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(Oh yeah, I forgot that this blog host is not that awesome. I will probably be moving my blog eventually, but I'm scared to lose 22 loyal readers. Anyhow, you'll be directed to one more blog. Read the hilarious and entertaining intro, and at the bottom you will see the link for the newsletter itself. Happy downloading!)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Be Careful What You Ask For, You Will Get It!
"It's funny when things change so much. It's all state of mind."
-Eddie Vedder, on the song "In Hiding"
I am aware that this is quickly becoming a forum to update the various phases of my unemployment, but I am not planning on changing the name of my blog. That just happens to be my perspective right now. Plus, some of you may be interested in the latest in this ongoing saga.
Speaking of perspective, I think it's an important part of this phase of the story. A lot of people feel a lot of different ways about life. But I think by and large people try to do the best they can with what life deals them, and they hope that hard work and good choices will lead to a quality life.
I'm learning to disagree.
I don't find that life deals me anything at all. I deal life to myself. I've known this on a deep level, but it's almost like I forgot. And when inexplicable things happen, it's hard to remember. I've believed this for some time, but now I'm starting to practice it. The results so far are subtle, but no less stunning to me.
I know, why would people choose to have a car accident or get attacked, etc. The short answer is, I don't know. But choices have after-effects, and that's the best I can say for someone else's decision. For myself, when something difficult happens it is for a reason. I'm starting to see it clearly. There's a lesson in everything, so getting emotionally resistant is of no use. Looking for the message is all that matters.
What am I talking about? Why the philosophy all of a sudden? The job situation, of course.
And I should say before moving on that it seemed terrible the way the Tin Woodsman thing happened. But the truth is that I was ready to move on - very ready - and getting let go allowed me to do that, collect money through unemployment, and spend quality time with Oliver (including potty training!).
But I forgot that leaving was what I wanted, and got very down. Then I got better, little by little, until I saw a movie that reminded me what I knew in my soul. Then I started making conscious choices, from what I want specifically to what kinds of emotions I will allow to enter my being. As I've mentioned, the change in me has been transformative.
Which is a long way of introducing what happened the last couple of days. As I was about to leave Kat's house (after working on building a stone wall) on Tuesday, I received a call from a company I applied with called Spirit Leatherworks. Oliver was grouchy because I just woke him up, I had an armful of stuff, and the girl on the other end wanted to give me a phone interview. Major shift of focus, to say the least!
I ambled through, not really remembering anything about the job I had applied for. I was sure I'd get an interview though. Because it's what I asked for. Literally.
Forty-five minutes later, I was called back to schedule an interview for Thursday. See what happens when you ask?
So I went to the interview, and although I wasn't sure if I wanted the job at all I was nervous. Nervousness is not something I can stop with logic alone, apparently. Anyhow, the guy I was going to interview with (Rob) was really busy, so I interviewed with two people underneath him instead. It really wasn't necessary, and I realize they did this just to be polite, but we all played our parts and went through with it. Near the end, Rob came in and said he wanted to interview me the next day - Friday.
I went home thinking little of it, although I knew the way everything happened was unusual. I honestly didn't really care. I'm not looking for usual.
When I went in on Friday, I wasn't nervous and I had questions. My main concern was getting offered a job I didn't like and not having the wisdom to make a clear decision. This time Rob came out of his office promptly and took me to another building. Once the door opened to the other building, I was intrigued. There were belts hanging on all the walls, it smelled wonderfully of leather, and people were sitting at tables talking about what they liked and didn't like about a certain design.
Soon after the door closed to the room I'd interview in, my concern grew. Rob was a dynamic guy, much to my surprise, and I knew that if he wanted me to have the job telling him "no" was going to be difficult.
And then it happened. I started liking him. Why? He wanted to know about my last job and he wanted to know the truth. He was adamant about it. And so I told him, and it felt good, and he understood! Then he told me that my resume was good, but I could make it better. The honesty was such that I didn't hear criticism at all. I heard a reasonable human being.
He went on to tell me that there were 250 applicants, 9 resumes stood out, 1 failed the phone interview, and then 3 were chosen for real interviews. Of those three, one girl was perfect, one person needed to (in his opinion) finish school first, and the other person was me.
He said he wouldn't hire me for this job because it was beneath me. I was so relieved that I wasn't disappointed at all. He said I'd be going crazy within 3 months.
Then he said he wanted me to work there. Huh?
Here's the thing; they're a young company and growing like crazy, and this guy is wise enough to know that successful businesses employ good people. Who knew? And he could tell I was a good person (fooled him, eh?!).
We had a great talk. I know he is busy, but I could've talked to him for a long time. I was very energized. It was a confirmation of what I always knew: if I work hard and carry myself with integrity then things will work out. Plus I've started choosing - very consciously - to make money doing something that is fulfilling at a place that understands that I'm talented.
The end of the story is that I will work there. Rob is talking to the owner today ("We're talking about a lot of things, and 10 minutes or less will be about you. But we will talk about Matthew Trent"). He wants to find something for me to do, be it financial, management or otherwise. He just wants me because he can tell that I have a fire inside.
AND HE'S RIGHT!!!
My fire is burning hot, on logs of intention.
-Eddie Vedder, on the song "In Hiding"
I am aware that this is quickly becoming a forum to update the various phases of my unemployment, but I am not planning on changing the name of my blog. That just happens to be my perspective right now. Plus, some of you may be interested in the latest in this ongoing saga.
Speaking of perspective, I think it's an important part of this phase of the story. A lot of people feel a lot of different ways about life. But I think by and large people try to do the best they can with what life deals them, and they hope that hard work and good choices will lead to a quality life.
I'm learning to disagree.
I don't find that life deals me anything at all. I deal life to myself. I've known this on a deep level, but it's almost like I forgot. And when inexplicable things happen, it's hard to remember. I've believed this for some time, but now I'm starting to practice it. The results so far are subtle, but no less stunning to me.
I know, why would people choose to have a car accident or get attacked, etc. The short answer is, I don't know. But choices have after-effects, and that's the best I can say for someone else's decision. For myself, when something difficult happens it is for a reason. I'm starting to see it clearly. There's a lesson in everything, so getting emotionally resistant is of no use. Looking for the message is all that matters.
What am I talking about? Why the philosophy all of a sudden? The job situation, of course.
And I should say before moving on that it seemed terrible the way the Tin Woodsman thing happened. But the truth is that I was ready to move on - very ready - and getting let go allowed me to do that, collect money through unemployment, and spend quality time with Oliver (including potty training!).
But I forgot that leaving was what I wanted, and got very down. Then I got better, little by little, until I saw a movie that reminded me what I knew in my soul. Then I started making conscious choices, from what I want specifically to what kinds of emotions I will allow to enter my being. As I've mentioned, the change in me has been transformative.
Which is a long way of introducing what happened the last couple of days. As I was about to leave Kat's house (after working on building a stone wall) on Tuesday, I received a call from a company I applied with called Spirit Leatherworks. Oliver was grouchy because I just woke him up, I had an armful of stuff, and the girl on the other end wanted to give me a phone interview. Major shift of focus, to say the least!
I ambled through, not really remembering anything about the job I had applied for. I was sure I'd get an interview though. Because it's what I asked for. Literally.
Forty-five minutes later, I was called back to schedule an interview for Thursday. See what happens when you ask?
So I went to the interview, and although I wasn't sure if I wanted the job at all I was nervous. Nervousness is not something I can stop with logic alone, apparently. Anyhow, the guy I was going to interview with (Rob) was really busy, so I interviewed with two people underneath him instead. It really wasn't necessary, and I realize they did this just to be polite, but we all played our parts and went through with it. Near the end, Rob came in and said he wanted to interview me the next day - Friday.
I went home thinking little of it, although I knew the way everything happened was unusual. I honestly didn't really care. I'm not looking for usual.
When I went in on Friday, I wasn't nervous and I had questions. My main concern was getting offered a job I didn't like and not having the wisdom to make a clear decision. This time Rob came out of his office promptly and took me to another building. Once the door opened to the other building, I was intrigued. There were belts hanging on all the walls, it smelled wonderfully of leather, and people were sitting at tables talking about what they liked and didn't like about a certain design.
Soon after the door closed to the room I'd interview in, my concern grew. Rob was a dynamic guy, much to my surprise, and I knew that if he wanted me to have the job telling him "no" was going to be difficult.
And then it happened. I started liking him. Why? He wanted to know about my last job and he wanted to know the truth. He was adamant about it. And so I told him, and it felt good, and he understood! Then he told me that my resume was good, but I could make it better. The honesty was such that I didn't hear criticism at all. I heard a reasonable human being.
He went on to tell me that there were 250 applicants, 9 resumes stood out, 1 failed the phone interview, and then 3 were chosen for real interviews. Of those three, one girl was perfect, one person needed to (in his opinion) finish school first, and the other person was me.
He said he wouldn't hire me for this job because it was beneath me. I was so relieved that I wasn't disappointed at all. He said I'd be going crazy within 3 months.
Then he said he wanted me to work there. Huh?
Here's the thing; they're a young company and growing like crazy, and this guy is wise enough to know that successful businesses employ good people. Who knew? And he could tell I was a good person (fooled him, eh?!).
We had a great talk. I know he is busy, but I could've talked to him for a long time. I was very energized. It was a confirmation of what I always knew: if I work hard and carry myself with integrity then things will work out. Plus I've started choosing - very consciously - to make money doing something that is fulfilling at a place that understands that I'm talented.
The end of the story is that I will work there. Rob is talking to the owner today ("We're talking about a lot of things, and 10 minutes or less will be about you. But we will talk about Matthew Trent"). He wants to find something for me to do, be it financial, management or otherwise. He just wants me because he can tell that I have a fire inside.
AND HE'S RIGHT!!!
My fire is burning hot, on logs of intention.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Eat (whenever I want and with minimal exercise), Pray (for the perfect job to appear on the internet), Love (my time with Oliver)
So, I'm beginning to get the hang of this unemployment thing. Much has changed since my last rant, and I'm starting to fear that I'm getting too comfortable. Barring some miracle where I become rich overnight (like the publishing of a young-adult coming-of-age novel, for example), I will have to again work. Just the thought of it is frightening. Now I know how Michael Vick felt when he got out of jail. "You mean I have to play in the NFL now?" Like that dog murderer, I am rapidly getting out of shape.
The upside is I am writing like it is my job. Which of course it is not. I don't have one! But I enjoy it more than anything.
I know what you're thinking. I enjoy raising Oliver more than anything. That's true of course, but I don't need to list it every time I rate fulfillment, do I? Or Nancy? I mean, if I were to get three wishes I wouldn't first wish for air to breathe, would I? Obviously nothing else works without that, but it's there along with the sun shining already. I'll tell you what, from now on whenever I talk about happiness and don't list Oliver or Nancy, just assume they occupy the top two slots. Then we don't have to worry about being bogged down in useless paragraphs like this one anymore. But I digress.
Back to the writing thing. I started this project on the Oliver story in such a way that enough people being interested would drive me to actually finish the story. So far it's definitely been enough to keep me writing. The flip side is, now that it's not my turn I am lost. So I'm reading.
And here's the point of this whole thing. I'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. You may have heard of it? Anyway, it's good and a bestseller for a reason. Read it. But that's not the point.
The point is, she's searching herself because of crisis in her life. Who hasn't? Fortunately for us, she's been kind enough to write about the experience and the story started before she started to improve. Which I thought was interesting, because my whole life has been based around self-searching and I only seem to write about it when I'm really up or really down. I decided to give the middle a shot. Here goes.
Oh yeah, I'm pretty unoriginal too. So I'll compare to what I'm reading, but it still seems interesting to me to do so. I've been thinking about it a lot. But I'm only in the first of three parts. I guess we'll soon find out how much that matters.
She (Liz) was married because she thought she should be and resenting the expectation of having children, which she didn't really want. But she had a really great job that paid her well for doing something she loves - writing. To be true to herself she acknowledged she didn't want kids, or even her husband for that matter. She went through an ugly divorce, but as the main breadwinner, she came out the other side able to travel for a whole year!
On the other hand, I married Nancy because I love her so much it sometimes makes me grit my teeth to the point that I fear they might break. And if that doesn't damage the pearly-whites then my love for Oliver is sure to. He was born because that's what we wanted. It hasn't felt wrong for a second and I don't expect it ever will. However, it is my job situation that has me reeling. I went through a divorce of sorts, but it wasn't so ugly for me as much as for the kids born of that relationship (co-workers). I too love writing, and although I once got an A+ in a 100-level writing class, I have yet to receive a cent for my imposing skill.
My search is different, and yet it's the same.
The first place Liz went was Italy. She had no real agenda other than to learn Italian and eat. Italian because it's beautiful, eat because...because it's Italy! The whole country is based around eating, for the love of God!
The first place I went was home. I ate because I have to stay alive. But quickly my life turned into Italy, and the whole day is based around food. "I need to get Oliver up so we can eat breakfast together, I need to stop working so I can feed Oliver lunch, he needs to eat now so he can sleep soon and be up from his nap at a reasonable time." Etc. As it turns out, eating responsibly means that it takes a few minutes to prepare food, clean up, and so on. Chunks of day gone, but I don't mind. I can eat what I want, and for the most part whenever I want. (Halloween candy, however, is a curse.)
But the beauty in my life is two-fold. I will take back in part what I said earlier, because it involves Oliver. But being around him so much is wonderful. Sometimes, of course, I want to put him in a basket and float him down the river. Not doing so is teaching me a lot about the depths of patience. The other times are great. I love the unsolicited, "I love you Dad," or "Oller tired," or even, "I miss Mama." I love that he's wearing underwear. That couldn't happen if I wasn't around all the time. I love wrestling him for as long as he wants, and not having to hurry up because lunch time is almost over. And I really love snuggling under a blanket with him and watching a movie. Am I a good parent? Eh, who knows? I just figure if I'm loving our time together then that love will make him a good person, somehow. And if that's true, he'll be great.
The other beauty of my life is writing. And reading this book makes me realize that what makes great writing isn't necessarily learned in school. She is funny, self-deprecating, insightful about herself, and she touches on a nerve that applies to most everyone. That's why her book is a bestseller.
Hell, I can do that.
At least I hope so. Do I want to have a book published? I'd be lying if I said no. But I understand the doubt. Why me, anyway?
Why not.
Also, does it matter? Isn't enjoying writing enough? I've actually found myself avoiding writing jobs because I'm afraid it will take away the magic. I'm probably right, too. So I keep looking at the other stuff, and I am not inspired. I am enjoying this time in my life that is suddenly filled with wonder. By helping mold a child's imagination I am molding my own. And I'm finding that imagination is powerful and easily discounted. Just know this: if I am a published author, reasonably wealthy, and living in an Italianate-style house in the next couple years, then you should remember this blog and talk to me. You can do it, too.
I am loving my personal Italy. Next up in the book is India, for spirituality. I've been so focused on that for over a decade that it sometimes makes me one-dimensional. What I'm really looking forward to is Bali. The fusing of enjoyment and a deeper meaning. Hopefully I can apply that to my life.
And when I do, I'll get back to you.
The upside is I am writing like it is my job. Which of course it is not. I don't have one! But I enjoy it more than anything.
I know what you're thinking. I enjoy raising Oliver more than anything. That's true of course, but I don't need to list it every time I rate fulfillment, do I? Or Nancy? I mean, if I were to get three wishes I wouldn't first wish for air to breathe, would I? Obviously nothing else works without that, but it's there along with the sun shining already. I'll tell you what, from now on whenever I talk about happiness and don't list Oliver or Nancy, just assume they occupy the top two slots. Then we don't have to worry about being bogged down in useless paragraphs like this one anymore. But I digress.
Back to the writing thing. I started this project on the Oliver story in such a way that enough people being interested would drive me to actually finish the story. So far it's definitely been enough to keep me writing. The flip side is, now that it's not my turn I am lost. So I'm reading.
And here's the point of this whole thing. I'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. You may have heard of it? Anyway, it's good and a bestseller for a reason. Read it. But that's not the point.
The point is, she's searching herself because of crisis in her life. Who hasn't? Fortunately for us, she's been kind enough to write about the experience and the story started before she started to improve. Which I thought was interesting, because my whole life has been based around self-searching and I only seem to write about it when I'm really up or really down. I decided to give the middle a shot. Here goes.
Oh yeah, I'm pretty unoriginal too. So I'll compare to what I'm reading, but it still seems interesting to me to do so. I've been thinking about it a lot. But I'm only in the first of three parts. I guess we'll soon find out how much that matters.
She (Liz) was married because she thought she should be and resenting the expectation of having children, which she didn't really want. But she had a really great job that paid her well for doing something she loves - writing. To be true to herself she acknowledged she didn't want kids, or even her husband for that matter. She went through an ugly divorce, but as the main breadwinner, she came out the other side able to travel for a whole year!
On the other hand, I married Nancy because I love her so much it sometimes makes me grit my teeth to the point that I fear they might break. And if that doesn't damage the pearly-whites then my love for Oliver is sure to. He was born because that's what we wanted. It hasn't felt wrong for a second and I don't expect it ever will. However, it is my job situation that has me reeling. I went through a divorce of sorts, but it wasn't so ugly for me as much as for the kids born of that relationship (co-workers). I too love writing, and although I once got an A+ in a 100-level writing class, I have yet to receive a cent for my imposing skill.
My search is different, and yet it's the same.
The first place Liz went was Italy. She had no real agenda other than to learn Italian and eat. Italian because it's beautiful, eat because...because it's Italy! The whole country is based around eating, for the love of God!
The first place I went was home. I ate because I have to stay alive. But quickly my life turned into Italy, and the whole day is based around food. "I need to get Oliver up so we can eat breakfast together, I need to stop working so I can feed Oliver lunch, he needs to eat now so he can sleep soon and be up from his nap at a reasonable time." Etc. As it turns out, eating responsibly means that it takes a few minutes to prepare food, clean up, and so on. Chunks of day gone, but I don't mind. I can eat what I want, and for the most part whenever I want. (Halloween candy, however, is a curse.)
But the beauty in my life is two-fold. I will take back in part what I said earlier, because it involves Oliver. But being around him so much is wonderful. Sometimes, of course, I want to put him in a basket and float him down the river. Not doing so is teaching me a lot about the depths of patience. The other times are great. I love the unsolicited, "I love you Dad," or "Oller tired," or even, "I miss Mama." I love that he's wearing underwear. That couldn't happen if I wasn't around all the time. I love wrestling him for as long as he wants, and not having to hurry up because lunch time is almost over. And I really love snuggling under a blanket with him and watching a movie. Am I a good parent? Eh, who knows? I just figure if I'm loving our time together then that love will make him a good person, somehow. And if that's true, he'll be great.
The other beauty of my life is writing. And reading this book makes me realize that what makes great writing isn't necessarily learned in school. She is funny, self-deprecating, insightful about herself, and she touches on a nerve that applies to most everyone. That's why her book is a bestseller.
Hell, I can do that.
At least I hope so. Do I want to have a book published? I'd be lying if I said no. But I understand the doubt. Why me, anyway?
Why not.
Also, does it matter? Isn't enjoying writing enough? I've actually found myself avoiding writing jobs because I'm afraid it will take away the magic. I'm probably right, too. So I keep looking at the other stuff, and I am not inspired. I am enjoying this time in my life that is suddenly filled with wonder. By helping mold a child's imagination I am molding my own. And I'm finding that imagination is powerful and easily discounted. Just know this: if I am a published author, reasonably wealthy, and living in an Italianate-style house in the next couple years, then you should remember this blog and talk to me. You can do it, too.
I am loving my personal Italy. Next up in the book is India, for spirituality. I've been so focused on that for over a decade that it sometimes makes me one-dimensional. What I'm really looking forward to is Bali. The fusing of enjoyment and a deeper meaning. Hopefully I can apply that to my life.
And when I do, I'll get back to you.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Section 5 - Part II
It's funny that I "split" this section after I had written 15 pages. It is now slightly lopsided, as the next half is 37. But it's about baseball, and moves pretty quickly. Trust me, it wrote very quickly. Most of this was written in less than a week. I have become a medium for this story, and am no longer the author.
By the way, this section is up. Click on the title to check it out. For those of you who only get this as an email, click http://olivermcbubbins.wordpress.com/
By the way, this section is up. Click on the title to check it out. For those of you who only get this as an email, click http://olivermcbubbins.wordpress.com/
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Stay-at-home-rad!
Remember the name of my blog. It is important to know. Because I have a feeling that most readers will think that I'm either looking for sympathy or I will be told how easy I have it compared to (fill in personal story here). Back to sentence number one, please. This is simply a representation, a way to get life off my chest if you will.
What the heck am I talking about? My temporary life. Remember, faithful readers, that I am jobless. And childcare-less. This truly is as simple as one plus one, and it equals two of us at home. (My friend George has recently been paying me to do some work on his house, but what I'm talking about here is all the other days.)
Yes, stay-at-home-dad. Mr. Mom. Fortunately, those are the only nicknames I know for it. And also unfortunately, because I hear them a lot! For the record, I would rather work. I love Oliver - a ton. He doesn't drive me crazy when we're alone, teaching him things is fulfilling, playing with him is actually fun for me too, and I feel great about our time together. But I'm learning something that I have in common with babies:
In spite of every fiber of my being crying out otherwise, I NEED STRUCTURE!
You want to know how I know? Here's my current structure:
I wake up when Oliver wakes up. At first it wasn't this way, because I couldn't sleep through Nancy getting up in the morning. No more. And Oliver can sleep until 9. Sounds good you say? Nope!
Now I'm up. I read the paper while I feed/ignore Oliver and myself. This seems to wind down around 10. At which point I justify to myself that if I put him in front of a movie to job-hunt then it's OK. The movie starts, I put away breakfast dishes, which often means I unload the dishwasher, and while I'm at it I may as well put the dryer on for the last 15 minutes (don't ask, long story and sore subject) because by the time I'm done with the dishes the dryer will be done and I might as well move the clothes over from the washer and now that the washer is empty I can run another load and Holy Crap! I forgot about putting the chickens out and gathering the eggs and (expletive) those hungry (expletives) are out of food again!? so I get that taken care of and now the second load of laundry is wrapping up in the dryer and I fold and put those away (Nancy will be soooooo happy!) and the movie is over.
I have to admit that sometimes at this point movie number two will happen. Go ahead, call child services. I deserve it. But hey! Sometimes it is Sesame Street, and I learned a lot from Sesame Street. I still remember -tion (shon shon shon shon!), for example.
Anyway, when this happens I will then finally get on the computer. Check the email. Nothing. Check Facebook (because of all the job offers that happen there!). Boring. And now I'm also irritated because of all the freaking Yankee fans I'm friends with. Hey Yankee fans: DON'T POST ANOTHER RUN SCORING AS YOUR STATUS, ANY MORON WHO CARES ALREADY KNOWS! AND IT'S ANNOYING!
On a side note, I'm very happy for you that it took billions of dollars in payroll to get to the World Series again. Money well spent. The Iraq War called, it wants its waste of money back.
Anyway, now I go to Oregon Employment. Very exciting website designed by a 70-year-old in a web-design class. I click through the forty pages I need to go through until I can job search. Nothing. Something interesting is happening to me. I am qualified for most jobs that pay up to $10 per hour. I am definitely not qualified for any job over $17. And all those in between, I seem to be missing one key thing. Neato. And so I went to school to...do what I did before I moved to Eugene? Understandably, this is depressing. Cum Laude is Latin for "doesn't mean jack shii unless you go to grad school or are related to someone important." I hate Latin.
So back to my day. It is now time for Oliver to sleep. I lovingly put him to bed, complete with reading stories, rocking, and snuggling. Take that child services! You cannot take my son! He loves the way I rock him and read! I do many excellent voices, and I am a source of endless entertainment for him!
Anyway, back to the computer I am growing to hate. Notice no writing lately? No? Well, I did. Not even much on the story, which is funny because one of my first thoughts when I was in that weird lay-off meeting was, "Well, at least now I can really work on the story." Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, no.
I now bog down on applying for one job that I don't think I really want but may pay me an OK wage or offer benefits or at least I need to dress kind of nice for. Sometimes I get through the application. Sometimes a crazy thing will happen like...complete this weird interactive quiz thing that will only take an hour. Since Oliver usually sleeps for two, I am game. Then about 45 minutes in, I will finish typing a two paragraph pile of crap about how I would upsell garbage, hit backspace which inexplicably takes me to the previous page, and spend the next two minutes resisting the urge to discus my laptop into the park across the street. I don't finish. I chalk it up to "it wasn't meant to be."
Then Nancy comes home. She hates seeing me like this, and wonders why I need to be crappy every day after work. I try to explain but I can't. Yes, Oliver watched a movie today. No we didn't go outside. Now I feel like a bad parent AND a useless part of civilization. I don't want to argue with her so I just stop talking. Inside the head is danger, and now I am starting to feel really down. Then I eat dinner. Then we watch a movie. Then I reflect on what I accomplished today. Then I am down.
I'll find a job tomorrow.
What the heck am I talking about? My temporary life. Remember, faithful readers, that I am jobless. And childcare-less. This truly is as simple as one plus one, and it equals two of us at home. (My friend George has recently been paying me to do some work on his house, but what I'm talking about here is all the other days.)
Yes, stay-at-home-dad. Mr. Mom. Fortunately, those are the only nicknames I know for it. And also unfortunately, because I hear them a lot! For the record, I would rather work. I love Oliver - a ton. He doesn't drive me crazy when we're alone, teaching him things is fulfilling, playing with him is actually fun for me too, and I feel great about our time together. But I'm learning something that I have in common with babies:
In spite of every fiber of my being crying out otherwise, I NEED STRUCTURE!
You want to know how I know? Here's my current structure:
I wake up when Oliver wakes up. At first it wasn't this way, because I couldn't sleep through Nancy getting up in the morning. No more. And Oliver can sleep until 9. Sounds good you say? Nope!
Now I'm up. I read the paper while I feed/ignore Oliver and myself. This seems to wind down around 10. At which point I justify to myself that if I put him in front of a movie to job-hunt then it's OK. The movie starts, I put away breakfast dishes, which often means I unload the dishwasher, and while I'm at it I may as well put the dryer on for the last 15 minutes (don't ask, long story and sore subject) because by the time I'm done with the dishes the dryer will be done and I might as well move the clothes over from the washer and now that the washer is empty I can run another load and Holy Crap! I forgot about putting the chickens out and gathering the eggs and (expletive) those hungry (expletives) are out of food again!? so I get that taken care of and now the second load of laundry is wrapping up in the dryer and I fold and put those away (Nancy will be soooooo happy!) and the movie is over.
I have to admit that sometimes at this point movie number two will happen. Go ahead, call child services. I deserve it. But hey! Sometimes it is Sesame Street, and I learned a lot from Sesame Street. I still remember -tion (shon shon shon shon!), for example.
Anyway, when this happens I will then finally get on the computer. Check the email. Nothing. Check Facebook (because of all the job offers that happen there!). Boring. And now I'm also irritated because of all the freaking Yankee fans I'm friends with. Hey Yankee fans: DON'T POST ANOTHER RUN SCORING AS YOUR STATUS, ANY MORON WHO CARES ALREADY KNOWS! AND IT'S ANNOYING!
On a side note, I'm very happy for you that it took billions of dollars in payroll to get to the World Series again. Money well spent. The Iraq War called, it wants its waste of money back.
Anyway, now I go to Oregon Employment. Very exciting website designed by a 70-year-old in a web-design class. I click through the forty pages I need to go through until I can job search. Nothing. Something interesting is happening to me. I am qualified for most jobs that pay up to $10 per hour. I am definitely not qualified for any job over $17. And all those in between, I seem to be missing one key thing. Neato. And so I went to school to...do what I did before I moved to Eugene? Understandably, this is depressing. Cum Laude is Latin for "doesn't mean jack shii unless you go to grad school or are related to someone important." I hate Latin.
So back to my day. It is now time for Oliver to sleep. I lovingly put him to bed, complete with reading stories, rocking, and snuggling. Take that child services! You cannot take my son! He loves the way I rock him and read! I do many excellent voices, and I am a source of endless entertainment for him!
Anyway, back to the computer I am growing to hate. Notice no writing lately? No? Well, I did. Not even much on the story, which is funny because one of my first thoughts when I was in that weird lay-off meeting was, "Well, at least now I can really work on the story." Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, no.
I now bog down on applying for one job that I don't think I really want but may pay me an OK wage or offer benefits or at least I need to dress kind of nice for. Sometimes I get through the application. Sometimes a crazy thing will happen like...complete this weird interactive quiz thing that will only take an hour. Since Oliver usually sleeps for two, I am game. Then about 45 minutes in, I will finish typing a two paragraph pile of crap about how I would upsell garbage, hit backspace which inexplicably takes me to the previous page, and spend the next two minutes resisting the urge to discus my laptop into the park across the street. I don't finish. I chalk it up to "it wasn't meant to be."
Then Nancy comes home. She hates seeing me like this, and wonders why I need to be crappy every day after work. I try to explain but I can't. Yes, Oliver watched a movie today. No we didn't go outside. Now I feel like a bad parent AND a useless part of civilization. I don't want to argue with her so I just stop talking. Inside the head is danger, and now I am starting to feel really down. Then I eat dinner. Then we watch a movie. Then I reflect on what I accomplished today. Then I am down.
I'll find a job tomorrow.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Wherever the FFFFFFF We Are
As some of you know, I recently went to three Pearl Jam shows: two in Seattle and one in Portland (or at least some place called Ridgefield, which actually isn't in Oregon at all, but that's what they're calling it and I will too).
I was as high as can be on life after the first show in Seattle because of a number of factors. I was in the 20th row, it was the first time I had seen any of Backspacer live, and they are one damn great rock band that gets better with every tour. So I went back to the house we were renting after the show, and Brad directed me to the message board on their website to see what people thought. This was a dangerous move.
I saw very quickly that a lot of "fans" out there like to complain about the crowd. I personally do not care, but apparently that makes or breaks a show for a lot of people. Not caring, I turned the computer off and somehow went to sleep that night.
The next day was show number two. I figured we'd be closer on this night, because I thought most people who only went to one show would go to the first one of the tour. (And as a brief explanation for those of you who don't know, fan club tickets get priority seating based on the fan club number. Basically, the lower the number the closer the seat, besides rows 1, 2, 9, and 10, which are lottery rows.) Imagine my surprise when I got to my seat and not only was it not on the floor, it was in the back corner of the arena.
Oh and by the way, this show was the BEST one I have ever been to. I have been to 32, including a small benefit show in Portland and Pearl Jam's 10th anniversary show which was very special. But night two in Seattle had great energy from the band, and an amazing setlist (which is very important when you've been to as many shows as I have).
But the seating thing was confusing, so afterward I went back to the message board to see if this happened to a lot of people. There were some around us, sure, but I had no idea how widespread the problem was.
As it turns out, not very. But it was a mistake, and the Ten Club more than made it up to me.
But that's not the point of this story. The point comes from the "Portland" show. And the fact that many people on the message boards talked about the crappiness of the crowds in Seattle. I didn't understand why so many people cared.
Remember how I said that the crowd doesn't matter? Not true. I realized that a crowd is a lot like government. The entire crowd represents the federal government, and this is what people usually judge. However, the immediate crowd is like local government, and this is what makes the most actual difference.
Anyway, my local crowd happened to be in the 8th row, the closest I've been besides possibly a show I saw in Dublin in 2000. I was stoked, to say the least. Plus everyone around me seemed really cool. Dan talked to a girl from Buffalo because he had a Rochester shirt on, I saw the couple who traded tickets with Adam and Kira for the second night in Seattle, allowing them to be on the floor for the first time. It was great.
But the two seats in front of me remained vacant until after Ben Harper and the Relentless 7 were done (what fools miss that, by the way?) Right before Pearl Jam came on, the seats were finally occupied by two guys, both taller than me by at least four inches. No matter, though. I could see most of the stage if I looked in between them.
But nine songs in I noticed a problem. The band went in to "Evenflow," which happens to be from their first album. It is still popular amongst casual fans, but I wish they wouldn't play it again for 15 years because I've seen it dozens of times. But the fact of the matter is that I'm still seeing my favorite band, so I enjoy it for what it is worth. Two rows up from me, a group of people we're enjoying it for far more than it was worth. They were freaking out, reveling, headbutting, and swaying with arms around each other. Kind of embarrassing, actually. But I can understand on a level. And as long as people are having a good time and not infringing on my enjoyment, I don't care.
What I did care about was the two big guys in front of me. They instantly starting making fun of that group, swaying, laughing, and so on. Not to their faces, of course. But what was really annoying was that they made a comment to each other many times per song for the rest of the show. Every time that happened, my window to the stage was closed. Obviously, that was very annoying.
What really bothers me, however, is as follows. I started liking Pearl Jam because they were (and are) an emotions-on-the-sleeve kind of band. They felt real. They were certainly not elitist. And when I first listened to them, I was in high school. Anyone who's ever gone to high school knows that virtually everyone gets made fun of, it is very elitist, and the people who remain friends are a select group indeed. Pearl Jam was a group, at my school at least, who represented people who didn't want to be a part of the name-calling and idiocy.
So here I was, at a Pearl Jam show with the best seats I've ever had, completely distracted because the two morons in front of me couldn't stop acting like high schoolers. I was disgusted. And I wondered where their enjoyment of the show was. Was the best part when Ben Harper joined the guys for an awesome version of "Red Mosquito?"
Was it Eddie's duet with Corin Tucker (from Sleater-Kinney) on "Golden State?"
Or was it acting like a couple of jackasses and partially ruining my experience? I would much rather have people act like they've just won the lottery when the popular radio songs come on than make fun of those who do. If you're making fun of people, you have missed the point of the band and you should stop renewing your membership. Let the real fans up front. The ones who get it.
The funny thing was getting on the message boards after the show and seeing all the fans say how great the crowd was, compared to Seattle. Maybe overall, I don't really know. For me, not so much. Thanks a lot, a-holes.
I was as high as can be on life after the first show in Seattle because of a number of factors. I was in the 20th row, it was the first time I had seen any of Backspacer live, and they are one damn great rock band that gets better with every tour. So I went back to the house we were renting after the show, and Brad directed me to the message board on their website to see what people thought. This was a dangerous move.
I saw very quickly that a lot of "fans" out there like to complain about the crowd. I personally do not care, but apparently that makes or breaks a show for a lot of people. Not caring, I turned the computer off and somehow went to sleep that night.
The next day was show number two. I figured we'd be closer on this night, because I thought most people who only went to one show would go to the first one of the tour. (And as a brief explanation for those of you who don't know, fan club tickets get priority seating based on the fan club number. Basically, the lower the number the closer the seat, besides rows 1, 2, 9, and 10, which are lottery rows.) Imagine my surprise when I got to my seat and not only was it not on the floor, it was in the back corner of the arena.
Oh and by the way, this show was the BEST one I have ever been to. I have been to 32, including a small benefit show in Portland and Pearl Jam's 10th anniversary show which was very special. But night two in Seattle had great energy from the band, and an amazing setlist (which is very important when you've been to as many shows as I have).
But the seating thing was confusing, so afterward I went back to the message board to see if this happened to a lot of people. There were some around us, sure, but I had no idea how widespread the problem was.
As it turns out, not very. But it was a mistake, and the Ten Club more than made it up to me.
But that's not the point of this story. The point comes from the "Portland" show. And the fact that many people on the message boards talked about the crappiness of the crowds in Seattle. I didn't understand why so many people cared.
Remember how I said that the crowd doesn't matter? Not true. I realized that a crowd is a lot like government. The entire crowd represents the federal government, and this is what people usually judge. However, the immediate crowd is like local government, and this is what makes the most actual difference.
Anyway, my local crowd happened to be in the 8th row, the closest I've been besides possibly a show I saw in Dublin in 2000. I was stoked, to say the least. Plus everyone around me seemed really cool. Dan talked to a girl from Buffalo because he had a Rochester shirt on, I saw the couple who traded tickets with Adam and Kira for the second night in Seattle, allowing them to be on the floor for the first time. It was great.
But the two seats in front of me remained vacant until after Ben Harper and the Relentless 7 were done (what fools miss that, by the way?) Right before Pearl Jam came on, the seats were finally occupied by two guys, both taller than me by at least four inches. No matter, though. I could see most of the stage if I looked in between them.
But nine songs in I noticed a problem. The band went in to "Evenflow," which happens to be from their first album. It is still popular amongst casual fans, but I wish they wouldn't play it again for 15 years because I've seen it dozens of times. But the fact of the matter is that I'm still seeing my favorite band, so I enjoy it for what it is worth. Two rows up from me, a group of people we're enjoying it for far more than it was worth. They were freaking out, reveling, headbutting, and swaying with arms around each other. Kind of embarrassing, actually. But I can understand on a level. And as long as people are having a good time and not infringing on my enjoyment, I don't care.
What I did care about was the two big guys in front of me. They instantly starting making fun of that group, swaying, laughing, and so on. Not to their faces, of course. But what was really annoying was that they made a comment to each other many times per song for the rest of the show. Every time that happened, my window to the stage was closed. Obviously, that was very annoying.
What really bothers me, however, is as follows. I started liking Pearl Jam because they were (and are) an emotions-on-the-sleeve kind of band. They felt real. They were certainly not elitist. And when I first listened to them, I was in high school. Anyone who's ever gone to high school knows that virtually everyone gets made fun of, it is very elitist, and the people who remain friends are a select group indeed. Pearl Jam was a group, at my school at least, who represented people who didn't want to be a part of the name-calling and idiocy.
So here I was, at a Pearl Jam show with the best seats I've ever had, completely distracted because the two morons in front of me couldn't stop acting like high schoolers. I was disgusted. And I wondered where their enjoyment of the show was. Was the best part when Ben Harper joined the guys for an awesome version of "Red Mosquito?"
Was it Eddie's duet with Corin Tucker (from Sleater-Kinney) on "Golden State?"
Or was it acting like a couple of jackasses and partially ruining my experience? I would much rather have people act like they've just won the lottery when the popular radio songs come on than make fun of those who do. If you're making fun of people, you have missed the point of the band and you should stop renewing your membership. Let the real fans up front. The ones who get it.
The funny thing was getting on the message boards after the show and seeing all the fans say how great the crowd was, compared to Seattle. Maybe overall, I don't really know. For me, not so much. Thanks a lot, a-holes.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
He's Gone
So I had a couple of things cooking for this next installment. Once I had the pictures, I was going to write about taking Oliver to Fenway Park. It was really fun. I also had a reunion with Dave Garrow while in Rhode Island, and got to meet his family. It was really good to see him again, and I am looking forward to doing some more catching up with him. I was really looking forward to writing about these things.
Then something funny happened.
I was "laid off."
I put that in quotes because it is far too open-ended to have much of a meaning. And I don't plan to explain its definition necessarily in this entry. You will have to put it together for yourselves.
Here comes a sharp turn, but trust me when I tell you we're coming back to the subject at hand.
How do you like your movies? Do you like the ones that have happy endings? Or at least endings that make sense and everything is tied together with a neat little bow?
If your answer is "yes," I'm afraid this entry will disappoint. This entry is going to be one of those movies with an ending that makes you wonder or think. It will not be neat.
I am SURE that there are many of you out there who would love me to go absolutely nuclear on this situation I now find myself in. Not a happy ending for sure, but at least highly satisfying. Trust me when I tell you that I could, but you are going to have to settle for disappointment if it is carnage you wish for.
There are two main reasons for this. First, I am seeking employment elsewhere and it wouldn't look very good to a prospective employer if they found a blog post from me annhilating my previous job. Second, I'm not a big believer in burning bridges. Plus I truly feel that everything happens for a reason, not that it is very apparent right now.
However, I can imagine that many of you are confused as to how this situation is even possible, and that is the real reason that I'm here writing this. So here goes something.
I started at the Tin Woodsman (or Crosby & Taylor) in 2002, one year after Nancy started. I was a regular production worker. Those of you who know me (100% of all my readers, presumably) know that I work my butt off, I am intelligent, and I care. Naturally, this is what I did at the TW. So I became Tim's (the Production Manager at the time) right-hand man of sorts. He saw that I was enthusiastic, normal, and trustworthy and fed me responsibility. Of course I took it.
Eventually Tim went into more of a designer's role, and that opened up a spot for me as Production Manager. At around the same time, I was starting to have a school schedule that interfered more with work, and I should say that the flexibility of the work schedule was always something I appreciated very much. I was allowed to work when I could, and I never took that for granted.
Anyway, Production Manager. Change is the name of the game in life. Change is the absolute rule at the TW. I was always fine-tuning systems to make things more efficient. Or creating new ones from scratch. I could do this because I was working very closely with the entire process, and could see how each change would affect all the other steps. Sometimes, however, panic would set in and the system would be taken away from me. Obviously, this hurt a lot. It meant I wasn't doing a good enough job, or that what I did do every day was taken for granted or viewed as meaningless. And at first I battled back, because I cared about the company. I didn't give a damn if the system was mine, her's, or the homeless guy's in the car out front - I just wanted it to work. And I KNEW that the new system didn't take everything into consideration and would cause more harm than good.
This happened a few times. Each time got easier, because each time I cared less. I figured out that my obedience was more important than my concern, and realized that a vibrant company cannot be run on such values. Plus, I was finishing school soon and what better time to start a career? So I left.
The career lasted a month-and-a-half. The job was, quite frankly, awful. It was an impossible situation and if you are a prospective employer reading this, I'll be more than happy to explain why in an interview. Otherwise, just know that it was very bad.
So I asked to come back, tail between my legs. I was graciously accepted, and even asked what I could offer the company that I learned in school! Egads! I was given a week to compile a portfolio of sorts, and I was looking forward to putting my schooling to use for the company (and people) I cared about.
So many long stories to make short here. The schooling I ended up using most was what I learned in two classes about Microsoft Excel. What I wanted to do was reduce the constant paranoia of the place by helping create this thing called a budget.
See, there were always spasms of money fears. These resulted in "spending freezes" or mass layoffs. I felt like since I went to school for Finance, graduated Cum Laude (while working full-time, buying a house, remodeling that house, planning and executing a great wedding, having a child), I had some things I could offer the TW.
In fairness, my wife and two brothers work there and perhaps me knowing too much about the finances would cause conflicts. I can understand this thinking, although it is fear-based. What should be known is this; I was once in the break room taking one of the many TW quizzes, when I noticed an unusual sheet at the bottom of the pile. It took two seconds for me to realize that it was a hand-written list of all the employees and what they had made for the previous year. It took me two more seconds to realize that I was getting paid nearly half of what the previous Production Manager made for doing the same job. And it took me two more seconds to destroy it and never talk to anyone about it. In retrospect, perhaps I should've brought this up sooner.
I didn't complain, I didn't slack, and as a matter of fact I was constantly put in a position where I tried to explain why raises weren't coming so often for others. Now you know.
The fact of the matter is I was the perfect person for the job, and yet it never happened. If I were a son, obviously I'd still work there. But more importantly, I am convinced the money troubles that caused my departure would be history. I'm not saying I'd increase sales. I'm saying that there's more to planning the financing of a business than having an accountant. By definition, an accountant counts what already happened. Finance projects. A budget and a Statement of Cash Flows are powerful tools.
I promised I wouldn't get bitter, and I'm sorry if there seemed to be sour grapes here. I want to convey that I am grateful for a lot of things, like the aforementioned flexibility, the opportunity to work with friends, the child-care for Oliver's first two-and-a-half years, the satisfaction of taking a mess and ending with a nicely packed order.
But what may seem like anger is not. It's disappointment. The reason that people stay at the TW is because it is almost perfect. Employees can see perfection on the horizon. They think they can help get there, wherever "there" may be. For me it was helping ease the financial worries.
So close.
My fear today is this - for the first time since I've worked there the crew is going to feel like the possibility of perfection is gone and it's never coming back. And I will say this for myself - I can motivate an demoralized crew. But I am gone. I got in the ship with perfection, and set sail. The place that has given me so much, has paid for my home and wedding and Oliver's healthcare and my car and vacations, it is in trouble. And I can't help it anymore.
By the time you read this, you will have gotten on with your lives. Most likely you are going to work, or school, or another day of retirement. The same as always.
But for me, right now, it is Sunday night. When I wake up tomorrow, I'm not going to work.
Then something funny happened.
I was "laid off."
I put that in quotes because it is far too open-ended to have much of a meaning. And I don't plan to explain its definition necessarily in this entry. You will have to put it together for yourselves.
Here comes a sharp turn, but trust me when I tell you we're coming back to the subject at hand.
How do you like your movies? Do you like the ones that have happy endings? Or at least endings that make sense and everything is tied together with a neat little bow?
If your answer is "yes," I'm afraid this entry will disappoint. This entry is going to be one of those movies with an ending that makes you wonder or think. It will not be neat.
I am SURE that there are many of you out there who would love me to go absolutely nuclear on this situation I now find myself in. Not a happy ending for sure, but at least highly satisfying. Trust me when I tell you that I could, but you are going to have to settle for disappointment if it is carnage you wish for.
There are two main reasons for this. First, I am seeking employment elsewhere and it wouldn't look very good to a prospective employer if they found a blog post from me annhilating my previous job. Second, I'm not a big believer in burning bridges. Plus I truly feel that everything happens for a reason, not that it is very apparent right now.
However, I can imagine that many of you are confused as to how this situation is even possible, and that is the real reason that I'm here writing this. So here goes something.
I started at the Tin Woodsman (or Crosby & Taylor) in 2002, one year after Nancy started. I was a regular production worker. Those of you who know me (100% of all my readers, presumably) know that I work my butt off, I am intelligent, and I care. Naturally, this is what I did at the TW. So I became Tim's (the Production Manager at the time) right-hand man of sorts. He saw that I was enthusiastic, normal, and trustworthy and fed me responsibility. Of course I took it.
Eventually Tim went into more of a designer's role, and that opened up a spot for me as Production Manager. At around the same time, I was starting to have a school schedule that interfered more with work, and I should say that the flexibility of the work schedule was always something I appreciated very much. I was allowed to work when I could, and I never took that for granted.
Anyway, Production Manager. Change is the name of the game in life. Change is the absolute rule at the TW. I was always fine-tuning systems to make things more efficient. Or creating new ones from scratch. I could do this because I was working very closely with the entire process, and could see how each change would affect all the other steps. Sometimes, however, panic would set in and the system would be taken away from me. Obviously, this hurt a lot. It meant I wasn't doing a good enough job, or that what I did do every day was taken for granted or viewed as meaningless. And at first I battled back, because I cared about the company. I didn't give a damn if the system was mine, her's, or the homeless guy's in the car out front - I just wanted it to work. And I KNEW that the new system didn't take everything into consideration and would cause more harm than good.
This happened a few times. Each time got easier, because each time I cared less. I figured out that my obedience was more important than my concern, and realized that a vibrant company cannot be run on such values. Plus, I was finishing school soon and what better time to start a career? So I left.
The career lasted a month-and-a-half. The job was, quite frankly, awful. It was an impossible situation and if you are a prospective employer reading this, I'll be more than happy to explain why in an interview. Otherwise, just know that it was very bad.
So I asked to come back, tail between my legs. I was graciously accepted, and even asked what I could offer the company that I learned in school! Egads! I was given a week to compile a portfolio of sorts, and I was looking forward to putting my schooling to use for the company (and people) I cared about.
So many long stories to make short here. The schooling I ended up using most was what I learned in two classes about Microsoft Excel. What I wanted to do was reduce the constant paranoia of the place by helping create this thing called a budget.
See, there were always spasms of money fears. These resulted in "spending freezes" or mass layoffs. I felt like since I went to school for Finance, graduated Cum Laude (while working full-time, buying a house, remodeling that house, planning and executing a great wedding, having a child), I had some things I could offer the TW.
In fairness, my wife and two brothers work there and perhaps me knowing too much about the finances would cause conflicts. I can understand this thinking, although it is fear-based. What should be known is this; I was once in the break room taking one of the many TW quizzes, when I noticed an unusual sheet at the bottom of the pile. It took two seconds for me to realize that it was a hand-written list of all the employees and what they had made for the previous year. It took me two more seconds to realize that I was getting paid nearly half of what the previous Production Manager made for doing the same job. And it took me two more seconds to destroy it and never talk to anyone about it. In retrospect, perhaps I should've brought this up sooner.
I didn't complain, I didn't slack, and as a matter of fact I was constantly put in a position where I tried to explain why raises weren't coming so often for others. Now you know.
The fact of the matter is I was the perfect person for the job, and yet it never happened. If I were a son, obviously I'd still work there. But more importantly, I am convinced the money troubles that caused my departure would be history. I'm not saying I'd increase sales. I'm saying that there's more to planning the financing of a business than having an accountant. By definition, an accountant counts what already happened. Finance projects. A budget and a Statement of Cash Flows are powerful tools.
I promised I wouldn't get bitter, and I'm sorry if there seemed to be sour grapes here. I want to convey that I am grateful for a lot of things, like the aforementioned flexibility, the opportunity to work with friends, the child-care for Oliver's first two-and-a-half years, the satisfaction of taking a mess and ending with a nicely packed order.
But what may seem like anger is not. It's disappointment. The reason that people stay at the TW is because it is almost perfect. Employees can see perfection on the horizon. They think they can help get there, wherever "there" may be. For me it was helping ease the financial worries.
So close.
My fear today is this - for the first time since I've worked there the crew is going to feel like the possibility of perfection is gone and it's never coming back. And I will say this for myself - I can motivate an demoralized crew. But I am gone. I got in the ship with perfection, and set sail. The place that has given me so much, has paid for my home and wedding and Oliver's healthcare and my car and vacations, it is in trouble. And I can't help it anymore.
By the time you read this, you will have gotten on with your lives. Most likely you are going to work, or school, or another day of retirement. The same as always.
But for me, right now, it is Sunday night. When I wake up tomorrow, I'm not going to work.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
The First Annual Trent Family Camping Trip
I love living in a city. I love being able to ride my bike to work, or the store, or on a bike path that hugs the river bank. I love being able to talk to people simply by stepping out on my front porch. I really love having my house connected to electricity and the city's sewer and water systems.
But sometimes it is great to get away. In fact, my family is so confident that we will like getting away from the city at least once a year that we have decided to hold an annual Trent Family camping trip. We recently wrapped up year number one.
This first of many camping trips involved the following: myself, Nancy, Oliver, Dan, Cortney, Nolan, Margo (or perhaps Margot, either way she's Dan & Cortney's dog), Kaytlin (Cortney's sister), Adam, and Kira. Nancy, Oliver and I had scouted out a campground a few weeks before and deemed it fit to hold such a group of wingnuts and entertain us at the same time. The campground is called Rujada, is about 45 minutes from Eugene, and it is the poop (I wanted to use a different word here, but I promised a long time ago to keep it clean).
I learned two very important lessons.
1. I love camping.
2. If Dan is responsible for bringing something to the campground, make sure he actually brings it. See exhibit #1 below. It is me using the "coffee grinder." Yes, Dan was responsible for coffee.
He was also responsible for wood, didn't bring any, but more than made up for it. You see, Dan has a problem. He desperately needs to burn things, and he will stop at nothing to do so. No firewood would normally be a problem when meals for two days are planned with fire in mind. However, the Lord of Camping provided Dan with a thing called the woods. These woods were teeming with things like fallen trees, loose sticks, and moss (all of which ran the entire wet/dry spectrum). And Dan's "problem" passed quickly to Adam. The two of them spent virtually the entire time either (a) procuring burnable matter or (b) burning what they had just collected. Basically they were either in front of the fire or in the woods. Seriously, at one point Dan had a fire going at his camp even though the food was being prepared at ours. When I asked him why this was, he said, "Why not?" Why not indeed.
I must interject a small aside here. The funniest part of the entire trip was when I was standing around minding my own business, and suddenly Dan and Adam appeared from out of nowhere carrying a freaking tree. Actually, a tree is not an accurate description of what they were carrying, just what it looked like. What they actually had was an ecosystem. Adam tried to burn a part of it for hours, and even though the fire was nuclear around it, this log was more water than wood and caused a dead spot in the kiln. When I decided to investigate the rest of the tree, it fell apart in my hands and crawly things I've never seen before emerged from every crevice. But they grabbed it because, "you could just push it over." Good enough.
Anyway, back to Dan. Keep in mind he did all of his work with a small hatchet and a pruning saw. But Dan is a tireless worker, especially when there's an addiction to feed. So he'd have his gigantic piles of wood - the tiny sticks, the larger sticks, and the logs - all sorted out and ready to go at all times. The strange thing about Dan though is that if the flames drop below 10 feet high, he'll start adding wood. Or poking, but this tends to diminish the fire because Dan isn't actually good at working with a fire, he simply excels due to the sheer amount that he burns. But when he adds wood, he adds the sticks. In order to avoid a brain aneurysm, I usually busy myself elsewhere at this point. Besides, would you want to mess with this guy?
Back to lesson #1. I love camping. The woods are a peaceful and wonderful place to recharge the batteries and remind me that there's a lot of distracting noise in my life. Getting away from that noise has a remarkable centering effect. Plus, our campground has a creek that's perfect for swimming in or skipping rocks (which pleases Oliver as much as it does me), a 1.9 mile trail that is beautiful, and a bathroom with flushable toilets. And oh yeah, I sprayed myself with bug spray zero times, once for every mosquito bite I got. Eat your hearts out, non-Oregonians.
The best part of camping is not having to do ANYTHING! Everything is based around meals. Prep breakfast, cook it, clean up. Make a butt-load of coffee, consume, repeat. That's it! The next thing on the to-do list is lunch. That is a huge chunk of time to be filled with nothing, and I love it. Don't get me wrong, I love having a clean house and clean clothes and clean dishes and watered plants and cats that are fed and chickens that are fed and watered and grass that's less than two feet high and laundry that's put somewhere other than on my floor, but sometimes it's great to NOT DO THOSE THINGS for two days in a row. Whew.
At one point, I put Oliver down for a nap. I read him some stories, and snuggled him because he's cute and I love him very much (and he's soft and smells good), and I got a little tired. This feeling happens at home sometimes, and I'm usually roused by the need to go help Nancy do something. However, when camping this happens:
The best part? I will never know how long I was in there. It could've been 5 minutes or an hour, but it didn't matter.
But sometimes it is great to get away. In fact, my family is so confident that we will like getting away from the city at least once a year that we have decided to hold an annual Trent Family camping trip. We recently wrapped up year number one.
This first of many camping trips involved the following: myself, Nancy, Oliver, Dan, Cortney, Nolan, Margo (or perhaps Margot, either way she's Dan & Cortney's dog), Kaytlin (Cortney's sister), Adam, and Kira. Nancy, Oliver and I had scouted out a campground a few weeks before and deemed it fit to hold such a group of wingnuts and entertain us at the same time. The campground is called Rujada, is about 45 minutes from Eugene, and it is the poop (I wanted to use a different word here, but I promised a long time ago to keep it clean).
I learned two very important lessons.
1. I love camping.
2. If Dan is responsible for bringing something to the campground, make sure he actually brings it. See exhibit #1 below. It is me using the "coffee grinder." Yes, Dan was responsible for coffee.
He was also responsible for wood, didn't bring any, but more than made up for it. You see, Dan has a problem. He desperately needs to burn things, and he will stop at nothing to do so. No firewood would normally be a problem when meals for two days are planned with fire in mind. However, the Lord of Camping provided Dan with a thing called the woods. These woods were teeming with things like fallen trees, loose sticks, and moss (all of which ran the entire wet/dry spectrum). And Dan's "problem" passed quickly to Adam. The two of them spent virtually the entire time either (a) procuring burnable matter or (b) burning what they had just collected. Basically they were either in front of the fire or in the woods. Seriously, at one point Dan had a fire going at his camp even though the food was being prepared at ours. When I asked him why this was, he said, "Why not?" Why not indeed.
I must interject a small aside here. The funniest part of the entire trip was when I was standing around minding my own business, and suddenly Dan and Adam appeared from out of nowhere carrying a freaking tree. Actually, a tree is not an accurate description of what they were carrying, just what it looked like. What they actually had was an ecosystem. Adam tried to burn a part of it for hours, and even though the fire was nuclear around it, this log was more water than wood and caused a dead spot in the kiln. When I decided to investigate the rest of the tree, it fell apart in my hands and crawly things I've never seen before emerged from every crevice. But they grabbed it because, "you could just push it over." Good enough.
Anyway, back to Dan. Keep in mind he did all of his work with a small hatchet and a pruning saw. But Dan is a tireless worker, especially when there's an addiction to feed. So he'd have his gigantic piles of wood - the tiny sticks, the larger sticks, and the logs - all sorted out and ready to go at all times. The strange thing about Dan though is that if the flames drop below 10 feet high, he'll start adding wood. Or poking, but this tends to diminish the fire because Dan isn't actually good at working with a fire, he simply excels due to the sheer amount that he burns. But when he adds wood, he adds the sticks. In order to avoid a brain aneurysm, I usually busy myself elsewhere at this point. Besides, would you want to mess with this guy?
Back to lesson #1. I love camping. The woods are a peaceful and wonderful place to recharge the batteries and remind me that there's a lot of distracting noise in my life. Getting away from that noise has a remarkable centering effect. Plus, our campground has a creek that's perfect for swimming in or skipping rocks (which pleases Oliver as much as it does me), a 1.9 mile trail that is beautiful, and a bathroom with flushable toilets. And oh yeah, I sprayed myself with bug spray zero times, once for every mosquito bite I got. Eat your hearts out, non-Oregonians.
The best part of camping is not having to do ANYTHING! Everything is based around meals. Prep breakfast, cook it, clean up. Make a butt-load of coffee, consume, repeat. That's it! The next thing on the to-do list is lunch. That is a huge chunk of time to be filled with nothing, and I love it. Don't get me wrong, I love having a clean house and clean clothes and clean dishes and watered plants and cats that are fed and chickens that are fed and watered and grass that's less than two feet high and laundry that's put somewhere other than on my floor, but sometimes it's great to NOT DO THOSE THINGS for two days in a row. Whew.
At one point, I put Oliver down for a nap. I read him some stories, and snuggled him because he's cute and I love him very much (and he's soft and smells good), and I got a little tired. This feeling happens at home sometimes, and I'm usually roused by the need to go help Nancy do something. However, when camping this happens:
The best part? I will never know how long I was in there. It could've been 5 minutes or an hour, but it didn't matter.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Section 5 - Part I
Yeah, I know, two posts in one day. But I've decided to split Section 5 into two parts due to its length and subject matter. It's almost frightening how fast the story is starting to move, and my main fear is that the momentum will be difficult to maintain. But oh well, that's a problem I'm ready to tackle. How about you other authors? Are YOU getting ready, because this puppy is moving fast! (I won't hyperlink this whole thing for fun, just the word McBubbins).
Happy Reading!
Happy Reading!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
I Love to Write!
This blog has started something amazing, at least for me. I've discovered that I really, really like writing. A lot. I've had a lot of "hobbies" throughout my life, and I currently love music (see previous post), play both softball and basketball in leagues, watch movies and TV series on Netflix, and I even started playing Fantasy Baseball this year. But I have not felt so passionate about something as I have with writing since my attachments and desires were much less mature.
When I think about writing, the technical aspects that is, I am afraid. I am NOT a writer in any traditional sense. I took two writing classes in college, and a news-writing class (which is where most of what I know about proper sentence and paragraph structure comes from). That's it. Sure, I learned about business and memo writing at the U of O, but certainly nothing that would lead me to believe that I would be passionate about this endeavor. When I went back to school, I was going to be a math teacher, after all! And in the end I was a finance major. Something is not adding up.
I can spell pretty well, but I get confused as to when to use a colon or semicolon. I know that the comma or period goes before the closing of a quote, even though it looks wrong. But I don't think about adverbs and pronouns, or even adjectives. I just don't care about them. I use commas, but only to express how I want that sentence to sound, like the pauses in my head.
When I took a basic level writing class at community college, the teacher told me that maybe I should try a creative writing class because that would help me find my voice. Before her, I never heard one positive thing about my writing from any teacher I'd ever had. And even though she was telling me I was creative, all I heard was that I sounded generic. I never took a creative writing class, and I thought I'd be a journal writer at best for the rest of my life.
And then the blog idea came along. Mostly because I wasn't journaling, I had a new laptop, and I thought some of you may like knowing what Oliver was up to from time to time. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it would turn into this. And by "this" I mean the level at which I would love it. Don't get me wrong, nothing else of great consequence has happened. I have a few confused "friends" on Facebook who think I actually won a Pulitzer, but alas I have not (yet!).
It is funny to contrast this post with an earlier one I wrote about fulfillment. At that point I thought that it was perhaps a career that I needed and I was wrong. It was simply something I love to do that I needed, and I have found it. The story that I'm writing with others may turn out to be slow, boring, sophmoric, juvenile, poorly done or all of the above, but I don't care at all! It is a thrilling ride for me to be on, and when it's done I will keep going. Because I have found my voice, and I don't plan on stifling it ever again. I can finally express myself without tripping over my words, or worrying what the other person is thinking.
I have found an outlet, and people are actually plugging in to it. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me to write and don't care if I'm not "trained" to do it. Thank you for showing me that I don't need to be paid by something in order to love it fully. Thanks for taking a couple minutes, or many minutes, out of your day to care about what I've written. It is very flattering. Thank you.
When I think about writing, the technical aspects that is, I am afraid. I am NOT a writer in any traditional sense. I took two writing classes in college, and a news-writing class (which is where most of what I know about proper sentence and paragraph structure comes from). That's it. Sure, I learned about business and memo writing at the U of O, but certainly nothing that would lead me to believe that I would be passionate about this endeavor. When I went back to school, I was going to be a math teacher, after all! And in the end I was a finance major. Something is not adding up.
I can spell pretty well, but I get confused as to when to use a colon or semicolon. I know that the comma or period goes before the closing of a quote, even though it looks wrong. But I don't think about adverbs and pronouns, or even adjectives. I just don't care about them. I use commas, but only to express how I want that sentence to sound, like the pauses in my head.
When I took a basic level writing class at community college, the teacher told me that maybe I should try a creative writing class because that would help me find my voice. Before her, I never heard one positive thing about my writing from any teacher I'd ever had. And even though she was telling me I was creative, all I heard was that I sounded generic. I never took a creative writing class, and I thought I'd be a journal writer at best for the rest of my life.
And then the blog idea came along. Mostly because I wasn't journaling, I had a new laptop, and I thought some of you may like knowing what Oliver was up to from time to time. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it would turn into this. And by "this" I mean the level at which I would love it. Don't get me wrong, nothing else of great consequence has happened. I have a few confused "friends" on Facebook who think I actually won a Pulitzer, but alas I have not (yet!).
It is funny to contrast this post with an earlier one I wrote about fulfillment. At that point I thought that it was perhaps a career that I needed and I was wrong. It was simply something I love to do that I needed, and I have found it. The story that I'm writing with others may turn out to be slow, boring, sophmoric, juvenile, poorly done or all of the above, but I don't care at all! It is a thrilling ride for me to be on, and when it's done I will keep going. Because I have found my voice, and I don't plan on stifling it ever again. I can finally express myself without tripping over my words, or worrying what the other person is thinking.
I have found an outlet, and people are actually plugging in to it. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me to write and don't care if I'm not "trained" to do it. Thank you for showing me that I don't need to be paid by something in order to love it fully. Thanks for taking a couple minutes, or many minutes, out of your day to care about what I've written. It is very flattering. Thank you.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Pearl Jam
I know that there are at least a couple of you out there who like to read what I write. And it is to you that I apologize that the Oliver McBubbins story has consumed me lately. However, it is a very exciting project that also involves writing, and there's only so much time for that with a family that I love so dearly.
But I'm back. And if you're anything like me, you like to know some things about the author. When I like a book, I'll read the "about the author" many times as I wrap my reading up for the night. I'm not really sure why, but it makes me feel closer to them. Just know that once the story that is being written is done, you'll know plenty about (at least) one author.
As an aside, one of the reasons I love the story so much is that it is letting me express what I believe to be universal truths in a way that is enjoyable to read. I am determined not to beat people over the head with what I believe, but I feel a strong need to express in words what I think everyone feels deep down inside yet cannot explain.
Which leads me to the point of this "story." I am made up of many things; my mother, father, environment growing up, influence of friends, experiences, interests, aptitudes...the list can go on for a long time. But a certain band has recently announced a new tour and is releasing an album soon, and it has reminded me that I most certainly would not be Who I Am without their influence. I would like to share with you the importance that music can have on a person.
Of course, I am talking about Pearl Jam.
It may be interesting to think that a band best remembered for flannel shirts and grunge music can be so important. Many people don't know that they're still around. I for one sometimes wonder if I'm becoming that old person watching their favorite band at the county fair - that the times have completely passed me by.
I don't think that's possible, in this instance. I'll explain why that is.
Pearl Jam has always paralleled my life. At first, they were raw emotion and I was 17. Enough said. But they were right on the heels of a generation of meaningless lyrics, and Eddie Vedder was introspective. It was like a light bulb went on for me. I thought they were speaking for me, and amazingly they were popular. Which meant a lot of people felt like me.
But that emotion quickly turned to anger. The band was angry about their loss of privacy, while I was simply rebelling against my mother. This lasted from 1994-1995, at which time my mother and I (coincidentally?) had our biggest fights. It's when she had the grace to kick me out of the house. I had somewhere to go though - Vitalogy. Nice and angry at the "establishment" while being musically excellent. It was like a mirror for me.
But then I moved to Seattle, started reading about a variety of beliefs, and looked inside of myself for a source of strength. I started taking things slowly, controlling my emotional state. I meditated. I wrote. I listened to the Grateful Dead and I explored some things that I probably shouldn't write about here (but you may be able to guess). I actually started growing up. And that concerned me with regards to Pearl Jam.
They had an album, No Code, coming out in 1996. I hoped against hope that it would not be angry, because I didn't have that much anger left inside of me anymore. I was in Seattle at the time, and that's (fittingly) where I bought the album. I took it to the hotel I was staying at, apprehensively put it in my discman, and pressed play. The first thing I heard was this.
I was completely blown away. For the first three albums I was the student. This time, it felt like the band had caught up to ME! Ironically, this was the first album they put out that didn't sell a bazillion copies, but I didn't care at all. We could still be friends.
The journey of self-discovery wove its way through the next two albums, Yield and Binaural. This was the era when I saw them the most, traveling as far as the UK to do so. (Brad and I also drove across the country and did a mini-tour as soon as I settled my priest/molestation trial. This saved my sanity). The thing about Pearl Jam is the live experience. First off, they're really freaking good. Second, Eddie is obviously connected to the fans. And each show gives another glimpse into what he stands for and what they are all about as a band. By now I have put together a pretty nice quilt made up of patches of belief and connection gathered at each show.
Which brings me closer to the present. I need to say that I don't like war. At all. This isn't a very strong statement viewed in a vacuum, and I understand that the world does not operate in one. That being said, there were plenty of people who thought that war was a good idea because it was packaged in a box of fear and sold by some pretty convincing cowboys. Since I am not a moron and I remembered how not-in-any-way-threatening Iraq was in the early nineties, I felt like perhaps a coalition to remove Saddam Hussein from power would be better than "shock and awe" wrapped in an American flag.
So I was pissed.
By now you may have guessed that Pearl Jam was too. Check out Riot Act if you don't believe me. Green Day and Radiohead got more publicity for their anti-Bush efforts, and that's because they were more direct. What I love (and sometimes am frustrated with) about Pearl Jam is that they barely ever go after people. They simply state their truths, and you can take it or leave it. There is some anger, and there is always hope. Perhaps it's ignorance, or maturity, but at least it's hope.
And in the midst of all the crap, Pearl Jam quietly gave us this. I know Eddie can be difficult to understand, so here are the lyrics if you need them. (And for those of you who email me and wonder what it means, lbc stands for Love Boat Captain).
The next album, which was self-titled, further questioned our go-it-alone strategy and offered a voice of support to the average working person. This is one reason I love them so much - in spite of all the success they are still grounded. They still relate.
And now that I am searching so desperately for what to do next, I wonder what gift I will receive on September 20th. I wonder if they will reverse what happened with No Code and somehow, some way, show me what to do next. I know it seems implausible and immature to rely on a band for direction and I'm really not. But would you blame me if I did?
Friday, June 19, 2009
Section 3
So here we are. And not without some difficulty. First, Derrik is currently busy, so Kira and I decided to tackle this section as a team. Second, this blog is terrible for formatting. Therefore, to see the story please click on the title of this post or here. Feel free to come back here to comment, or do so at the other site, or on Facebook, or nowhere (although feedback is preferred).
There are a million things I want to tell you before you read it, but I'll keep it short. First, copy and paste it to Word if you want. Maybe print it. It is LONG and this may make it easier to read. Also, it is the beginning of a story. We desperately want you to like it, but it's tough to make the beginning of a book overwhelmingly amazing. So we settled for pretty solid. Hope you agree.
This is NOT the final edit, but we just want to get moving so here it is. Choppiness and mistakes are sure to be found. There are multiple chapters here, plus a variety of stopping points that aren't labeled. And italics are dreams or thoughts, you decide which is which.
Think of this as a book please. I (we) understand that the computer is not the normal place to sit and read anything longer than two sentences. If you want to check this out, please treat it like a book and set aside some time for it. Otherwise you'll skim and stop reading after 5 minutes.
I'll hold the rest of my thoughts. If you like it, Kira's up next with Section 4, and I'll be right behind her with Section 5. They are already progressing nicely.
We hope you enjoy it!
There are a million things I want to tell you before you read it, but I'll keep it short. First, copy and paste it to Word if you want. Maybe print it. It is LONG and this may make it easier to read. Also, it is the beginning of a story. We desperately want you to like it, but it's tough to make the beginning of a book overwhelmingly amazing. So we settled for pretty solid. Hope you agree.
This is NOT the final edit, but we just want to get moving so here it is. Choppiness and mistakes are sure to be found. There are multiple chapters here, plus a variety of stopping points that aren't labeled. And italics are dreams or thoughts, you decide which is which.
Think of this as a book please. I (we) understand that the computer is not the normal place to sit and read anything longer than two sentences. If you want to check this out, please treat it like a book and set aside some time for it. Otherwise you'll skim and stop reading after 5 minutes.
I'll hold the rest of my thoughts. If you like it, Kira's up next with Section 4, and I'll be right behind her with Section 5. They are already progressing nicely.
We hope you enjoy it!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thank You
My mother hates me. I'm sure of it.
You see, my father-in-law was in town to celebrate a birthday, and I honored him only a few days later. Now, the woman who was divorced when I was five was just very happily married, and here it is over two weeks later. And I'm just now writing about it. So she probably hates me.
Sorry Mom! (And it is possible that getting married two weeks before my brother Pete may have delayed this too, but I'm taking full responsibility here).
Mom married Bob Pawloski on May 9, in a zoo. Kind of fitting on so many levels, but especially because my mom spent many years raising wild animals of her own. I am very proud to be a part of Bob's family. He is excellent, and his family is great too. Knowing he's there makes living so far away much easier. Here is a picture of the loving couple on their wedding day:
I would like you to know that I haven't talked about my mother until now. I was waiting for this moment to honor her. At a time when she is truly happy. So I guess this better be good.
This is a difficult task, where even the beginning is a tough place to find. I'm not so good chronologically. I'm going to opt for random, which means I will inevitably forget something really important. But mostly this is my arena, and I'm curious to see what will pop up.
The first thing is baseball. I'm a year-and-a-half older than Pete, and Adam and Dan are nearly five years younger than me. The leagues in Oswego were 8-12, 13-15, and 16-18. So there were times when Pete and I were on the same team, and Adam and Dan almost always were. But at one point I was 16, Pete was 15, and Adam and Dan were 11. Yes, three different teams. And Oswego had this thing for playing all leagues on the same day. So if you're thinking that we'd have three different games on one day, you are correct!
And how many of these games do you think my mother would attend. Three. Not once, or even every once in a while, but almost always. The only thing that could limit her to two was when my team would play an hour away. Unless she decided to come with me, which meant she was traveling an hour each way instead of watching two games. These were the choices.
Plus, she was always so supportive. I think everyone knows "Little League Parents." She was never one of those. She was so proud of us, but I never heard a negative word. Just the typical, extremely embarrassing, "That's my son! And did you know he's Italian?!" (Maybe not the last bit, but she was thinking it at least).
Which reminds me, she was a single mom the whole time. She had four boys five years apart. Boys. Four. Four boys. 1 Boy x 4 = 4 Boys. No matter how you put it together, not good. I have one boy. That's quite enough, thank you. But she had four, and raised us working mostly odd jobs. Plus she was too stubborn to take welfare (although not suicidal enough to deny food stamps - have I mentioned four boys?). We had a place to live thanks in small part to HUD, and in large, large part due to Mom's singular drive. She was determined to do a good job.
She made $8,000 one year. Cleaning houses. I never remember being hungry at all. I never remember needing clothes. I don't remember feeling poor. My Mom would always say, "we may not have a lot, but we are rich with love." That always made me feel good.
Surely she sacrificed her own happiness in order to make this happen. No new clothes, no impulse purchases, crappy old cars. And not many dates. Let's be honest: how many men want to date a woman who has children, much less four? If one in a thousand gets through that filter, how many people want to babysit those four boys? Especially when the mom can't pay very well? Finally, how many men are going to be approved of by the children of a divorced mom? Especially protective children.
Dating was not easy. This point is very important here. It is one of the main reasons that her current marriage brings me such joy. Not only did she meet a WONDERFUL man, but she finally got a chance to be free. I never realized it at the time, but my mother is a human too. She was always Mom to me, but what person among us does not crave companionship? And I know my mom loves me too much to ever call me a hindrance to her personal happiness, but the fact of the matter is that in at least a couple ways my brothers and I were. Mom, I know that I brought you a lot of happiness throughout your life, but what I'm talking about is different. And I appreciate that you put your life on hold for ours, but you can understand that I am happy (and relieved) to see you living for yourself. You deserve it more than anyone else I know.
Gladly, somehow my mother found time to be a great cook. Especially if the food being prepared had a tomato sauce somewhere in the recipe. (Yes, Bob, that very same red sauce that now splatters all over your kitchen). We had stuffed shells, meatballs, chicken parmigiana, lasagna, ziti, gnocchi, spaghetti, linguine, drills (whatever they're really called I have no idea), and back to the beginning again. She must have eaten copiously while she prepared these meals, because she never did start eating until after we were all done. She'd just run around the table spooning more onto our plates and worrying herself sick that we were all too skinny and about to die of starvation. So if she didn't eat in the kitchen, there must have been nights where she didn't eat at all. We were bottomless. Dan still is.
(I am now hungry, and it's past 11 at night. This is a quandry.).
I know it would be a huge omission to not talk about our lawsuit, but I don't want the subject here to change from my mom to something which is very attention grabbing and needs a lot of space to be told. So I'll just say that while we were suing, Mom probably drove 100,000 miles. Probably more.
One night we came home late from cerfew. OK, probably a lot more than one night, but I'm talking about one in particular here. I thought quickly (and drunkenly), and said, "the clock at the pizzeria is slow." I was feeling pretty good about myself. Until Mom called the pizzeria. My mom was not stupid. Upon discovering that the clock there was in fact synchronized with ours, we were in big trouble. Mom took away the Sega for the whole next day. Which started a huge fight. Man I was a jerk. I was drunk and late, video games got taken away for one day, and I still fought. Sorry Mom. I didn't know how good I had it.
Since I want people to actually read all of this, I should probably stop soon. Clearly this doesn't do 33+ years of top-notch mothering justice, clearly a zillion stories are left untold, and clearly I could NEVER, no matter how great of a writer I became, accurately portray how much I love Mom and how much she has meant to me becoming the man I am. Thank you Mom. I love you.
But I can't end without the most important part. When I was 19, Mom kicked me out of the house. I was a loser, and I deserved it. But now that I am a father, I cannot imagine how difficult that must have actually been. My eyes get misty just thinking about it. But it needed to be done, and my mother was wise enough to know it. And courageous enough to do it. Nothing changed overnight, but soon enough it snapped me out of my comfortable existence and I began to mature into the man that I am today. I am not the best person ever made, but I'm far from the worst. I am a loving and dedicated husband, a loving and caring father, and a true friend to many people. I like to make people smile. I actually care if someone else is doing well or not. I open the door for strangers. I say "please" and "thank you." I try to be aware of what is going on in my world. I donate money to charity. I work hard whether someone is watching or not. I have integrity.
All thanks to mother's wisdom and courage, I have these things. And so much more.
Thank you.
You see, my father-in-law was in town to celebrate a birthday, and I honored him only a few days later. Now, the woman who was divorced when I was five was just very happily married, and here it is over two weeks later. And I'm just now writing about it. So she probably hates me.
Sorry Mom! (And it is possible that getting married two weeks before my brother Pete may have delayed this too, but I'm taking full responsibility here).
Mom married Bob Pawloski on May 9, in a zoo. Kind of fitting on so many levels, but especially because my mom spent many years raising wild animals of her own. I am very proud to be a part of Bob's family. He is excellent, and his family is great too. Knowing he's there makes living so far away much easier. Here is a picture of the loving couple on their wedding day:
I would like you to know that I haven't talked about my mother until now. I was waiting for this moment to honor her. At a time when she is truly happy. So I guess this better be good.
This is a difficult task, where even the beginning is a tough place to find. I'm not so good chronologically. I'm going to opt for random, which means I will inevitably forget something really important. But mostly this is my arena, and I'm curious to see what will pop up.
The first thing is baseball. I'm a year-and-a-half older than Pete, and Adam and Dan are nearly five years younger than me. The leagues in Oswego were 8-12, 13-15, and 16-18. So there were times when Pete and I were on the same team, and Adam and Dan almost always were. But at one point I was 16, Pete was 15, and Adam and Dan were 11. Yes, three different teams. And Oswego had this thing for playing all leagues on the same day. So if you're thinking that we'd have three different games on one day, you are correct!
And how many of these games do you think my mother would attend. Three. Not once, or even every once in a while, but almost always. The only thing that could limit her to two was when my team would play an hour away. Unless she decided to come with me, which meant she was traveling an hour each way instead of watching two games. These were the choices.
Plus, she was always so supportive. I think everyone knows "Little League Parents." She was never one of those. She was so proud of us, but I never heard a negative word. Just the typical, extremely embarrassing, "That's my son! And did you know he's Italian?!" (Maybe not the last bit, but she was thinking it at least).
Which reminds me, she was a single mom the whole time. She had four boys five years apart. Boys. Four. Four boys. 1 Boy x 4 = 4 Boys. No matter how you put it together, not good. I have one boy. That's quite enough, thank you. But she had four, and raised us working mostly odd jobs. Plus she was too stubborn to take welfare (although not suicidal enough to deny food stamps - have I mentioned four boys?). We had a place to live thanks in small part to HUD, and in large, large part due to Mom's singular drive. She was determined to do a good job.
She made $8,000 one year. Cleaning houses. I never remember being hungry at all. I never remember needing clothes. I don't remember feeling poor. My Mom would always say, "we may not have a lot, but we are rich with love." That always made me feel good.
Surely she sacrificed her own happiness in order to make this happen. No new clothes, no impulse purchases, crappy old cars. And not many dates. Let's be honest: how many men want to date a woman who has children, much less four? If one in a thousand gets through that filter, how many people want to babysit those four boys? Especially when the mom can't pay very well? Finally, how many men are going to be approved of by the children of a divorced mom? Especially protective children.
Dating was not easy. This point is very important here. It is one of the main reasons that her current marriage brings me such joy. Not only did she meet a WONDERFUL man, but she finally got a chance to be free. I never realized it at the time, but my mother is a human too. She was always Mom to me, but what person among us does not crave companionship? And I know my mom loves me too much to ever call me a hindrance to her personal happiness, but the fact of the matter is that in at least a couple ways my brothers and I were. Mom, I know that I brought you a lot of happiness throughout your life, but what I'm talking about is different. And I appreciate that you put your life on hold for ours, but you can understand that I am happy (and relieved) to see you living for yourself. You deserve it more than anyone else I know.
Gladly, somehow my mother found time to be a great cook. Especially if the food being prepared had a tomato sauce somewhere in the recipe. (Yes, Bob, that very same red sauce that now splatters all over your kitchen). We had stuffed shells, meatballs, chicken parmigiana, lasagna, ziti, gnocchi, spaghetti, linguine, drills (whatever they're really called I have no idea), and back to the beginning again. She must have eaten copiously while she prepared these meals, because she never did start eating until after we were all done. She'd just run around the table spooning more onto our plates and worrying herself sick that we were all too skinny and about to die of starvation. So if she didn't eat in the kitchen, there must have been nights where she didn't eat at all. We were bottomless. Dan still is.
(I am now hungry, and it's past 11 at night. This is a quandry.).
I know it would be a huge omission to not talk about our lawsuit, but I don't want the subject here to change from my mom to something which is very attention grabbing and needs a lot of space to be told. So I'll just say that while we were suing, Mom probably drove 100,000 miles. Probably more.
One night we came home late from cerfew. OK, probably a lot more than one night, but I'm talking about one in particular here. I thought quickly (and drunkenly), and said, "the clock at the pizzeria is slow." I was feeling pretty good about myself. Until Mom called the pizzeria. My mom was not stupid. Upon discovering that the clock there was in fact synchronized with ours, we were in big trouble. Mom took away the Sega for the whole next day. Which started a huge fight. Man I was a jerk. I was drunk and late, video games got taken away for one day, and I still fought. Sorry Mom. I didn't know how good I had it.
Since I want people to actually read all of this, I should probably stop soon. Clearly this doesn't do 33+ years of top-notch mothering justice, clearly a zillion stories are left untold, and clearly I could NEVER, no matter how great of a writer I became, accurately portray how much I love Mom and how much she has meant to me becoming the man I am. Thank you Mom. I love you.
But I can't end without the most important part. When I was 19, Mom kicked me out of the house. I was a loser, and I deserved it. But now that I am a father, I cannot imagine how difficult that must have actually been. My eyes get misty just thinking about it. But it needed to be done, and my mother was wise enough to know it. And courageous enough to do it. Nothing changed overnight, but soon enough it snapped me out of my comfortable existence and I began to mature into the man that I am today. I am not the best person ever made, but I'm far from the worst. I am a loving and dedicated husband, a loving and caring father, and a true friend to many people. I like to make people smile. I actually care if someone else is doing well or not. I open the door for strangers. I say "please" and "thank you." I try to be aware of what is going on in my world. I donate money to charity. I work hard whether someone is watching or not. I have integrity.
All thanks to mother's wisdom and courage, I have these things. And so much more.
Thank you.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
New and Improved Outline
Here's the new outline, with more specifics. If it seems too limiting to any of you - but you're otherwise interested in the subject - let me know. I'm totally open. Basically I'm just trying to steer the story in a certain direction without giving away the point. I want to see if we can get there together.
Anyhow, browse through the sections. Then go to the bottom of this post and sign up for a section. I will sign up for some myself, and I have one other volunteer already. You can look at the comments I will post for an example of what to do in order to sign up yourself.
So here it is. And each number does not necessarily need to be only one chapter, and similarly if it makes sense two numbers can be one chapter. Here you go...
Posts that are no longer available appear in italics.
1 & 2 - See Below.
3 – The camp itself. The only thing important here is Oliver is introduced to stillness, not that he cares to follow the practice.
4 – The school year starts. Oliver's patience is tested by a series of events. He almost tries to be calm for once, but he gives in to the path he's used to. Mayhem. This section goes to the end of the school year.
5 – Little League. Struggles strangely turn into unintentional “letting go” which leads to success. Is there only one moment that exists?
6 – Summer ends with vacation in Ireland. This one is open-ended. Many coincidences occur that are unexplainable. Senses are heightened.
7 – A wandering storyteller comes to Oliver and family. This section could largely be of the story he tells. Important to blend in talk of an ancient race of humans who have strange powers (such as hyper-awareness, ability to control things normally uncontrollable, unnatural compassion, etc.). This clan's demise could also be discussed, although the door should at least be cracked for their resurfacing.
8 – Oliver has a “chance” encounter with a strange family. Brief but intense. He starts to put some things together, like perhaps he has abilities too.
9 – Back home, and to school. Oliver tries some of the things he thinks he's learned, but like most novices doesn't see the big picture. So he tries to manipulate people instead of use his powers for good. Gladly, he's not too skilled.
10 – A good section for someone with dark tastes. Oliver is in a bad place. He knows too much to be ignorant, but not enough to be useful. Mopey for most of the summer (including baseball season), but the chapter doesn't make it to the end of summer. His parents are growing concerned.
11 – So the parents send Oliver to Ireland again, because he loved it so much the first time. This time he finds the strange people from before. They take him in, and teach him many important lessons.
12 – Now Oliver is ready to embrace his life, which begins with Middle School, the worst time in most people's lives. He is relatively well versed in his new abilities, and things go smoothly for a while. Except one jerk of a teacher. Pure evil.
13 – This one can be tricky. What I really envision is Oliver winning a battle with the teacher, something along the lines of Ghandi. He uses complete nonresistance and it works in the end. The teacher is not fired, but completely humiliated. Oliver wins some serious points with his peers.
14 – Ah, but Oliver gets too comfortable. His satisfaction leads to laziness, which leads to a bad situation for Oliver.
15 – The only way out of his situation is to not only let go, but to literally give that which he wants to receive. This could mean a lot of things, so have fun with it (for example, the desire for peace would mean bringing peace to those around you).
16 – Girls. Summer. Oliver is starting to slow down enough to notice they exist. Multiply this by the fact that he's pretty good at staying in the moment and noticing the truth, and a recipe for plenty of success with the ladies has been drawn up. But what to do? Is there one girl he can't have...? Does he waste his time being a ladies' man?
17 – There's a lot that cannot be seen. In fact, what we can see is still mostly space, and the mysteries of the universe are starting to unfold. There seems to be an underlying truth that holds everything in place, and sadly most of the world has forgotten it while turning instead to fear and anger. Oliver's girl frustrations lead him inward, to a place of intense self-discovery. He also re-discovers the paradox of letting go.
18 – Love. What it really is, and how it can save the day. Everything seems to line up once Oliver asks himself “what would love do?”
19 – There's a reason for the powers in Oliver. He's a McBubbins, and so is his mother. And so were those strange people in Ireland. Those hideous ears are a blessing, like a satellite dish picking up on the energies at work in the universe.
20 – Something to leave the situation open. Who knows, maybe we'll want to do this again!
Anyhow, browse through the sections. Then go to the bottom of this post and sign up for a section. I will sign up for some myself, and I have one other volunteer already. You can look at the comments I will post for an example of what to do in order to sign up yourself.
So here it is. And each number does not necessarily need to be only one chapter, and similarly if it makes sense two numbers can be one chapter. Here you go...
Posts that are no longer available appear in italics.
1 & 2 - See Below.
3 – The camp itself. The only thing important here is Oliver is introduced to stillness, not that he cares to follow the practice.
4 – The school year starts. Oliver's patience is tested by a series of events. He almost tries to be calm for once, but he gives in to the path he's used to. Mayhem. This section goes to the end of the school year.
5 – Little League. Struggles strangely turn into unintentional “letting go” which leads to success. Is there only one moment that exists?
6 – Summer ends with vacation in Ireland. This one is open-ended. Many coincidences occur that are unexplainable. Senses are heightened.
7 – A wandering storyteller comes to Oliver and family. This section could largely be of the story he tells. Important to blend in talk of an ancient race of humans who have strange powers (such as hyper-awareness, ability to control things normally uncontrollable, unnatural compassion, etc.). This clan's demise could also be discussed, although the door should at least be cracked for their resurfacing.
8 – Oliver has a “chance” encounter with a strange family. Brief but intense. He starts to put some things together, like perhaps he has abilities too.
9 – Back home, and to school. Oliver tries some of the things he thinks he's learned, but like most novices doesn't see the big picture. So he tries to manipulate people instead of use his powers for good. Gladly, he's not too skilled.
10 – A good section for someone with dark tastes. Oliver is in a bad place. He knows too much to be ignorant, but not enough to be useful. Mopey for most of the summer (including baseball season), but the chapter doesn't make it to the end of summer. His parents are growing concerned.
11 – So the parents send Oliver to Ireland again, because he loved it so much the first time. This time he finds the strange people from before. They take him in, and teach him many important lessons.
12 – Now Oliver is ready to embrace his life, which begins with Middle School, the worst time in most people's lives. He is relatively well versed in his new abilities, and things go smoothly for a while. Except one jerk of a teacher. Pure evil.
13 – This one can be tricky. What I really envision is Oliver winning a battle with the teacher, something along the lines of Ghandi. He uses complete nonresistance and it works in the end. The teacher is not fired, but completely humiliated. Oliver wins some serious points with his peers.
14 – Ah, but Oliver gets too comfortable. His satisfaction leads to laziness, which leads to a bad situation for Oliver.
15 – The only way out of his situation is to not only let go, but to literally give that which he wants to receive. This could mean a lot of things, so have fun with it (for example, the desire for peace would mean bringing peace to those around you).
16 – Girls. Summer. Oliver is starting to slow down enough to notice they exist. Multiply this by the fact that he's pretty good at staying in the moment and noticing the truth, and a recipe for plenty of success with the ladies has been drawn up. But what to do? Is there one girl he can't have...? Does he waste his time being a ladies' man?
17 – There's a lot that cannot be seen. In fact, what we can see is still mostly space, and the mysteries of the universe are starting to unfold. There seems to be an underlying truth that holds everything in place, and sadly most of the world has forgotten it while turning instead to fear and anger. Oliver's girl frustrations lead him inward, to a place of intense self-discovery. He also re-discovers the paradox of letting go.
18 – Love. What it really is, and how it can save the day. Everything seems to line up once Oliver asks himself “what would love do?”
19 – There's a reason for the powers in Oliver. He's a McBubbins, and so is his mother. And so were those strange people in Ireland. Those hideous ears are a blessing, like a satellite dish picking up on the energies at work in the universe.
20 – Something to leave the situation open. Who knows, maybe we'll want to do this again!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I've Been Too Vague. Sorry.
Another apology. My instructions so far have been too open-ended. So consider this a do-over.
I have edited the original instructions, so please refer to them if you're wondering why this is happening. As for the technicalities, I hope to address them here.
I am going to create a new outline, one that is much more specific. When that happens, the "chapters" will be numbered. To sign up for a chapter, please leave a comment at the end of the outline by clicking on the underlined "comments" hyperlink leaving your name and desired number. If this isn't working, email me at lbc1305@gmail.com and tell me what number you want. I'll post it for you.
Feel free to email me at any time. If you think you may be interested but aren't sure, email me. Either way, once you have signed up I will send you an email explaining in more detail the direction I'd like the story to take. The story will largely be shaped by you, but early results have shown that people want a basic direction, which I'm more than happy to provide.
Obviously, you can't really work on your part until the one before is finished. That's OK. Don't lose steam, this thing may take a bit. And also, I'm more than happy to write the rest of it, so whatever isn't taken I'll take care of.
As each section is finished, I'll edit only for spelling, punctuation and so on. The content is yours. Then I'll post it. At that time, the next number in line is up, and I'll (gently) remind you.
If you just want to read, that's cool too. Let me know if you want to receive notification of each installment, and I'll be sure to email you as I post. I have to say, I put this here for the heck of it, but I'm really starting to get excited to see what sort of story a collective with a general direction can come up with. This may be special.
See you soon.
I have edited the original instructions, so please refer to them if you're wondering why this is happening. As for the technicalities, I hope to address them here.
I am going to create a new outline, one that is much more specific. When that happens, the "chapters" will be numbered. To sign up for a chapter, please leave a comment at the end of the outline by clicking on the underlined "comments" hyperlink leaving your name and desired number. If this isn't working, email me at lbc1305@gmail.com and tell me what number you want. I'll post it for you.
Feel free to email me at any time. If you think you may be interested but aren't sure, email me. Either way, once you have signed up I will send you an email explaining in more detail the direction I'd like the story to take. The story will largely be shaped by you, but early results have shown that people want a basic direction, which I'm more than happy to provide.
Obviously, you can't really work on your part until the one before is finished. That's OK. Don't lose steam, this thing may take a bit. And also, I'm more than happy to write the rest of it, so whatever isn't taken I'll take care of.
As each section is finished, I'll edit only for spelling, punctuation and so on. The content is yours. Then I'll post it. At that time, the next number in line is up, and I'll (gently) remind you.
If you just want to read, that's cool too. Let me know if you want to receive notification of each installment, and I'll be sure to email you as I post. I have to say, I put this here for the heck of it, but I'm really starting to get excited to see what sort of story a collective with a general direction can come up with. This may be special.
See you soon.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
It's Story Time
OK everybody, for some reason the time feels right. So here it is, a story I've been working on. Shortly after Oliver was born, I fantasized about someday reading to him. This quickly turned into excitement over the thought of telling him some made-up stories too. Then my need for efficiency led me to this thought: "What if I tell him a story that will both entertain and make him proud of his ears?" Realizing that I had some time until these stories mattered to him, I decided I could sit down and write.
Now I'm thinking maybe WE can.
So below is the story for you to read and consider. I haven't run out of gas, but I haven't not either. I simply thought it would be interesting to see what happened if a bunch of people got in on this thing. Plus, someday Oliver really will hear this story, and it would be cool if he knew how many people helped.
One technical thing. There are sections of this story that are highlighted. That means a picture (drawn by Nancy) will appear here in the final version. If you want a picture somewhere, please do the same. Just think Roald Dahl on this one.
This could be fun. So without further ado, here goes nothing...
Now I'm thinking maybe WE can.
So below is the story for you to read and consider. I haven't run out of gas, but I haven't not either. I simply thought it would be interesting to see what happened if a bunch of people got in on this thing. Plus, someday Oliver really will hear this story, and it would be cool if he knew how many people helped.
One technical thing. There are sections of this story that are highlighted. That means a picture (drawn by Nancy) will appear here in the final version. If you want a picture somewhere, please do the same. Just think Roald Dahl on this one.
This could be fun. So without further ado, here goes nothing...
The Adventures of Oliver McBubbins
Chapter 1-A Family, Some Cats, and a Wildebeest
Oliver McBubbins was not like most children his age. For starters, he didn’t know his last name was McBubbins. At least not yet.
When he was born, his name was Oliver Wallace. That is because his dad’s last name was Wallace, and so that’s how he was known. He would one day meet the people who knew his real name, but for now Wallace was the only last name he knew. Interestingly, from the moment Oliver was born his dad called him Bubby, which quickly turned into Bubbins, which transformed itself at times into McBubbins! This was not an accident because there is no such thing.
When Oliver was born he was very cute. In fact, his mom’s words when she first saw him were “he’s cute!” His head was round, his skin looked tanned, and his hands were thick. But the ears! There are many types of ears that people get and Oliver got a very interesting kind. They are largish, and they stick out. That is not uncommon. But they also flatten at the top. There is no rollover of ear material there. All in all, his ears looked rather elfish. Oliver McBubbins (or Wallace) looked like this:
It needs to be said that when Oliver’s mom saw the ears (right after announcing his cuteness to the world) she said “oh no, he’s got my ears!” That is because she grew up with elfish ears, and never liked them. She used to beg her parents to pin them back, and when they didn’t let her she simply covered them with her hair. Oliver’s mom was worried that Oliver wouldn’t have long hair to cover his ears with, and that kids in school would some day make fun of him. She thought this because kids are mean.
Just so you know, Oliver may have had the most beautiful mom in the world. She was tall and lovely and in good shape despite loving ice cream, brownies, cake, and cookies. She had long blond hair and when it was pulled back, her ears only made her cuter. She didn’t know that, though.
Oliver’s dad was in most ways average. Medium height, medium build, medium shirt size, medium shoes, medium everything. But he was surprisingly athletic, and had straight, white teeth. Oliver’s mom always said she was with his dad for his teeth. This was not a lie, but she was really with him because she knew he had a big heart and was a good person. This good nature combined with straight teeth gave Oliver’s dad a smile that his mother couldn’t resist.
All together, Oliver’s family looked like this:
Growing up for Oliver was lots of fun. As soon as he could crawl he chased after the two cats he’d long had his sights set on. They were Stanley and Lewis. Lewis was sweet and slept 22 hours each day. Stanley was grouchy. Oliver got most of his scratches from Stanley. Surely Stanley got some scratches from Oliver too, but he hid them under his black fur. Did I mention Stanley was husky? The picture of the complete family looked something like this:
As soon as Oliver could run (he skipped right past walking), the cats remained wonderful indoor entertainment. However, right across the street there was a PARK! He didn’t care that the pool was basically an overgrown bathtub, emptied every night. No siree bob, that pool was high quality goodness. And there were swings and a slide and a teeter-totter (even though those things can be difficult) and big trees and a field and basketball and SAND and a tire swing and...well...lots of great stuff! The park years make up a whole era in Oliver’s mind. He loved that era.
And then school started. School is not as fun as the park. School is not as fun as chasing cats. School is not even as fun as being scratched by Stanley. School is BORING. It’s not really hard for Oliver, he figures things out well enough on his own. And it’s not too easy, either. It’s just filled with lots of sitting down. At first it was cool, drawing and painting and running and so forth, but then words like “mathematics” and “phonics” and “quiz” started getting thrown around, and a lot more sitting happened. BORING. Oliver doesn’t really like sitting. Oliver is a man of action. He’s not violent, don’t get the wrong idea. He just NEEDS to play. A lot.
It is time to feel sorry for Oliver’s parents. They liked to do things like nap and watch a movie and visit wine country and go to the grocery store, but it is safe to say that Oliver made these things very difficult. None of these activities were fun enough by themselves, so Oliver would, as they say, “bring the noise.” Napping and noise do not get along very well. Thankfully for Oliver’s parents, 16 hours of running require an 8 hour daily charge, so they did actually sleep. Sadly, Oliver did not need wine country to recharge his batteries, so that was eliminated. The grocery store would have been dropped as well if not for the fact that humans (no matter how special) have to eat to stay alive. So it stayed, but the experience changed quite a bit. To Oliver’s parents the grocery store used to be relaxing, quality family time. Now it was more like juggling chainsaws. Oh, and the chainsaws are wrapped in barbed wire and set on fire. While balancing on one foot. While blindfolded and holding a...well, you get the idea!
One day, after 8 glorious hours of sleep, Oliver’s parents woke up to the realization that their wild (yet loving) little boy was becoming a wild little man. He was going to turn 10 in a few short months and was displaying more and more independence every day. On this particular morning, Oliver’s dad had an epiphany. He owes this epiphany to the morning newspaper, because that’s where it actually came from. He was enjoying his Saturday morning coffee with the paper, when he noticed an advertisement for a summer camp. And not just any summer camp, but one for children ages 10 through 12 who like to play in the woods! “Perfecto” Oliver’s dad thought (sometimes he thought in Spanish, for no particular reason). Oliver was going to be 10 by the time the camp started, so he could go. Oliver’s dad was overwhelmed by thoughts of 8 ½ hours of sleep, wine tasting, reading, watching movies, and actually enjoying the store. In fact he was so overwhelmed that Oliver’s mom needed to slap his face to finally stop the drunken smile and glazed eyes that Oliver’s dad held for a half-hour straight!
Once awakened from his reverie, Oliver’s dad approached Oliver with the subject, fearing the worst. Children, after all, are completely random and Oliver’s dad didn’t like a 50% chance at freedom (even though he had a 0% chance now). But Oliver’s dad was not stupid, and knew how to phrase a question. He said:
“Oliver, would you like to play this summer...”
“Yes.”
“But I haven’t even finished...”
“Yes.”
“Bubby, listen I...”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then,” Oliver’s dad said, and the issue was resolved.
It would be a good many years before Oliver fully understood why his mom and dad were so happy that day. And why they drank so much at dinner that night, toasting each and every glass poured. At the time he wrote it off as typical, weird-old-person-stuff, but little did he know that they were celebrating a huge change in their lives. Little did his parents know, however, that the change in Oliver’s life would be the most important thing they could ever do.
Chapter 2-Stillwater’s Not Just a Place in Oklahoma
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
This was not going well.
“I WANT TO PLAY IN THE PARK, NOT THE WOODS WITH A BUNCH OF WEIRDOS!”
Not going well at all.
Have you ever put a cat into its travel case? Probably. Have you ever done so after grabbing the cat out from underneath a bed, which only serves to scare that cat worse than ever? Again, probably. Have you ever played catch with a cat over a pit of snarling pit bulls, and then tried to put a cat in a case where a pit bull’s head was coming in through the other side? I’m pretty sure no one has ever done that, but just imagine what that would be like for a second. Go ahead, imagine. I’ll draw a picture of what that may look like. While you stare at it in wonderment, consider (if you can!) what this would actually be like. Give yourself a good 30 seconds. Ready, go.
All done? Good. With the image in your head, realize that it was harder to get Oliver in the car than that cat in its case. Seriously.
It stopped mattering long ago that Oliver “agreed” to go. He didn’t realize what he was agreeing to, and claimed that his dad duped him. (In fact, Oliver had only recently begun using the word “yes” at all, and he was probably just using it in that obsessed, I-just-learned-this-word kind of way). The truth is that Oliver’s dad intended to explain when asking originally, but Oliver was so “excited” that it didn’t seem necessary. Besides, everyone knew that Oliver loved the outdoors. Oliver’s dad used this knowledge to convince himself that Oliver really did agree to going to the camp. He changed the story in his head from what actually happened to a much more agreeable one.
Here’s the “new” story. Compare and contrast if you’d like:
“Oliver, would you like to play this summer at a camp filled with fun and wonderment?”
“Really?”
“Really. There’s a lake with a swing, big trees, fun games, kids your age, and toasted marshmallows every single night!”
“Wow Dad! That sounds like the best place in the whole wide world!”
“I'm pretty sure it is.”
“One more thing though.”
“What is it, son (fearing the worst)?”
“You are the best Dad ever made!”
This story is made possible by the fact that Oliver’s dad suffers from a common condition – he is human. For whatever reason, humans tend to change their memories, as long as such a change is beneficial. That is clearly what Oliver’s dad did here.
Anyhow, back to the action. Things were not pretty on that car ride to the camp. The drive was two-and-a-half hours (in a hybrid, of course, because Oliver’s parents don’t completely hate the earth), and this gave Oliver a chance to try out all the bad words he had learned at school. Well, learned may not be the best way to describe it. Perhaps heard is more appropriate, because he had a flimsy grasp on most of them.
It must be said here that Oliver’s parents taught him as much discipline as possible to this point. However, let us not forget that Oliver is borderline feral. Perhaps he could have been diagnosed with some disorder starting with hyper- or attention-, but Oliver’s parents did not want a medicated child. They weren’t Scientologists or anything, but everyone is entitled to their own parenting methods.
Where were we? Oh yeah, bad words. It was hard for Oliver’s parents on that drive. Not because Oliver was a wild animal, they were used to that. But because his bad words were used so incorrectly. Oliver could not have understood how completely hilarious this was to his parents. And let me say that it is not easy to yell at a child while being entertained. I will not repeat the words he used, because they are still bad by themselves and five or six kids may someday read this. If you really need similar entertainment, I recommend writing down all the bad words you know, and then randomly combine two or three at a time. But you won’t learn any from me!
Thankfully the hybrid (and not a hybrid SUV, that’s just stupid) finally pulled off the main road. By this point Oliver was bound and gagged, gently of course. The area was actually quite beautiful. Broken sunlight fell through the tall, thin evergreens. The hybrid (which still had over three-quarters of a tank!) climbed the dirt road through the thick forest. The worn ruts were deep and smooth. It would have been difficult to actually go off the path.
Finally the hybrid (easily) crested the hill. Two things made themselves known at once. An old sign appeared out of nowhere. Although it was quite worn, the lettering must have been recently painted. It looked like this:
Camp Stillwater
The second attention grabber gave Oliver’s dad the chills, although he did not know why. It did not do so to Oliver’s mom because she was busy turning the radio down. Why did it always seem so loud when arriving at a destination anyhow? It wasn’t too loud five minutes ago. And Oliver didn’t notice anything because he was mere seconds away from freeing his arms, to be followed by certain mayhem. But Oliver’s dad had chills. That is because the body of water in the distance looked exactly like the picture on the sign. The sun’s position in the sky was the same. The reflection of the sun on the water was the same. The wispy clouds in the background were the same. The color of the reflection, the water, the sun and even the slight ripple pattern was exactly the same. Even the family hybrid was in the picture!
Not really. There was no hybrid. That would just be creepy. But I had you going there, huh?
OK, everything else was the same, and Oliver’s dad’s goose bumps said that it was weird. Obviously it must look like the sign sometimes, why else would that picture be on the sign? It was the timing that made it bizarre. This coincidence made Oliver’s dad feel so calmed that even Oliver must have felt it, for he didn’t attack with his newly freed hands. Instead he just untied his mouth, and said “I still HATE this!”
Sunday, March 29, 2009
The Need For Fulfillment
This first part is not part of this post. Just a notification. I've recently discovered that the sidebar doesn't show up when this blog is viewed with Internet Explorer (just one more reason to hate this browser). So those of you who've experienced frustration with leaving comments, following, and so forth should use Mozilla Firefox instead. Now, on to the other non-important stuff.
A couple people have read this thing in the past, and the general consensus is that funny is appreciated. Well here comes disappointment. First of all, I'm too dry to be very funny. Secondly, this post is going to be cathartic if anything. I apologize in advance.
A strange thing has happened with this writing outlet of mine. It has become a focal point itself in many ways. Much like taking pictures or video only to immediately watch what just occurred. I find myself looking at my life through the filter of how I can write about it, and that's not the point. I want to live first, and write in a way that allows me to release the pressure of what's in my head. So I haven't written in a while. I've been to San Diego, Portland, and done numerous entertaining things since then, but I just needed time to live. And some pressure has built up.
I have learned that my life has check-points. I think most people have them. Everyone has heard of a "mid-life crisis." Those who experience only this check-point are probably very happy overall. Some people experience check-points often, and they are generally depressed. They explode upon me once or twice each year. As you may have guessed, I'm in the midst of one now. It's not a pleasant experience, but it is the place where life-altering decisions are made.
In my life there has been much discussion on the topic of "Choose Your Own Adventure" books lately. You know, read a couple paragraphs and then choose from the three options at the bottom of the page. I think this is a rudimentary example of how life works. People live, get all emotional about their personal dramas, and react. But every once in a while a truly important decision arises, the result of which sends that person on a path to experience certain dramas until the next important decision. We set ourselves up to encounter those things that we need the most, and when we don't ignore the lessons we can move on to a different drama.
I am stuck wondering what to do with my life.
As you may know, I love disclaimers. I won't spell them out individually here, but know that I AM happy. I love my wife, I love my son, I love my home, and I am grateful to be employed at a time like this in our history. I have great friends, and I genuinely like spending time with them. But something is missing that none of these factors can fill.
I need to find what makes Matt happy.
I worry so much about the happiness of others that I forget to live. I want Nancy to be pleased with me constantly. And when I feel like (or know) I have failed, I get disoriented. Sorry Nancy that I'm not my best at these times.
I want to be the best Dad possible, but when I feel like doing something that doesn't involve Oliver, I feel guilty. I love you my son, but sometimes daddy needs time to himself. It has nothing to do with you.
I write things about appreciating my father-in-law, and immediately feel guilty that I haven't expressed similar feelings in writing about my own parents. I'm sorry Mom and Dad that I haven't written about you yet. Hopefully you know that I love you because I've actually told you so - many, many times throughout our lives. I don't say things I don't mean.
If a friend gets excited about something, I try to help them achieve their goals if I can. I just feel bad when I can't dedicate myself because I want to spend time with my family.
When I see my work go through a difficult time, I just want to help because I think I can. Plus I feel like I'll feel fulfilled because I could actually use some of the skills I paid thousands of dollars to acquire through school and help someone I care about at the same time. Except I'm not sure I'd actually feel fulfilled or if I'm just imagining things. And I feel bad when I put Deb in the difficult position of telling me I can't help her financially. I understand that everyone there is a family member or a friend or both, and there's potential for weirdness. I'm sorry that I didn't major in marketing.
At the end of the day, I've always known that something good will happen to me. Again, this isn't a family thing. It's most closely a career thing, although I'm not sure it has to be. I just know myself better than anyone else possibly could. A lot of things have happened in my life that have resulted in a lot of soul-searching. And I KNOW that I am honest to my core. I KNOW that I truly care about the happiness of others, and I mean people that I don't know too. I KNOW that I don't have ulterior motives. And so I've been sure that being a good person would bring to me, eventually, something that makes me feel fulfilled. Just typing this makes me feel awful, because Nancy could read this sentence and think that she isn't enough and neither is Oliver. I am glad that Nancy knows what I mean, though. She knows that I mean making a positive impact on the world around me, and being able to make a living in the process.
I'm sorry that being good isn't enough to make me happy. I'm sorry that I am a middle-class, white male who finds room to complain in a world filled with difficulty. But comparisons have never been real enough to remove me from my own emotional body. I am human, and my story is just one of many. But it's very real to me.
At the risk of offending some, the problem is not spiritual either. If anything, this area is one of my strengths. The soul-searching that I've mentioned has led me to an inner peace that can't be summed up by one traditional religion. Nor is it a conglomeration, per se. It is simply what I believe to be true, what I have felt quite deeply at times throughout my life.
Sometimes at the end of the day, I reflect and notice what my motivations have been. They are generally the desires and expectations of others. And then I resist. But not for long. The cycle always starts over again. And I don't necessarily want to stop it. I will always love people, but when will I love myself?
So this is where I shut off my computer, turn off the lights, and hope that tomorrow is the day that the answers come.
A couple people have read this thing in the past, and the general consensus is that funny is appreciated. Well here comes disappointment. First of all, I'm too dry to be very funny. Secondly, this post is going to be cathartic if anything. I apologize in advance.
A strange thing has happened with this writing outlet of mine. It has become a focal point itself in many ways. Much like taking pictures or video only to immediately watch what just occurred. I find myself looking at my life through the filter of how I can write about it, and that's not the point. I want to live first, and write in a way that allows me to release the pressure of what's in my head. So I haven't written in a while. I've been to San Diego, Portland, and done numerous entertaining things since then, but I just needed time to live. And some pressure has built up.
I have learned that my life has check-points. I think most people have them. Everyone has heard of a "mid-life crisis." Those who experience only this check-point are probably very happy overall. Some people experience check-points often, and they are generally depressed. They explode upon me once or twice each year. As you may have guessed, I'm in the midst of one now. It's not a pleasant experience, but it is the place where life-altering decisions are made.
In my life there has been much discussion on the topic of "Choose Your Own Adventure" books lately. You know, read a couple paragraphs and then choose from the three options at the bottom of the page. I think this is a rudimentary example of how life works. People live, get all emotional about their personal dramas, and react. But every once in a while a truly important decision arises, the result of which sends that person on a path to experience certain dramas until the next important decision. We set ourselves up to encounter those things that we need the most, and when we don't ignore the lessons we can move on to a different drama.
I am stuck wondering what to do with my life.
As you may know, I love disclaimers. I won't spell them out individually here, but know that I AM happy. I love my wife, I love my son, I love my home, and I am grateful to be employed at a time like this in our history. I have great friends, and I genuinely like spending time with them. But something is missing that none of these factors can fill.
I need to find what makes Matt happy.
I worry so much about the happiness of others that I forget to live. I want Nancy to be pleased with me constantly. And when I feel like (or know) I have failed, I get disoriented. Sorry Nancy that I'm not my best at these times.
I want to be the best Dad possible, but when I feel like doing something that doesn't involve Oliver, I feel guilty. I love you my son, but sometimes daddy needs time to himself. It has nothing to do with you.
I write things about appreciating my father-in-law, and immediately feel guilty that I haven't expressed similar feelings in writing about my own parents. I'm sorry Mom and Dad that I haven't written about you yet. Hopefully you know that I love you because I've actually told you so - many, many times throughout our lives. I don't say things I don't mean.
If a friend gets excited about something, I try to help them achieve their goals if I can. I just feel bad when I can't dedicate myself because I want to spend time with my family.
When I see my work go through a difficult time, I just want to help because I think I can. Plus I feel like I'll feel fulfilled because I could actually use some of the skills I paid thousands of dollars to acquire through school and help someone I care about at the same time. Except I'm not sure I'd actually feel fulfilled or if I'm just imagining things. And I feel bad when I put Deb in the difficult position of telling me I can't help her financially. I understand that everyone there is a family member or a friend or both, and there's potential for weirdness. I'm sorry that I didn't major in marketing.
At the end of the day, I've always known that something good will happen to me. Again, this isn't a family thing. It's most closely a career thing, although I'm not sure it has to be. I just know myself better than anyone else possibly could. A lot of things have happened in my life that have resulted in a lot of soul-searching. And I KNOW that I am honest to my core. I KNOW that I truly care about the happiness of others, and I mean people that I don't know too. I KNOW that I don't have ulterior motives. And so I've been sure that being a good person would bring to me, eventually, something that makes me feel fulfilled. Just typing this makes me feel awful, because Nancy could read this sentence and think that she isn't enough and neither is Oliver. I am glad that Nancy knows what I mean, though. She knows that I mean making a positive impact on the world around me, and being able to make a living in the process.
I'm sorry that being good isn't enough to make me happy. I'm sorry that I am a middle-class, white male who finds room to complain in a world filled with difficulty. But comparisons have never been real enough to remove me from my own emotional body. I am human, and my story is just one of many. But it's very real to me.
At the risk of offending some, the problem is not spiritual either. If anything, this area is one of my strengths. The soul-searching that I've mentioned has led me to an inner peace that can't be summed up by one traditional religion. Nor is it a conglomeration, per se. It is simply what I believe to be true, what I have felt quite deeply at times throughout my life.
Sometimes at the end of the day, I reflect and notice what my motivations have been. They are generally the desires and expectations of others. And then I resist. But not for long. The cycle always starts over again. And I don't necessarily want to stop it. I will always love people, but when will I love myself?
So this is where I shut off my computer, turn off the lights, and hope that tomorrow is the day that the answers come.
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