Posts filed under 'My Life'
Today I listened to a podcast episode of This American Life from away back in 2001 that was rebroadcast in February. The setup was great and it pulled me away from cleaning and laundry and FB and Yammer and everything else I was doing. For the first time in a while, I just sat in my house and listened to the radio (well, you know what I mean.)
The podcast description says, “Our entire show this week is one long story, sort of a real-life Hardy Boys mystery.” It lived up to the hype, and it fascinated me. Recently I’ve been trying to get ready to imitate my best friend Mike, who not so long ago went on a quest to rid himself of all the extra stuff in his life. Believe you me, there sure was a lot of it. The TAL story immediately finds these kids exploring an abandoned house, and they find all this stuff.
Well, most of my friends know that I don’t like to give away the ending of things, so I won’t say more about the story, but you really should listen to it. I think the other thing that really got me was the story made me think about my Grandmom’s house. I was thinking about that house just last weekend after realizing that my mom’s house really reminds me a lot of her mom’s house. Not in tangible, this-or-that-is-the-same kind of ways — it’s more subtle. Grandmom’s house was on a river; mom’s house is on a lake. We used to sit and eat outside on Grandmom’s porch; we sit and eat outside on mom’s porch. Grandmom’s house had wood-framed sliding-glass doors; mom’s house has wood-framed sliding-glass doors. Grandmom’s house had windows in the vaulted ceiling to let in extra light; mom’s house has windows in the vaulted ceiling to let in extra light. My sister didn’t see it, but my brother and I think it’s kind of spooky.
So I listened to this story and thought about Grandmom’s house. I was trying to remember a trip I took out there after she died because my mom was the primary executor of Grandmom’s estate. It was billed as a treasure hunt — I think Grandmom would have liked that — but it was just a time to be together, say goodbye to the house, and clean out some of the stuff. I don’t think we found one unexpected thing that could properly be called treasure, but it was nice to go there one last time.
I think my mom said that Grandmom’s house got torn down to make way for something bigger and better. That’s typical for her neighborhood, but the picture on Google Maps still has her house, which made me feel better.
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/199/House-on-Loon-Lake
Grandmom's House
My Life
07/10/2010 at 22:50 ET
I was talking to Andrea the other day about Facebook posts and how they should be upbeat, relevent, and generally give people a chuckle. Therefore I’ll start off by saying that, although I’m only writing this so I can link to it from Facebook, I’m not actually writing it on Facebook and I think that makes it better and keeps me from being a hypocrite. (That’s a valid loophole, right?)
Last weekend was tough, and I owe about 100 people a debt of gratitude. I’ll never even know all of their names, but I’ll always be grateful for the family, friends, and strangers that made saying goodbye to my Grandpa a beautiful experience. We were blessed to have pleasant weather and so much family (and friends we consider family) gather around us to say goodbye. Having so many people present showed a heartwarming amount of respect and love for Grandpa, enabled us to comfort and support each other, and connected us together as a family. The whole time, looking at all the pictures of his gigantic smile, I knew that, wherever he is, Grandpa must have been smiling down on us, filled with the love we were sharing.
Today I got to a song in my “New to Me” playlist that really summed-up the feelings I have been having. My Grandpa could be a difficult person sometimes, but he gave selflessly his whole life. I really believe, even in the midst of the worst arguments, that everything he did was motivated by genuine love for everyone he interacted with. One memory I was able to share with everyone was how he would grab on to your elbow when he had something to say – even if you would have rather politely excused yourself to another conversation. Even when that action was irritating, he was tangibly present in our lives. He never gave up his argument either, and although that may have revealed some stubbornness and pride, it also showed that he would never give up on you. He kept arguing because he kept caring enough to try and convince you.
Driving out to Florida National Cemetery was a lot more than I had even hoped it would be. It took a little bit to get there, but having a military honor guard make a final salute to someone who served his country so well was stirring. He wasn’t outwardly prideful of his rank or his military accomplishments, but I know Grandpa would be pleased to know that his sacrifice and hard work was honored. I remember the honor guard marching away before the pastor spoke and recalled when Grandmother and Grandpa took me to a military base to see a graduation ceremony and how Grandpa commented on the marching.
Although we may have to without him, I’m glad to say that we’ll march on. This brings me a mournful joy: I know that’s what he’d want us to do and I know we’ll carry him along with us.
For those days we felt like a mistake,
Those times when love’s what you hate,
Somehow we keep marchin on.
For those nights that I couldn’t be there,
I’ve made it harder to know that you know
That somehow we’ll keep movin on.
Theres so many wars we fought,
Theres so many things we’re not,
But with what we have
I promise you that we’re marchin on.
For all of the plans we made
There isn’t a flag I’d wave,
Don’t care where we’ve been,
I’d sink us to swim: we’re marchin on.
For those doubts that swirl all around us,
For those lives that tear at the seams,
We know we’re not what we’ve seen.
For this dance we move with each other,
There ain’t no other step
Than one foot right in front of the other.
There’s so many wars we fought,
There’s so many things we’re not,
But with what we have
I promise you that we’re marchin on.
For all of the plans we made
There isn’t a flag I’d wave,
Don’t care where we’ve been,
I’d sink us to swim: we’re marchin on.
Right, Right, Right, Right, Left
Marchin On
We’ll have the days we break
And we’ll have the scars to prove it.
We’ll have the bombs that we saved
And we’ll have the heart not to lose it.
For all of the times we stopped,
For all of the things I’m not.
You put one foot in front of the other.
You move like we ain’t got no other.
We go where we go – we’re marchin on.
There’s so many wars we fought,
There’s so many things we’re not,
But with what we have
I promise you that we’re marchin on.
Right, Right, Right, Right, Left
Marchin On
“Marchin On”
OneRepublic
Waking Up
©Mosley Music Group
My Life
01/20/2010 at 19:12 ET
Good evening.
A lot of people have been getting to know each other this weekend, and a common question has been “how do you know Donna?” or “how do you know Mike?” A lot of you may have heard that I’m Mike’s best friend – we met in 2nd grade. Some of you may have even heard a story about that fateful first meeting. I’m sure I don’t remember very much at all about second grade, so maybe Mike’s version is more accurate – and it’s definitely funnier – but I thought I’d take this opportunity to set the record straight.
In second grade my family moved from Columbia, PA to a new house about six miles down the road in Mountville. One of the big motivators for choosing our new house was getting into a better school district, so, right around Halloween, I started at Mountville Elementary. I’m sure it was a little overwhelming to be the new kid on the scene in the middle of the school year. Maybe I don’t remember all the details of how Mike and I first met, but I know there was a mix-up with a spelling test, I think someone was indeed in the wrong room, and there may have been some crying involved. What I do remember is that Mike helped me get assimilated into that new school and I barely remember a time of my life when he wasn’t my friend.
I think that story, if somewhat nostalgic, makes more sense than his version because it tells you a little about who Mike is. He’s a helper – always has been – who might be content to make his way, minding his own business, until he sees someone who needs a little assistance. That’s when he swoops into action, for a friend, for a stranger, or even for a foe, to lend a helping hand. He’s kind and generous and loyal, and much more like my brother than just a friend.
When he moved to Florida, Mike was trying to help me. We were both entering our 30’s and I think it seemed to him like we both needed a change-of-pace. When he got here he tried the dating scene for a while, but you could tell that he was just a little jaded. Then something changed: he met Donna. I could tell right away that something was different.
Donna turned out to be an amazing woman, a great new friend, and a wonderful partner for Mike. She’s smart, funny, open-minded, athletic, and really challenges Mike to be a better man. I hope they won’t be embarrassed to hear me say that finding someone good enough to present that challenge for Mike was a special find indeed. Donna is wise and insightful, fun and vivacious, and I’ve really enjoyed getting to know her. Mike’s been my surrogate brother for a long time and I’m excited that now Donna is my surrogate sister-in-law.
Mike’s been in my family for a long time. Now, in this place, filled with friends and family from Florida, New York, Pennsylvania, the Air Force, and places from across the country to across the globe, we are joined as a larger family. What’s brought us together is the love that Donna and Mike share.
Some of our friends from Florida have a habit of coming up with these cute little sayings. One of the ones we like to use when ribbing each other about marriage is, “forever is a long time.” There’s a good chance you’ve already heard someone say (or shout) it tonight. We all know that some marriages can face difficult times, but I know that Donna and Mike have the devotion to overcome any challenge. This is evident in the love they give to us and to each other – it will watch over them and see them through:
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast,
it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth.
It bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things,
endures all things.
Love never ends.
I know Donna and Mike are ready for their forever together.
So please raise your glasses with me. Donna and Mike, on behalf of your family and friends: thank you for this beautiful party, thank you for bringing us together as your family, and thank you for the love you share with us. We wish you all the best in your life together. As you support and care for each other on your journey together, we look forward to following along on what’s sure to be exciting forever.
We love you. Best of luck. Congratulations!
My Life
10/24/2009 at 23:05 ET
Away back in the day, my parents got me a card for high school graduation. For about 10 years, wherever I lived I put it up on my wall like a poster. I still have most of the message memorized and while I was on the treadmill this morning, I thought of the moral, “… the true worth of you travels lies not in where you come to be at journey’s end, but in who you come to be along the way.”
I could say a lot about this quote and how it’s shaped my entire adult life (not to be overly dramatic.) What I was thinking about today, though, is new and different. And, like I imagine the card was, it’s something my mom gave me.
A lot of people have asked me about my recent transformation and weight loss. As much as making the change in myself has been fun and rewarding, sometimes talking to other people can be very awkward or even uncomfortable. Sometimes they say crazy stuff, like “we’ll hold you down and shove food in your mouth” (I wish that was an exaggeration). Other times I don’t know how to talk to or around people who obviously have a much more serious problem than I did. Perhaps the most troubling question to answer, though, is people who sincerely ask me “how did you do it?” That’s been a really tough one.
So this morning I was on the treadmill and fretting because, after many, many weeks at this level, I’ve acutally plateaued. Worse, I actually think I might have gained a little weight (not muscle) and have been mildly freaking out about it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think there’s any problem with gaining a pound or two, but after so much work I’ve been legitimately (in my mind at least) concerned about backsliding.
Which is where these two threads come together. The answer to “how did you do it” and the way to stop freaking out about my current plateau are the same: it’s all about who you come to be along the way.
I’d tried various ways to “get healthy” before. By tried, I mostly mean “thought about.” One of the big reasons I didn’t find much success before was because I was concentrating on achieving a limited, short-term, usually aesthetic goal. Something like, “I want to lose 15 pounds before the summer.” Well, let me tell you from my own experience, this kind of plan is only setting yourself up for failure. My goal back in October was simply to “be healthy.” I took a definitive step on that road (for me it was counting calories) and I absolutely refused to look back. Then I started to get serious about exercising. Then I kicked both up a notch.
It was a progression, it was very gradual (no matter what people seem to think), and it was absolutely permanent. I wasn’t concerned about where my journey took me - I might have ended-up at 170 pounds or I might have ended-up at 120 pounds – that wasn’t the point. The point was that I was going to make these concrete steps towards a better me. I just remembered the dramatic transitions my mom and sister went through a few years back and one day I calculated how many calories I ought to be eating (you could do that here or here) and decided to only eat that much.
So, after my jog, I feel a lot better. Closely watching my weight used to be a reliable way for me to measure my success and stay motivated. It’s still going to be a part of my lifestyle, but now I realize and appreciate what I’ve accomplished. I’m also inspired to stay on the journey. Hopefully the Ragnar Relay will be one good next step. And, now I think I have better advice when people ask me how in the hell I did it.
My Life
07/23/2009 at 22:02 ET
Well, brush fires … nothing serious at all (at this point, thank God.) Actually, it’s not the fire at all, it’s the smoke.
It started this morning. I’ve gotten in the habit of watching a bit of the local news while I eat my breakfast. I get most of my news from NPR (WMFE) or the internet. I decided a few months ago that those sources are well and good, but sometimes you really do need to know what’s happening down the street. What the local school board is up to, what neighborhoods have increased rates of violent crimes, those kinds of things. This morning what I got was a little weather and a little bit of traffic, including a few spots where the roads were all backed-up because of brush fires. I didn’t give it a second thought.
Later, at lunch, me and two of my friends were chatting. The conversation came around to work and jobs we’d had and my friend Andrew and I were trying to explain what it’s like to work in theme park operations. We weren’t very successful. There is this energy, this state of being, this sense of empowerment, and a sense of struggle that comes with it. Working out there, on the front lines of Orlando’s tourism industry, in a big theme park, puts you in a truly unique spot. It’s a challenging spot, for sure, and often times not exactly pleasant, but it’s yours. I’ve talked to a lot of other people, and I know I’m not crazy.
Then, after work, I stepped outside. I opened the door and felt a rush of air and immediately smelled the smoke. The smoke, presumably, from the brush fires that I heard of this morning and all of a sudden all of my memories of my first summer in Orlando came flooding back. The first time I lived in Orlando, you see, there were fires. Lots of fires, bad fires, much worse than the ones today. In fact, my second day on the job, while in training, my apartment complex was under an evacuation watch. My trainer lived in the same complex and we worked out an arrangement so that if his partner paged him during lunch break he would be able to get in touch with me so we could rush home and rescue some of our personal belongings before everyone had to be out. That was about 1.5 mi from where I am right now, as the crow flies.
Don’t get me wrong, though — the drama of the fires wasn’t what came rushing back. I had brought the few possessions I had in Florida in my car, and I could certainly get them all out again with little effort (and enough time.) No building in my complex was ever evacuated and the danger eventually subsided. But for that whole summer, Central Florida seemed to burn. In fact, it wasn’t really the memories that came rushing back at all. It was the emotions.
As I said about my job that summer, the whole experience was wonderful, but not all happy. Parts of it were the very saddest I’ve ever felt. But even in my darkest hours, I felt, that summer, like I was where I was supposed to be. I had some innate knowledge that I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. Even though at that point I still hadn’t come into my own, I’ve never felt more right than I did that summer. Even as my tears flowed like a river deep enough to carry me away when it was time to leave, because it was time to leave, I was so happy to have felt like I had a place where I really belonged. And that whole summer, all I smelled was smoke.
Isn’t it strange how smells especially can conjure up emotions? There is an inexplicable link. I always prefer to never run into someone who wears Drakkar Noir and every time Florida is on fire I feel this way that I can’t even begin to describe.
i come to you with strange fire, i make an offering of love,
the incense of my soul is burned by the fire in my blood.
i come with a softer answer to the questions that lie in your path.
i want to harbor you from the anger, find a refuge from the wrath.
this is a message of love.
love that moves from the inside out, love that never grows tired.
i come to you with strange fire.
mercenaries of the shrine, who are you to speak for god?
with haughty eyes and lying tongues and hands that shed innocent blood.
who delivered you the power to interpret calvary?
you gamble away our freedom to gain your own authority.
find another state of mind. grab hold.
strange fire burns with the motion of love.
when you learn to love yourself, you will dissolve all the stones that are cast,
you will learn to burn the icing sky and to melt the waxen mask.
yes, to have the gift of true release, this is a peace that will take you higher.
i come to you with my offering. i bring you strange fire.
this is a message of love.
love that moves from the inside out, love that never grows tired.
i come to you with strange fire.
“Strange Fire”
Indigo Girls
Strange Fire
My Life
02/17/2009 at 20:30 ET
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