Anyway, short of this burst of exercise, I haven’t been all that active this year which I suppose has contributed to my feeling older.  I know 37 isn’t all that old, actuarially speaking, but it’s a pretty good age.  I’m fairly happy with how these last few years have turned out so I don’t know why I feel older.  I imagine it’s the creaky joints and expanding middle that are more pronounced and are not helping the situation.

So, I’m rededicating myself in the new year to a more healthy lifestyle in order to avoid feeling older next year.  Who knows?  Maybe next year at this time at 38, I’ll be feeling my spry 32 year-old self again!  Here’s to another year!

See you in the funny papers!

Many of you readers will remember my friend, Melisa.  We met online in a chat room back in the nascent days of the internet (Thank you, Al Gore!) and we became good friends.  Best friends, even. I looked forward to chatting with her online, sending emails, talking on the phone, and sending actual letters (which people still did back then).  We talked about our lives, our futures, even weather patterns.  You see, in Kansas and Kentucky, our respective states, even weather can be an interesting topic.  As I write this, it’s sixty degrees in mid-December.  Anyway, before I met my wife, Melisa was the person with whom I shared everything that my life had to offer, and I believe she did the same.

Still, 10 years ago, all that came crashing down.  Melisa was murdered in her own home that morning and the world as I knew it changed.  Yes, some will recall that the world was already altered in a post 9/11 landscape, but somehow I stayed insulated from that.  But, the loss of my best friend was devastating to me.  It changed how I walked down the street; how I thought of other people.  Even now, every time I leave the house and I turn to lock the door, I think of her and how she died.  And even though we’d only seen each other in person twice in our whole life, I lost part of who I was when she was killed.  I know that her family and close (geographically) friends are even more overwhelmed by the loss because Melisa was a bright spot in the universe.  

Which leads me to the title of this post.  Ad astra per aspera is the state motto of Kansas and it translates “To the stars through difficulties.”  Melisa was an ardent defender of her state and, once, in my off-the-cuff manner through an attempt at a cheap laugh, I made light of her state being flat and boring.  She treated me to an extended discourse on how wrong I was and even sent me a travel guide for the great state of Kansas to show me the error of my ways.  I never made light of Kansas again…at least not for its geophysical qualities.  But, the one thing that stuck with me was the motto which I found intriguing.  I also like to believe that, for Melisa, the motto became true.  I believe she is among the stars, even though it came through difficulty: for her and for those she left behind.

I don’t know what lies beyond.  I don’t believe anyone does.  I hope that one day I get to see Melisa again, if only for one last chat.  If that doesn’t happen, I’ll have to be content with the memories that I do have of a shining example of how life should be lived.  I will miss you Melisa, today and always.

Don’t get me wrong, I support most of what I see.  I think that protesting is a viable way to get your voices heard.  But, there has to be a strong backbone of understanding.  Right now, you seem to be tilting at financial windmills.  ”Let’s get rid of the Republicans.  Let’s get rid of the bankers.  Let’s get rid of the capitalists.  Let’s get rid of the suits.  Let’s get rid of the rich.”  Let’s narrow it down, shall we?  Because not all of those things are mutually exclusive.  If I’ve learned one thing in my life, it’s that you have to focus.  Protesting against a nebulous foe is just annoying and gaining new unfocused support will only fracture an already strained protest.  Plus, you’re not going to recruit people, such as myself, to your cause because we do still have jobs, and we have to pay rent or mortgages, and electric bills.  We can’t just pack up our REI gear and go backpacking for a few months.  We have responsibilities.

I’m not saying you’re irresponsible, but it’s going to be difficult to really acquire the oomph to change the world if all you’re doing is camping in the park.  Learn from what I assume are your idols, King, Gandhi, and the generation the protested the Vietnam war.  Martin Luther King, Jr. helped lead boycotts of a discriminatory system by asking people to walk to work, and request service at lunch counters, all through non-violent means.  Gandhi asked his followers not to cooperate with the oppressive English in order to establish independence.  Vietnam war protesters had a goal of ending the war in Vietnam and they protested that by burning their draft cards and focusing on that one goal.

So, by all means, protest!  But protest responsibly, so that those of us who are unable to join you can help explain your goals and your cause.  Otherwise, you’re little else than an annoyance on television that will end up going home unsatisfied and dirty.  At least, that’s my opinion.  Think I’m wrong, convince me.

See you in the funny papers!

*In the words of Arlo Guthrie‘s great anthem, “Alice’s Restaurant”…

This morning, I sat on the edge of the bed, having dressed and readied myself for the day.  But I was unprepared.  Unprepared for news that would reach me in the way we get news these days.  I sat staring at my phone on the dresser’s edge.  I had just read, via Facebook of all things, that my grandmother had traveled on in the night.  I sat still, and calm, and unworried because, though I didn’t know my grandmother well (which I will get to), I did know her well enough to know that her faith enabled her to reach new life and celebrate that newness with her husband once again.  And, regardless of where you sit on that fence, the great divide that is religion, faith and the hereafter, you know whereof the faith that I speak and you know its power.  I know that is what helped her throughout her life in times of trial and sadness.

As I said, I didn’t know my grandmother well.  We didn’t have the typical grandparent/grandchild relationship for a variety of reasons which were never any one’s fault, the situation just worked out that way.  The few memories that I do have of her involve the small farmhouse where she lived and the accompanying garden and field and they are fond memories.  A small white farmhouse with a wide cool front porch that sat across the road from a cemetery, engaged in an endless staring contest with the grayish stones that stood silently in the field.  Oddly, the same cemetery in which she’ll be buried.  A massive sloping field that bordered a pond where we would catch sunfish and bluegill and you could race clouds through the tall grass where cows had grazed until you reached the lonely sycamore at the back of the lot.  A small efficient garden that provided nourishment to a family of six, and continued to provide once that family grew beyond that house.

I remember her slightly raspy voice telling stories of relatives and acquaintances I hardly knew while we, my sister and I, sat on the floor and examined the most curious of items, a small empty jug with a corncob stopper.  It was a curiosity, but that and the fact that there was always a bowl of nuts with a handy cracker nearby are vivid memories.  I remember her descending into her root cellar, mostly because I didn’t know anyone else who had a root cellar, and when she opened the door in the floor (another thing I enjoyed immensely) the waft of earth and cool that breached the edge of the door was like opening the gateway to the mines of Moria.  I also remember a few afternoon meals with tea brewed in the sun and rhubarb pie.

My grandmother was, in my eyes, a complex person with simple needs and desires.  I very rarely saw her smile, but I remember her laugh.  In both her wedding photos and mine, there’s hardly a hint of smile…but her laugh would fill the small spaces of her home.  She lived all her married life in the same house with the same garden to tend.  I don’t imagine that she ever dreamed of some place else because it was what she needed.  Up until the illness made it impossible, she drove herself to church, volunteered at the hospital, and made the bingo rounds at the Knights of Columbus hall.  And true to people who’ve lived through the Great Depression, she’d save her pennies and each grandchild and great grandchild would received rolled coins in their Christmas gift each year; a gift that if it were handmade, which it often was, would smell “like Mamaw’s house.”

It is difficult, always, to say goodbye to one who is loved, but I am grateful that she did not suffer too much.  I have seen the ravages of lung cancer and I am thankful that she was spared most of those difficulties.  Though she’s gone, she won’t be far from her earthly home and I will always have the memories.

Doris Alma (Wiseman) Vowels  1926-2011

I hope that this doesn’t fall on deaf ears, but knowing what I was like as a younger person, I’m afraid that this letter will be in vain.  Therefore, I implore beg you to put aside for just a few moments your omnipotent wisdom and invincibility to humor an older guy.  It goes without saying that this is important, if only to avoid the mistakes I have made.

Please, PLEASE, make your education count.  Learn all that you can learn from everyone you come in contact with and when you’re alone, learn more.  If you find your teachers lacking, seek out the information on your own.  If your teachers are adequate, don’t waste their time with you.  Soak up every single minute of their time to the exclusion of all else.  Earn every second of the education you’re given and don’t slack off.  Why?!  Because life is hard.  From the moment you leave school you will be engaged in a battle with the forces of the world that will not easily afford you the educational experience.  Life will get in the way of education and if you’re forced to seek out that education once you’ve ended the “normal” educational cycle, it will be even more difficult.

Earlier this evening, I spent a frustrating hour staring at a computer without the faintest clue of what I was attempting to do.  What I should have learned earlier in my educational career I apparently did not, or have at least forgotten, and now I was desperately trying to recreate a knowledge base that should really never have left me.  As if that were not disheartening enough, I arrived home in time to pull my sleeping daughter into my arms to hold her for a few precious minutes of the day.  She didn’t know I was there and that’s all the more frustrating because that’s a day in her life that I don’t get back.

I made mistakes in school.  Somewhere around the seventh grade, I stopped trying.  I stopped caring about my education and that is a shame.  In high school the trend continued and I floated by in certain areas, but there were times when I certainly could’ve and should’ve done better.  College might have been the most colossal failure on my part and it took me years to realize it.  Now, as I approach 37 years old, I look back and wonder how much easier my life might’ve been had I only taken an interest in my own well-being.  What’s worse is I can blame no one but myself because all of the guiding forces in my life, particularly my parents and my godmother, were anxious for me to fulfill my true potential and I failed them as well.  Now, I suffer in part because I’m having to make up lost time, and my family suffers because the aggregate degradation of my educational ability has held me back career-wise.

So, again, I beg you, do not make the mistakes I made.  Be a superstar student.  Let people call you a nerd or a geek.  Spend your free minutes in a real book instead of Facebook.  Ask questions and when you don’t get the answer you seek, go and find them for yourself.  Don’t let anyone or anything hold you back from becoming the best individual you can be.  Achieve greatness and be a beacon for the generations after you.

See you in the funny papers!

I did open up a blog prompt site and try to speed up the process.  But, all of those prompts seemed to be corny and not worth my time.  The only one of note was “Name three songs you could be convinced to sing at a karaoke bar.”  This is the depth to which I have sunk.  I hate karaoke.  Why?!  Because I can sing…and most people who can’t sing love karaoke.  This, in turn, causes those of us who are capable singers to have blistering nightmares about songs we used to like that have now been ruined for all time because some tone deaf drunk has warbled it to death.  Don’t get me wrong, I understand the appeal.  You get to stand in front of people you admire and pretend to be a rock star.  This does not make you a rock star.  It makes the people you’re in front of embarrassed for you.  If you want to sing loudly, do it in the car with the windows rolled up like the rest of the country.

Still, to answer the question, if for some godforsaken reason I was in a karaoke bar, which I can only assume was the losing end of a bet, I could reasonably be expected to sing the following 3 songs:

• Unforgettable by Nat King Cole
• Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd
• First We Take Manhattan by Leonard Cohen

In all fairness, my child didn’t hurt herself, or anyone else (human or feline) in the house, during this evening’s events.  And, truth be known, she probably thought she was helping.  And but also, it was my own damn fault.  You see…earlier today, my wife and my child both lay down to take a nap, which in hindsight was probably a good idea.  Unfortunately, I chose those moments to go for a run (which I desperately needed) and to mow the front lawn (which IT desperately needed).  So, this evening as my wife was sorting clothes for an impending yard sale, I sat down in a chair and relaxed while IvyCat played quietly less than 10 feet away.  There was the usual babbling and discussing of various topical news events betwixt the three of us.  Phones rang, plastic dishes were clattered, the evening was progressing swimmingly.

After a brief time, I decided to check on IvyCat who had long since ousted me from her play area, most likely because…well, who knows why 2-year-olds decide anything.  In her desire, I assume, to be as helpful as possible, she had cleaned up all her puzzles by emptying every single piece, of every single puzzle into a small square tote.  We’re talking a good 20 puzzles here and every piece was now in a small pile.  Naturally, she did not really want to assist in putting things back together, so my wife and I spent the better part of 10 minutes putting various animals and train parts and Cookie Monster pieces back together again.  Fortunately, we’ve seen these puzzles a thousand times, so it was fairly quick work.

Something that’s not so quick work, though, and weighs much more heavily on my mind is twofold.  Part A is the insufferableness of whining which has grown to a fever pitch and the inability to share with others.  Part B is my apoplectic reaction to Part A.  As I’ve mentioned before I have a temper which rears its 3 ugly heads at the most inopportune moments, usually as an irrational reaction to the smallest of events.  For example, earlier today, at a party, IvyCat decided that the toys she was playing with (which she did not own) were not to be shared and her whining reached that nuclear meltdown stage that is immediately apparent to parents.  As this was about the 4th time in the last 20 minutes that this had happened, I hiss/growled “IVY” as only a parent can do.  Instantly, I felt my face grow cold as the blood drained from it realizing that my rage had gotten the best of me.  I also felt (supposedly) the eyes of my wife, other parents, even other guests, which only served to humble me even more as I knelt down to attempt my best Ward Cleaver before my daughter went off the rails.

I’ll admit I don’t know how to control either Part A or Part B.  They happen and I deal with them the best way I know how.  I realize, in hindsight, that in addition to needing that earlier nap I didn’t take, it has been a long weekend.  But, I worry that this is rationalizing something that shouldn’t be rationalized.  I also realize that the event, as I’ve described it, may not have been as bad as it was in my own head, but does that make it okay?  I don’t believe it does.

I’m probably beating myself up and maybe I should just close this laptop and call it a weekend, getting the much needed rest before the week starts.  I’d be grateful for comments, good or bad, constructive or humiliating.

See you in the funny papers!

Cutest Kid Ever

I felt like most of you should start your day off by seeing the cutest kid ever, IvyCat!  Happy July!

See you in the funny papers!

More importantly, I occasionally deign to read the comments which are alternately frustrating, comical, possibly illegal, vengeful, moronic, poorly spelled, grammatically terrifying, and blatantly ignorant.  The most interesting part of these comments is that, sometimes, they don’t even refer to the story that is being commented upon.  It’s as if someone came up to you at a party while you were having a conversation about solar energy and started telling you about how stock prices are fixed by aliens and wearing red underpants depletes the American economy.  Totally bizarre and unrelated.  It’s hard to get an understanding of this without an example.

EXAMPLE:

A story regarding the impending doom of not increasing the debit limit, congresspersons working through THE national holiday to get something done, etc.

Comment:   Obama is on vacation so much that when he takes a trip it means he’s going to DC
Most of the time this guy is in Europe, on the golf course, at a fundraiser or asleep.  America deserves a better president!

This comment has nothing to do with the story.  Not to mention it is factually incorrect.  It is, however, an actual sentence free from crazy misspellings and the word “socialism.”  I’d love to meet some of these people.  I can only assume that they get their misinformation from poor (or zero) education and are incapable of comprehending a story.  These, the armchair warriors of the world, are the voting public.  They are the ones who actually vote.  They are some of the 63% of registered citizens in this country who vote.

Sure, some of them are crackpots who are simply trolling the InterTubes for no real reason other than to argue with people.  But some of them are genuine lunatics who believe everything they hear inside their head.  How do you combat this problem?  How do you explain to people who are incapable of comprehending?  Are we doomed to a strange future where people make up fact and meaning in their own brains and use that as the ultimate in binding truth?  Are we already in that future?  Does it matter?  And, would someone please explain to them the difference between socialism, fascism, and communism, and how none of those things is occurring in the United States at the moment?

See you in the funny papers!

Yes.  Another time-waster with missing vowels.  At first, I thought to myself, do I really need this?  Is this going to improve my life?  What about all the other things I already have that I don’t update all that often (hint, wink, nudge…this blog…say no more!)?  But, like unto the call of the Sirens, I could not restrain myself and I was hooked.

Latent Happiness

I will say this, it feels a tiny bit like cheating on this blog, but I’m hoping to use it primarily as a space for those things that just pop into my head and don’t warrant an entire blog post.  And, per usual, it may be updated about as often as this particular traveshamockery of a blog.  But, it’s there nonetheless.  See to it as you will.

See you in the funny papers!