the local breweries, enjoying the hot springs, and generally forgetting we were parents.  We discovered “Celebration Cakes” in a small mountain town: Blue Corn Pancakes with cheese, green chile, and bacon baked into them. All other pancakes now pale in comparison.  We also worked hard to perfect our sangria recipe.  When we made it back to PA to collect our kids, we got to see many of you at Knoebels.  It was great to reconnect with everyone.  We drove from PA back to NM in record time and since it’s a great drive, I encourage you all to take it.  We made it in less than 3 days without issue.  On the way back we stopped at a place called Blue Hole in the town of Santa Rosa, NM.  There we were able to jump from the cliffs into an artesian spring.  The water is crystal clear, Caribbean blue and terrifyingly cold.

Lover finished her course work and passed her Gifted Education certification. After a stressful year of working part time in two schools Lover found a position teaching gifted kids that she really enjoys. Lover’s hands are still working clay when she has time.  She will be glazing some of the tiles for our bathroom and is slowly replacing the store-bought bowls with those that are handmade.  Her newly expanded garden did well this year and we had cherry tomatoes ad nausea.  The green Chile and peppers did well enough that we had some to freeze. 

Monster has continued in scouts and is a patrol leader.  He has learned that leadership is the most thankless job in the world but still enjoys the camping.  He continues to shoot the bow and has achieved some nice high scores at recent competitions.  Monster likes to draw and made a card game that includes creatures he created and drew.  Monster’s love of music keeps him playing trombone in the band and the Jazz band. Monster recently had an opportunity to play with the high school marching band at a football game. He had a blast and is somehow looking forward to waking up at 5am next year to be a part of it officially, as he enters 9^th grade (You read that right: high school). My guess is he was seduced by the 85 pounds of candy the kids had stored in their marching hats, and consumed in the stands between songs. It was a lot of fun to be part of the excitement of the marching band again and I’m sure Lover and I will find ourselves in the band boosters next fall.  Oddly, the football concession stands did not have French fries, just nachos….NM is a bit behind the rest of the word it seems.

Nugget will be in middle school next year as a 6^th grader.  He is trying to figure out what instrument to play in band next year and finish up his cub scout badges before joining James in Boy scouts in the spring.  Nugget is still non-stop active, running and jumping.  Fruit usually is enough to get him to stop moving, and when he does you can find him playing Legos, nerf war, or video games with his cronies.  Nugget has been making small things with polymer clay and is refining his cephalopod and whale drawing skills. Nugget has discovered the joy of novel reading and is working his way through the Fablehaven series.

We have had a happy year here in the “Land of Enchantment” and look forward to next year and the next adventure.  Make New Mexico your next adventure, the highways and airports do go both ways.  Our door is open for visitors, and I think you will find our state a welcome and relaxing change….if only for a short visit.  We miss you guys.  I hope you all have had an excellent year, full of life and happiness. 

Love, Me, Lover, Monster, and Nugget