Middle School, Redo

    I’m not much of a masochist, myself. You see, this needed to be done.  It had to be done.  There was indeedno other way around it.  When you’re writing a book that deals with childhood, some of the memories… vivid or otherwise, must be revisited.  You probably already know that not everyone's childhood and middle school time served was exciting and filled with possibility and wonder and snow flakes and cotton candy.  If you were to question my experience from that period of time...none of those aforementioned elements would be present.  Even the few claiming friendship to me left bruises on my face and stab wounds in several places on my back.  You can't see them reflected in the mirror, but trust me...they're there, deep and kept hidden behind humor and sarcasm and neuropathy caused by years of relentless criticism and compounded by self-loathing as a coping mechanism.  Ripping open the scab and seeing the flesh tear away actually hurt worse than witnessing the bloodshed amidst a myriad of feelings.  Quite honestly, I’m not a masochist and I do my best to avoid pain in every sense of the term. Striking flaming hot Cheetos from our grocery list and abstaining from Krispy Kreme glazed donuts has been the most pain I’ve caused myself in recent weeks, perhaps even months. Well, that and a daily stroll on the elliptical quoting the late, great John Pinette with every arm stroke, "Raviolis and a nap!  Raviolis and a nap!"

    Going back in my mind I revisited the lunchroom, that horrible place of emotional trauma and supportive destitute.  Are these the things one should expect for the supposed remaining few short years on this oversized rock?  Everywhere I would turn was another face haunting my past and stealing potential joy in the future.  Little did I know the deep sense of hurt and void of friendship that would be caused by carrying around such grief having formally believed that I had since moved on, move forward, and let it all go.  When you boil it down, you can only scrape or scar a nerve so many times before it goes numb, right?  So...in that sense, surely the pain would stop soon.  Walking back into the school I might as well have been back in the eighth grade. Aside from the mixed aroma of the lunchroom, that rising air of steam from the reheated mac and cheese along with the baked cardboard-like pizza and green beans (because what else would you put with mass produced microwaveable dinners but beans to ensure kids are eating their greens, or at the very least to explain that they were provided knowing you would soon see 80% of those beans returned to the sink washed away with several disappointed servers shaking their heads fully understanding that they are rinsing the healthiest part of the meal down the drain because you can lead a student to school, but you can't make them think, or eat their vegetables.)  The faces of the kids I saw might as well have been the faces from 30 years ago.  In some respects they were.

    I would presume that if you have been able to fully let go of the hurt in your past, then you no longer deal with those demons lurking just behind the shadows of those wretched memories awaiting your walk down that particular lane.  And good for you!  Bravo!  That is a feat that many never achieve, not because of lack of want, perhaps for a lack of understanding how to do so.  I know I have my demons.  Some things, I believe you find are just difficult to let go regardless of how hard you try.  Some might say, "you’re trying too hard, and you simply need to release it into its own black hole of emotional dissent, that luggage one continues to carry around without a destination for he can't seem to put it down, let it go, and move on with his life."  I can not with any degree of accuracy necessarily say that is the best way to deal with the harsh past over written by distress, but nevertheless it still remains and must deal with the fallout the best he or she can.

    I must admit, I didn’t enjoy it. I don’t like it one bit. Those fresh wounds re-opened upon visiting the past like throwing raw steak to a pack of wolves and enjoying the rivalry within the feast. It’s no different than drowning, and every once in a while you’re able to raise your head above water for sharp gasp of fresh air before your muscles give, plunging you into the depths of sadness like "Neverending Story" characters. How does one deal with the past? The best they can, but then again that’s just my humble opinion.

Meet Joe Community

     It’s strange for a person like me who prioritizes community; using dates on the calendar as pin points of interest for potential gatherings - friends and family sharing food, fun, and memories with stye and then some, however one is often told by invitees that there are other items on the calendar to which they must attend: laundry, housework, cleaning.  And then one fine day you wake up to be told that there’s been a death in the family.  The clock stops dead in its tracks.  They drop their familiar duties and events in lieu of this calendar-shattering news and this thing now shifts into priority.  Everyone comes running leaving behind the trivial in their wake.

     I had a volunteer youth pastor friend die several years back due to a horrible carbon-dioxide accident on a weekend camping trip with a group of young teenagers. While sitting at his wake, I was told that funerals are for the living. It did not sink in immediately,  but thinking about those words, and allowing reflection and time for them to absorb I then realized...he was absolutely right. Funerals are obviously a ceremony for those left behind to remember, commemorate, and say goodbye.  There is no being in the beautiful casket.  There is no soul in the ashes.  There is no spirit in the frame.  One might think it strange to invite a photographer to such a somber event, but those who have gone through it once or twice, and prioritize family...know just how difficult it is to reconvene once they've have been scattered throughout the countryside, and rightly so.  Sometimes, relentlessly chasing down our big dreams leads to far away places often making it incredibly difficult to reconnect.  In lieu of such distinction, we attempt to take advantage of an otherwise morbid affair and steal a few snapshots with which we might lovingly update our albums.  Later we can show them to the younger pups who might not recognize Grandpa or who never got to know their Aunt Ida.  Perhaps we don't realize or wish to acknowledge such a fate, but the next time we gather might very well be unintentionally without a few people with whom we put off meeting for far too long.

     One undeniable fact is that funerals bring people together.  Some happy and others not so much.  Some filled with people who loved and was loved by the departed while others still empty, desolate, and void of affection.  If nothing else they are without a doubt a Show-stopper and cause pause for reflection.  How have you lived your life?  Did it matter that you were here?  How did you serve others around you?  How did you love?  Whom did you love?  With whom did you share your gifts?  How did you spend your time?  We no doubt have all heard that hearses lack the ability to pull a Uhaul and that Pharaohs had their wives (living or deceased) and all their riches buried with them fully believing that they would wake on the other side of death to a continued possession.  They seem to place a great deal of emphasis on relationships...at funerals.  they might as well place mirrors all along the hallways of funeral homes to help people emulate what might truly be important as we hear during this time of reflection how essential relationships are in the human journey, and yet when we return home we also generally return to the current program already in progress.

The ceremony, things needing to be said, and the opportunity to say goodbye tends to bring them in for one last hoorah; one final toast; one last look.

     I wonder how often in our own lives have we traded an opportunity to create a memory with a parent, or visiting cousin for the trivial nonsense which could have just as easily waited until tomorrow only to blow up in our face as we lost the ability to catch up with that long lost friend whom we haven't seen in forever.  The irony is that the entire time they will sit around talking about how we all need to get together more and we should have spent more time together in the past.  So…it would most assuredly seem like relationships and time together do at some point in time take priority, but this happens most often and best in hindsight after it’s too late, and we can no longer go back, but then again…that’s just my humble opinion. 

Fake It ‘Till You It

     After an entire nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat season of Monday nights, highlight reels, and an exorbitant amount of powerade we are merely hours away from the preliminary announcement to the opening proposal of the kick-off to the preface which paveth the way to broach the opening which will bring forward the option to get things rolling forward leading into the pre-game show which will eventually at some point before the month of February...the Mecca of all pigskin battles, the Superbowl.

     The question here is not necessarily about the appropriate attire, but rather, if you are like me -  "what the devil is going on?"  I must admit, I do not normally find myself pining away with both cheeks deep into the leather seat upon which sets 215lbs of sheer bone and blubber while lulling myself into a beer coma as clearly and commercially stated as the typical cliche' of men and football to which I am completely opposed.  Having said that, I have some thoughts.  Don't get me wrong here, I am not wholly against a little vegging on a fresh bag of flamin' hot Cheetos in front of the wall-mounted 90" and having the latest Bond theme rumble through your Bose 3-2-1 system, but I do have my limits when it comes to certain sports which, perhaps to my own dismay, alienates me from quite a few common conversations, but I have found a loophole amidst football chatter in the masses which may be of assistance to like-minded rebels such as myself who rarely follow certain players, coaches or teams and have no money on the line when it comes to the Monday-night parlay.

     Vague and ambiguous statements can be your best friend.  There is no need for you to quote numbers, yards, or touchdowns.  A simple statement like, "But, dude!  Did you see his last game?  Crazy!" will do just fine.  Do not draw too much attention to thine self, and if you are as unfamiliar with the game as I, then keep the ball rolling or at least in this case, moving...as it were, by redirecting the focus to another friend by beginning a statement which then turns into a question and include the name of the player: "Speaking of Brady...what is going on with the Patriots?  You see that?"  Don't hog the attention, for there is little need or award for that.  Be like a potato chip, go in rough and rugged, take a little dip for your self, and then pop back out leaving room and some french onion for the next guy.  Make sense?

     You will notice at these SuperBowl gatherings that much shouting and throwing of food will ensue.  You must be conscious then, however, of the team for which you begin shouting.  If you suddenly switch streams mid-game it is probable that they will know you are an imposter.  You will be stripped of your hot wings and shoved into the playroom with the rest of the kids and yesterday's pizza.  Pick a color, and stay with it to the end.  It doesn't matter if they win or lose, you must be loyal, even if you are faking.

     You don't have to be the shy wallflower at the super bowl party just because you do not prioritize knowing and memorizing the entire season of Vince Young, but on the same token you need not come across as an overbearing know-it-all.  That will get you into far more trouble than had you smiled, nodded your head, and while reaching for more Doritos, blurted out a conformational teenage phrased word as a question, "Right?!"

     By following these short and easy steps, you will appear far less deflated from the build into the gridiron past time, and if they can't tell that you have absolutely no concept of that which you speak...then why should you, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Chill Out

     Your key just broke off in the lock, the car door is frozen shut, and icicles are beginning to form on the whiskers of your olde English sheep dog.  In times like these one begins to wonder how even Old Man Winter survived the icy breeze these past couple of sub-zero days. While the wind blows a fury against your home, office, or shop, and the memory of umbrella drinks and sunglasses fade quickly, may I offer you a few ideas on how to keep cool while staying warm in the Great White Northeast?

     1. Layer it up!  It is colder outside, which means that folks and businesses will more than likely attempt to keep it warmer inside, and sometimes to the point where you need to step back outside just for a breather.  Nothing goes better under your button-down shirt than a plain, white T.  Delilah knows this, so check through this past year's Christmas gifts.  Perhaps you received a few under the tree.  This will also provide a nice shield for your underarms and pro-long the life of your dress shirt as so many times it is impossible to plan around the varied temps of offices or homes of the many clients you may see today.  A little secret - double sock it!  If you layer a nice check pattern, plaid, or stripe over a pair of ankle high athletics, those little piggies will be warm all the way home and the passerby or distant admirer will be none the wiser.

     2. Perhaps instead of reaching for the trusted and Classic V-neck cashmere sweater to go under your suit jacket, you could substitute a half-zip sweater with a pop up collar.  When the wind begins to blow you can easily zip that thing up to protect your mug or at the very least your neck.

     3. Pardon me for being negative, but with sub-zero temperatures wreaking havoc on your thermostat and heating bill, a jacket will most certainly come in handy and this winter Leather Bombers are all the rage.  You will want vintage, the older the better.  Check you local Thrift stores, Goodwill, and Salvation armies.  Boutique shoppes carry some one-of-a kind pieces, but will come with a price tag.  How hefty the price will be determined by the weight, grain, stitching, and of course the label of the jacket.

     3. You might need something for the neck, like a scarf?  If you do not already have some, I recommend picking up a few, both in light and dark colors which will give you versatility within your wardrobe allowing your core item for that day to be complimented while adding variety.

     4. Gloves this should give you a good grip on maintaining warmth while casually procuring your own sense of style.  And if you are going leather, lamb skin offers an exceptional softness with a subtle sheen.  Grab a pair of brown as well as black.  You never know when you'll have to drop the Bond facade to momentarily adopt a preppy version of you for an evening with the wife.

     Just because winter has finally hit us with both barrels does not necessarily mean that we have to throw the baby out with the ice water when it comes to style and cold weather, but then again...that's just my humble opinion

A Goal in One

     And so we welcome 2022 with minds full of ideas, hearts full of love, and moleskins or evernotes full of goals.  Lemme' guess; This is the year you will lose 3500 pounds, write the American novel, declutter every home in your city beginning with your sister's, but finally yours', start your own business and do it all within the next 364 days (you also plan to take off work on Christmas Day and celebrate your anniversary in Jamaica). You get down with your ambitious self!  

Do you ever wonder why the gyms are full on January 2, but back to normal by the first week of February?  Why do so many fine people set lofty goals in January, however, by the end of the quarter they have tossed their newly bought antique typewriter into the trash, doused their entrepreneurial spirit with negative waters from the gods of pessimism and bartered their 24/7 gym membership for an account at Netflix and 3 bags of family sized Flaming Hot Cheetos (don't fire up the angry rhetoric just yet.  I'm not hatin' on the Flaming Hot Cheetos, for rare is the day that I do not at some point daydream of downing a fresh bag of Flaming Hots with an ice-cold IBC Root Beer while screening some old school Bond)   

     "How," you ask, "How then may I avoid being a part of that crowd and actually cross the finish line on my goals?"  I'm simply delighted that you asked.  Let's approach this with a military mindset, shall we?  Take a sober gander at your list of resolutions for this year, and boil it down to one Goal.  Just one.  A Futebol player does not merely say, "I wish I could make a goal today".  That player has a fierce and detailed plan, a deadline for that action to happen, and the puts it into play with everything he's got!  You will do the same.  Let's change how we make this goal and put some meat on the bones, utilizing a very popular goal over the past 3 decades, "I want to lose weight".  I recall saying this very thing long ago, and up popped a small voice telling me that when I really want to...I will lose weight.  It would be vaguely similar if you said, "I really need to organize my office" and when you truly want to do so, it will happen, not magically of course.  The office fairy will not fly by on thread count wings sprinkling cherry dust over your old PC and all the sudden it's a Mac!  When it becomes a priority, and only then...will you accomplish that goal.

1. Change the lingo! Instead of saying, "I want to lose weight" let's define it by saying," I weigh 200lbs.  Own it.  Make it yours.  

2. Give it a deadline.  By June 1st, 2022 I weigh 200lbs.  

3. Now, for a sustainable plan of action.  How will you accomplish this?  It's not just - Oh, I'm gonna' work out three times a week.  You must be detailed and set it in stone as if you were meeting your spouse for a date, or a client for a meeting, or the Frito Lay man for more Cheetos.  Get Detailed!  You will drink 8 glasses of water every day; Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you will go to the gym for no less than an hour and a half on the elliptical, playing basketball, lifting weights, or a combination of the three.  Change when you eat, how you eat, and how often you eat.  Adopt a sustainable diet that will work for you and your lifestyle as you morph your old ways to the brand new you.  This should be a journey that you can continue long after you have reached your goal weight by your set date.  Gone are the days of gorging yourself into oblivion on Mango Habenero wings and Ice Cold Coca-Cola while binge watching the Walking Dead.(Oh, like I am the only one)  

4. Give it some value.  Why do you want to achieve this goal?  Are you writing a book to express you creative side?  Is there a thin person in you just dying to get out, but you can normally calm that person down with extra cinnamon Bears and Soft pretzels from Autnie Anne's?  Picture yourself after you have accomplished this goal.  How do you feel?  Look?  See yourself?  How are you different now?  Get down to the heart of the matter, and then posterize it.  Write it down, that reason you are going to achieve this goal, keep it front of you as often as possible.  Stick post it notes on your bedroom mirror, look at it before you got to bed and when you get up in the morning.  Write it on a note for you desk drawer or your car dashboard.  This will be your drumbeat for the year, or at least until your goal date.  

5. Do at least one thing every day that moves you closer to your goal.  

6. Get an accountability partner.  Get some help, bro!  No one said you have to go at this alone.  Ask someone who will tell you the truth in love, as many times as you NEED which will indefinitely be many more times than you want.  The friend you select should be responsible, bold enough to help keep you on track, and responsive to keep on you throughout the year until you reach your goal, but remember, this is your goal not theirs.  You are ultimately responsible for your own results.  If you don't have a friend like that, then maybe you should make that your first goal, and then proceed with the rest, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

The Day After

'Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house, all the creatures were stirring, especially the mouse!  The stockings were torn down and the mantle was bare, the hopes were all valid, for surely, someone had been there.

     The children were still nestled all snug in their beds, while memories from yesterday danced in their heads.

     I read the paper while the wife sipped some coffee, and gently rubbed the ears of her new pet doggy.

     When out on the porch there arose an odd noise

I sprang from my chair, but with style & poise (and then some).  I still have a reputation to keep, around the office and with the boys.  The dog raised an ear and Ma turned her head, as I opened the door to our old neighbor, Fred!

     He had an older brother just down the way who was sick.  The neighborhood knew him by the first name of Nick.  He was a friendly old man with a beard white as snow, and normally goes hunting with an arrow and bow.  Last year he took our boys out to the field, taught them shooting, and tracking, got hurt, but has since healed.

     "Good morning there, Fred!  What may I do for you today," I asked with a smile moving the paper out of the way.

     "Not a thing, yet this morning" said Fred with a grin as he brushed some snow off his chinny-chin-chin.

     "Can I offer you some coffee, just roasted last week?"

     "I regretfully decline, dear friend, for it is not coffee that I seek.  I've had this stirring in my spirit all this month and this year, a buzz far beyond the feeling after liquor or beer.  I've noticed of late, you've not been quite yourself; why normally you resemble a jolly, old elf.  Your socks don't match, and your hair is a mess.  I've even seen you get the paper in a dress!"

     "Now, calm down there, Fred," I replied with a smile.  "I've not worn these here socks in quite a while.  They were a gift from my grandmother who has since passed, and I've worn them for years, that I mention 'cuz you asked.  That was not a dress you saw me wear the other day, but a kimono from Japan made especially by Teipay.

     I paused for a moment from our conversational talk, and looked beyond Fred to a clean sidewalk.  There was snow on the roof, and the road, and the trees, but on the walk I saw none as Fred shivered in the breeze.  He had shoveled the snow on this cold winter's day.  I was dumbfounded, speechless...what could I say?   And here is the odd thing, Fred is older than I.  You can tell by the width and the length of his tie.

     "Fred, won't you come in, and warm up for a while?"

     "Sorry to disappoint," donning his face with a smile.  "There is too much to do, and so many sidewalks to plow." he said while putting his gloves back on, and wiping fresh snow from his brow.       It made me stop and think of how I am often a jerk, Fred was a true servant, and it showed in his work.  He puts others before himself.  That's his motto for life, it brought a tear to my eye as I peered over at my wife.  It made me realize that I had not been the man I should be, but I could do better, and be better, with my wife right beside me.  Treating her and others more better than I, would be my new goal, I could do more than just try.

     Normally about this time we would be tearing down the decor, pulling the storage bins out, and paper up from the floor.  I realize now, that perhaps I had made a mistake, 

     "Can we keep them up, all the decor, for just one more day?  The tinsel of popcorn and all the ornaments we made? The tree? The snowmen, the lights and the cards?"  They were from our family and friends with regards.

     Can we take a lesson from Fred and his heart for serving others, putting each-other first and others first with each other.  Like evil Gru from Despicable me with his banana-eating minions, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Christmas Memories

     The bacon crackles it's beautiful song in the background as the aroma fills the air bringing your dog racing to the table, impatiently waiting for its scraps and the cat not be too far behind, sitting a few feet away quietly mocking the canine in its normal condescending fashion knowing just how short-lived the memory of your dog possesses, as it will be waiting for quite some time to receive anything if any scraps from the table leftover from the sweet and succulent gift directly from God to mankind...pig.

     You lean back in your chair of many years peering through the kitchen window to see snow fall dancing in the early winter breeze as a light haze begins to cover the ground and the birds make their annual journey south to escape the coming cold.  You day dream of one day following them down in your RV with the lovely wife and you unravel today's paper, smoothing the edges and crease in the center you reach for another sip of the peppermint mocha just overlooking your blueberry bagel.

     It then hits you like a storm.  The month no longer reads November, and she has already turned the page on the calendar.  Yup, it is now December.  "Where has the year gone?" You ask yourself.

     Brushing the dog's nose away, you think back to simpler times when politicians were noble, fuel was $.89 a gallon, and words were cheap.  Now-a-days it is as difficult to find an honest Abe as it is to get a gallon of milk for less than $3.  Words are cheaper than ever and often thrown around in such a careless fashion as to imply that not only is the person at whom you just blew up void of any real feelings, but what once was considered a vow in the presence of witnesses can now be quickly dissolved at the onset of discomfort with no more than a credit card and a Phone App.

     One thing hasn't changed, and that's the clock.  Time still flies by with little regard for age or occupation in its forgotten memory encapsulated with things to do and groups of people to casually text.  The days are long, but the years are oh so short.  May I encourage you then as we once again embark on this beautiful holiday season to be mindful of what little time you have left in this world, and to carefully spend it with those whom you love.  "Tomorrow is promised to no one" and "is uncertain as the wind".  You can always buy another basket of fruit or gold ring. These fine gifts are perhaps even things that the people for whom you are making this purchase can buy for themselves.  But, no matter how hard you try, you can not buy more time.  Sure, you can leverage your time by delegating or recruiting others to help in knocking things off your list of tasks, but you can not buy back that hour you just spent in front of the TV or Mac.  

     Think back to the Christmas of yesteryear.  We would all pile into the car, bundled up with Style and Then Some as if we were about to go for a stroll through Siberia...in the winter.  There was barely enough space to breathe let alone relax with all the gifts packed in the trunk, around us, and underneath us, but we were excited, for we were off to Grandma's house and for the next two hours I would envision the sweet, crunchy goodness of Grandma's frozen Ginger Crinkles.  I could almost taste the colored sugar as it sparkled in my mind atop the perfected balance in texture between moist and fresh juxtaposed the crisp of the cool freezer.  A tall glass of milk set beside me yearning to fulfill it's ultimate purpose in compliment to one of the greatest accomplishments and credits to Grandma's everywhere...the cookie.

     Time seemed as though it flew by as we passed semi trucks and homes with large colored lights glowing in the background of the falling snow.  Before I knew it, we were there!  The baggage and clothes, even Grandma would have to wait...the devilishly-good ginger crinkles screamed for my attention.  Of course she would keep a few extra in the cookie jar, but they paled in comparison to the flavor held within those circular beauties tucked away neatly in an orange, tupperware cylinder older than George Bailey.  Following in behind me would be my siblings frowning a face of disgust knowing that once again, I got the upperhand on the quasi-hidden treasure.  The folks slightly trailed behind bringing in the luggage and the cold night air along with them creating an interesting aroma blending turkey, stuffing and cookies with fresh driven snow and the remains of the family farm.  They had these 2 reclining rockers, barely cushioned with what seemed like a paper-thin cotton, but perhaps not as comfortable, and the greatest part about these chairs made in the time of the renaissance, were the colors - a vomit green and orange which perfectly contrasted the poopy-brown davenport setting just a few feet away.  It was a scene from Madmen.

     And what about yourself?  Do you recall your seasonal gatherings as a child?  Walking into the grandparents home about half-hour before dinner from the oven would be served?  You might find a swirl of smoke from Grandpa's tobacco pipe hanging in the air, a sweet aroma of musk and fireplace soot as the wood crackled against the red brick and every few moments the bloodhound would raise an ear or the entire head depending on how loud the foreign sound might have disturbed his winter slumber.  Grandma slowly rocked back and forth knitting another sweater and murmuring to herself under her breath the many complaints of the pipe.  There was no TV, or if they just so happened to have a console, it would be turned off with a clear vinyl cover over the freshly dusted wood as if to imply it was off-limits until Grandpa said otherwise.  The overhead light was off, and the only other lamp in the room was the tree cut down just a few days earlier providing a beautiful glow to the whole room with lights dancing almost in harmony to the retro sounds of Andy Williams spinning from the record player.

   Sure, it might be a tad Norman Rockwell and unrealistic, but the memories are certainly there.  Can I encourage you then, to visually paint for your family and friends the memories you might wish for them to have years later, and create a few memories this Christmas?

     Ne'r did one say on his death bed how he wished to have spent just a little more time at the office on paperwork or crossing things off the to-do list, and also did not regret the time invested in his family and with his friends, but...then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Do You Subscribe

     You have just spent 45-50 hours at the office this past week investing yourself and your resources into bringing home the applewood bacon for the family, but it doesn't end there!  You spy that your better half has already started the infamous "honey-do" list, one child is sick and you have been politely asked to run to the pharmacy for some cold & flu meds and an additional case of Black Forest Gummy Bears, meanwhile you have wrestled on the floor all week with your hyper-hypo youngest son, played Legos with the middle child, and taken your eldest out for his Birthday Breakfast.  You open your closet to realize not only have those threads which repose so quietly on the wooden hangers been neglected, but perhaps appear rather shabby, out of date, and yearning to be retired.  Who has time to run to the mall, and are there still malls today?

     Let's face it, you wear a number of hats throughout the week from Husband, to Father, to associate, son, brother, friend, and the list goes on.  There is not enough time on your Movado to complete or even at times begin the tasks on your Goliath-sized list, and my understanding is that outside dropping some serious dough (pun intended) on deliciously-sweet and salty goodness from Auntie Anne's Pretzels, and then a little more dough (pun definitely intended) on the sugar-coma inducing favorite, "Cinnabon", 2 hours and $100 have gone by and you have yet to reach Bachrach or Macy's.

     Is there a better way you ask?  You have read to the right place.  Have you heard of subscription services?  There are currently quite a few available on the interwebs which not only put awesomeness right on your doorstep once a month, but also save a few hours on your Bell & Ross by leveraging the time of experts.

     Bespoke Post (bespokepost.com) is self-described as being the box of awesomeness for men where each month they will assemble a themed collection of goods to upgrade your day-to-day and includes quite the variety from bowties and cufflinks to tumblers and Bbq essentials.  Every month brings a new theme and with your free account you have the option to look through past month's boxes and select what you would like shipped directly to your door, keep only the boxes you want, and only pay for the boxes you keep.

     Trunk Club (trunkclub.com) is another subscription service boasting "Style That Works on Your Schedule" with trained personal stylists at your beck and call who's main goal will be to hand pick tailor-made clothing according to your direction and specific to your size and the various ways by which you wear your clothing.  Select what you want from the Trunk, and with free return shipping, reject what you don't want or doesn't fit.  It is a care-free way by which you may shop and try on new duds in your own time without the hassle of waiting for a dressing room or the pressures of purchasing a new suit or weekend outfit for guilt from the commission-based salesman who cares more about the upcoming game in Chi-town than he does your hemline.

     Subscription services are becoming more and more popular by the day as available family and self-time tends to shrink.  And if you are a multi-tasker, then perhaps with the advent of a subscription service into your life you could quite easily wrestle directly after breakfast while med shopping, pop worms into your mouth with one hand while building that special 80's style lego spaceship with the other and still have time to stop off at the mall for the important things like pretzels and cinnamon rolls, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Autumn

It’s definitely that time again.  That season for pumpkin-spice lattes with extra foam and a dash or two of cinnamon has finally returned.  It's that time for brisk evening walks with the family atop crunching leaves beneath your feet and skies peppered with kites, Friday Night Lights, and late evening bonfires with a hint of cherry wood in the air and the perfect coals for roasting a Hebrew National or two two chased with slightly toasted soft puffs of collected sugar represented gleefully in Ghostbusters by a jolly white stay-puft giant atop a melted chocolate square and as our young friend from the sandlot might say, "placed upon the graham".  We have but only a few weeks remaining to enjoy the sharply manicured lawn in the hammock with the family dog at our side and our beloved in our arms while the kiddos race through the piled leaves towering high in a heap of laughter and wonder and all the while, Grandma labors away with love the beautiful process of canning the garden salsa grown just a few feet away from the hammock;  time for Buffalo Trace and vinyl and a vintage Rocky Patel with in the study accompanied by a round table discussion of the philosophy of time travel with style and then some in a DeLorean designed by a crazy, wild-eyed scientist, while layering a mesh of threads colored in rust, brown and paisley button down wrapped with a crisp bow tie and a quarter zip underneath a chalk stripe notch lapel jacket with a contrasting pocket square and a bright lapel pin. 

It’s time to go sockless with a pair of well-worn, horse-buckle Allen Edmonds and your choice of torn denim while she steals your favorite Saturday sweater for date night to your restaurant after a another memorable day with the family to the apple orchard for a pumpkin hunt, caramel popcorn, and candy apples .  It is the perfect time of year for the feel of a leather bound book in your hand while turning the silk pages one by one while relaxing in an adriondack chair with a fresh cup of Dean & Delucca on the stand nearby atop a crisp green lawn with the Olde English Sheepdog a few paces away soaking in the mid afternoon sun and a choir of birds lift their song in ambience.

    The air circling the neighborhoods become thick with the echo of families singing campfire songs around a fiery orange glow and small stripes of smoke can be seen from the drive-in movie theater as you await the double feature accompanied by a large cooler filled with goodies and a brand new frisbee.

    This is the very time of year when you can roll the window down and feel the cool breeze against your face traveling down the highway with the warmth of the engine air on your feet and Phil Collins on the stereo.

    It is absolutely that time once again to warm up, cool down, chill out, kick back, soup up, gear up, relax, chillax, take 5, take a break, take a breather and enjoy for before too long we will ask one another in the month of December, a little more than a month away, "where has the year gone, and when will summer arrive," but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

     Last month I wrote an article about offering thanks to others for what you have, for what they bring, beginning with the small things.  If you would permit me, I would like to replicate that from a different perspective.  Allow me to elaborate.

     I had the pleasure of screening one of my favorite movies of all time with my three boys the other night.  The dim lighting fueled the buttery-salty filled atmosphere as we munched on some gourmet popcorn, sipped ice-cold Coca-Cola, laughed and cried as Steve Martin showed some kind of strange unconditional love to a complete stranger as life or something like it presented him practically stuck together on his journey from New York back to his home in Chi-town to reunite with his loving family for Thanksgiving, but what would be a brief warm flight from one port to another without concern for his gloves, took a slight detour through which he gained a powerful life-lesson as portrayed through the eyes of Director John Hughes in the holiday classic, "Planes, Trains, & Automobiles."

     I am the kind of weird guy who has since removed the term "coincidence" from my vocabulary believing that when I wind up sitting next to a chatterbox on a plane or riding along the interstate in a half burnt automobile in one degree weather with no rear view mirror or functioning turn signals, but oddly enough the radio still works, that perhaps there is more to the situation than what is currently presented and I should take note from famed comedian, Steve Martin, who in this case, despite the dire circumstances and unbelievably annoyances, lack of hygiene, and apparent obstacle to his destination, that maybe there is a grand design and we could share a little love to those who may not have it as good as we do, or are simply down on their "luck". Maybe we could completely throw them for a loop in offering help to someone who is far better off than us, and they walk away humbled by this strange unconditional love that we are willing to share with them regardless of status, dress code, or income level.

     I, like many others, would generally avoid such potential problems for fear of stepping out of my comfort zone, and in doing so missed many a blessing to other people.  The attitude which I have tried to adapt, as difficult as it is is to embrace the change for which you seek if you honestly make the decision, deciding in your heart that from here on out your life will be about something other than you, and lived out on purpose rather than accident, but then again...that’s just my humble opinion.

Prepped for Thanksgiving Dinner

     Your annual beating from the conglomerate gathering known as your family will ensue or continue within about a week.  As you prepare your mind with snappy comebacks and your Mikasa dish with sweet desserts, allow me to help with the attire.

     Above all, you will want to dress for comfort as the chances of you simply making an appearance at your annual day in family court and slipping out the back door may not be as probable as you dreamt up in your mind.  Obviously, it can't be a silk kimono and slippers, but it certainly does not have to be Black Tie from Calvin.

     Let's begin at the top and work our way down.  Depending on your complexion you may want something more subdued in color, darker tones and allow the bling to bring the pizzazz.  Might I recommend a light blue collared shirt.  This not only goes with everything, but once the spills from the running children begin your stains will be better hidden than your cousins new boyfriend who foolishly threw wisdom aside for a crisp white shirt to be worn at the kiddie table.

     If your wife or girlfriend will abide, I would skip the tie.  You do not want to look too stuffy for a family-style occasion, and go with a simple orange vneck which subtly states you are both modern and in season.

     Slip into a dark grey tweed jacket to don a classic look, or if you prefer, grab your favorite blue blazer.  Clip the gold buttons and have your tailor sew on a few simple dark blue, or if you are feeling dangerous, choose light blue buttons with a contrasting purple thread.  My tailor peered at me as if I asked her to mend my Members Only jacket, but I simply asked her to trust me.  Her demeanor quickly changed soon after she saw it all come together.  Fold in a polka dotted pocket square.  There is no need to match the colors of the shirt or sweater to the square, you can do that at work.

     Jeans are certainly appropriate for this setting, and recommended.  The darker you go, the dressier they appear.  If your family goes casual, lace up some all-white K-Swiss, if they are more formal, try a pair of dark brown Johnston & Murphy wingtips.  They are classic in any culture setting.  Socks or no socks, your decision

     Finish off the ensemble with a meat, appetizer, or beverage in your left arm, but leave your right hand available for handshakes and hugs.  This is after all, a celebration of thanksgiving for what we have, and who is in our lives.  Of course, none of this may apply to you or your household and may as well serve you better as a substitute when you run out of Charmin.  In which case I would recommend unscented baby wipes, they are softer and more efficient but...then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Speeding Tickets for All

We were on our way back from a visit with Joyce's folks this past weekend. They all get together a couple of times out of the year and we are either at the pool in the summertime with fruit and fried goodies or at a hall somewhere celebrating Christmas with...fruit and fried goodies. It was a perfect day for a drive as I recall. The sun was shining overhead with a slight breeze making it a 75 degree afternoon for the ride home. She was resting her eyes while I was surveying the countryside with the moonroof open, and the windows slightly cracked, and the Boston Acoustics pumping some 80's into a positively smooth atmosphere. I am so incredibly jealous of her sound system that mere words do not do it justice. 

Those kinds of moments don't come everyday, so when they do, much like I would imagine you do...I soak them up with style and then some. I was in a slight haze of bliss when I passed by a church with a sign which read, "Summer needs a speeding ticket". It caught me off guard at first, and then it hit me. We had just begun August. Somehow we were beyond the middle of the year of 2021. Can someone please tell me where the past 7 months went? I checked the glovebox and under the seat...which I imagine is where nearly everyone looks when they lost their sunglasses, keys, wallet, cheetos, etc. Where did summer go? It was here last time I looked. 

If you missed it, Angola, IN just went through a humorous Sign War amidst retailers and restaurants which was most amusing to watch on a day-by-day basis. I did not, however, see anyone post a sign about summer, that was...until now. And by now...it was too late. Normally, by this point I had consumed my weight in watermelons, swam my age in hours at the pool, and caught a sunset or two with my bride. Where did summer go? I for one, couldn't agree more with that sign. Summer should get a speeding ticket. And for that matter so should your first date with that special someone. Those tend to go a little too fast, do they not? And your wedding day deserves a speeding ticket as well; all that planning, and scheduling, and phone calls, and meetings, and tailoring, and food, and dresses, and parties, and friends, and memories, and within a matter of hours the wedding day is over, the vows have been shared and witnessed and the marriage has begun. A speeding ticket should also be administered to the honeymoon.  All the dreaming and planning, and traveling, and selfies, but before you know it you have returned from your travels and real life begins. I’ll raise a glass to speeding tickets for vacations, And longer weekends, and late nights with friends, and early mornings with my wife sipping coffee and listening to Norah Jones while watching the sunrise. More speeding tickets and penalties for birthday breakfast with your 16-year-old, date night with your daughter, and a midnight basketball game with your son. They should certainly cut a speeding ticket for that special tee time with your young daughter, that construction time with your boys building the lego battleships and heading into lego war. There should definitely be a speeding ticket for your anniversary celebration in Jamaica, for puzzle time during Christmas with the grandparents, opening gifts with your children on Christmas morning, for the fireworks show during your July 4th celebration, and quite frankly speeding tickets for the growth of your children; for time on the lake fishing with grandpa, and for going to the movies with dad. I think there should be speeding tickets for the time spent with grandma learning how to make her famous Ginger Crinkles; for Sunday afternoons getting ice cream, and for the last few moments with your parents on their bed surrounded by family. There should definitely be a speeding ticket for that. And while we're at it, let's write speeding tickets for those last few moments with man's best friend before he must be put down due to cancer, or another illness, or perhaps just age. A ticket should be written for the time we have with our son or daughter before we drop them off at college on their first day, for that time spent with the fellas before they go off to basic to protect our country, and for that last Sunset before we say good night. Yup, when it comes to those kinds of things, in my world, and I know I don't speak for everyone, I say let's write some speeding tickets and slow a few things down, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Hero

     They wore that uniform with pride.  There was determination in their focus and purpose in their heart.  They knew precisely who they were and exactly that for which they were fighting.  If I were a betting man, I would wager to say that perhaps they even knew the price.  You can almost see them standing in front of the mirror of their bedroom, just staring, almost as if they were catching a glimpse of their image as a whole, to remember, to memorize, as if they would not see it in the same light again.  

     In walks their spouse, their husband, their wife.  He turns to face her at attention with head held high.  Her hand over her face, not knowing whether to smile at this strong, beloved soldier...or to cry with uncontrollable tears at the overwhelming thought that he may not return.  What if this was to be their last hour together?  What words do they exchange, or does it speak louder to remain silent and simply cherish the moment.

     Not too much time passes before the kids burst into the bedroom with a breath of fresh air thus lightening the heavy load which lay ahead.  There is something so disarming about the sincere embrace from your son and daughter.  When all they want to do is hold on for a few more seconds...all other woes fade into the distance.  They are the apple of his eye, and the arrows in his quiver.  

     He pointed the sorrowful chin of his boy upward and charged him to take care of his mother and younger sisters in his absence for a short while thus knighting him Man of the House and needed to step up accordingly.

     What tears must have befallen his worn cheeks as he lifted his little girls in a George Bailey fashion and vowed to never let go.  I would go so far as to guess there may have been something like promises of large stuffed giraffes and a trip to the zoo upon Dad’s return from the war.

     Finally, holding his wife one last time, one ultimate kiss, one more dance to close down the house and a promise to always remember and to return home alive...which could only be fulfilled by the Good Lord above.  Can you imagine...headed into battle with an incredibly low chance of survival with a shred of hope that in the sacrifice your wife and children will live in Freedom.  Can you imagine the sadness of never being able to hear you nieces' giggle at a dumb joke, or never again being able to wrestle your boys to the ground or smooth your fingers over the cheeks of your wife as you brush the loose hair behind her to reveal her radiance.  

     They shall march before us once again in uniform with pins in place, a straight gig line, and a firm grip on Old Glory as she waves her beauty in bright colors with Style and Then Some.  Can I encourage you then as our colors parade through, to hold your hand over your heart in remembrance of the fallen soldiers, in salute to those who sacrificed their lives, who proudly hold the flag high, seeing it the frame of Francis Scott Key who longed for, who looked for, who hoped that when the dust settled, and the fog cleared, that our beautiful flag, though tattered and torn, crimson with the blood of family men, of sons and fathers, of countrymen, would still be flying high - protected by the many soldiers who defended our freedom and fought against injustice for liberty so that we may live and work and play and worship in a country like this.  O' say does that Star Bangled banner yet wave?  I guess that is a question only you can answer, but...then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Sharks in the Water

     It is a rare thing to have a captive audience and actually have something to say, and today I am hoping that I have both.  It doesn't seem like that long ago, but once upon a time our eldest son was in middle school and I had the pleasure of accompanying him and his group to the Fort Wayne Zoo.  He was on the edge of his seat in anticipation to see first hand and for the first time, the shark exhibit.  As a first time Father I may have made some poor decisions in permitting him to screen some Shark Week episodes from Discovery a time or three, but in all fairness...it is something to behold watching a sleepless species of the fish family relentlessly hunt and unapologetically shred their prey.  And when you stand just inches away from a predator of that magnitude with mere glass between you and 15 rows of razor sharp teeth on each jaw it tends to steal your breath while sending chills up your spine.

     We saw nearly every exhibit and our feet grew weary, so the promise of ice cream to help rejuvenate was certainly in order.  Time must have eluded us as we received the alert text that we had only a few minutes remaining until we needed to head back to home base and return to the vehicles.  The ice cream was still frozen to the paper and we had barely even begun to dig in, and yet we had to make it to the shark exhibit on the other side of the zoo.  I felt the world of condescending parents pointing their collective finger and shouting how could a father lose track of time to permit the loss of the main exhibit he wished to see?  What was wrong with me?  

     We ran.  We raced like the wind hurdling strollers and bent over kids trying to pickup the gum they just lost as we counted the minutes ticking downward like a cartoon anvil.  I would not be the one Dad who failed to make sure his kid got to see the main attraction.  His excitement regarding the exhibit on the way to the zoo echoed in my ears as we ran for dear life to beat the clock.  Another text came through.  Time was of the essence and we had little to spare.  We finally made it to the entrance.  We were there and with a few minutes to actually walk through and greet the deadly sharks with a smile.  That was at least, until I saw the sign.  It quite blatantly and well-enforced stated that there was to be no food permitted in the shark exhibit.  Once again...failure loomed like a prowling lion.  We, of course barely ate any of the promised ice cream we just bought due to the massive and prize-winning sprint.  There was a choice to be made, so I turned to Michael and explained with what few words I could muster, and with all apologies, that we didn't have time to do both the ice cream and the sharks because we apparently could not enter through with our ice cream as they prefer to starve the sharks and feed them little children who get lost at the zoo at the end of the day.  That's not fair.  I may have been misleading there on that last part.  I was recently informed that they feed the sharks at the beginning of the day now.  It seems to be less messy.

     I did not possess the words to adequately convey the idea like the Dads in the movies where they sit down with their son, say a few sentences that sound really cool, and walk out with a fist-bump and face the world shoulder-to-shoulder.  I had a small moment of genius at the last second and said, "Mike, while we can't take in the ice cream, and I would hate for you to miss out on the sharks 'cuz I messed up on the time...why don't I hold on to your ice cream?  You can go through and check out the sharks, and when you are finished...the ice cream will be here  waiting for you.  What would you like to do?"  I'll remember his next words to my death bed...they just meant so much to me,"What do you think Dad?  Of course, I want to stay here and eat the ice cream with my Dad.  Sharks can wait until next time."  My eyes welted up with tears while my chest puffed up with air.  I was a king, and held my head high while proudly surveying my kingdom with style and then some along side my son who wanted to eat ice cream with me over seeing his much beloved sharks. My subjects thusly bowed their heads in reverence while donning my shoulders promptly with a royal robe and my head with a golden crown riddled with gems which were obviously from Jared's.

Your son runs to you with glee and a bright smile dons his face as he asks, “Hey Dad, (the voice echoes) can you come help me with this?”  You begin to channel your inner James Earl Jones and reply, “Yes my son.  I shall help, for I am your father.” All the sudden you have a new breath in your lungs new skin on your bones you flip your hair back with your left hand ripping open your shirt to reveal super dad tights.  Your cape flowing in the wind with gloves on and bones strengthened, you walk fearlessly behind your child as thunder claps in the background with every step and music rises in cinematic form and the sun sets in the distance shadowing two silhouettes walking together...and fade out as credits roll across the screen you see your name in bright white lettering against the black background, “Dad” played by none other than you as it should be.

     I have held several positions with varying rates of pay over the past 26 years, but none have ever come close to the compensation plan of being a Dad.  There is this magical and incomprehensible reciprocating enrichment which comes from pouring of yourself into your children from your knowledge, to life experiences, to just...the everyday.  If you are a Dad...then you already know of that which I write and you know fully well the benefits of being a Dad and the numerous and varied rewards of doing your best to fulfill the role of Father.  I am an amateur, myself, but may I encourage you then as Father's day lies right around the corner...to dive in head-first, soak it up, live it up, and do everything you can to raise your children above your shoulders, and keep them there as long as possible, hold them close, for the years go by in a blink...but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Hot Socks

In my younger years I would normally try to match everything that I was wearing to school that day or even to work.  I did not wish to stand out, but I also wanted to be noticed by my gender counterparts.  This indeed was a difficult task as I was often the new kid on the block I would endure much ridicule from the guys while catching the glares from their particular females and then they would proceed to make numerous threats.  While I can not recall the exact exchange it would generally include me and a great deal of pain to a few appendages which wish to remain nameless.  I actually cared, perhaps too much, about my appearance, however, my fashion sense or lack thereof was shaken to the core when I arrived at college to discover from one of my trusted professors that matching socks to my shirts was a phoenominal fashion faux pa and should be avoided at all costs.

     Today, my approach to mens hosiery is entirely different.  First, one must ask, "are socks needed in this ensemble?"  As you take a look around you may have noticed a growing trend regarding wardrobe south of the belt line.  Many suited gentlemen have traded in their daily wear of clothed feet for more comfortable shoes as four seasons pass they may occasionally be spotted wearing a pair of socks.  Office or no office, socks have become optional in many professions.  For those of you wear socks are a must, I might have a couple of suggestions...if you are interested.

     Dismiss the notion that you must match your socks...to your slacks, for that despicable and unoriginal rule is long gone like yesterday's laundry.  It's time to break free from that mold and get creative.  It will feel different at first, and perhaps a little weird.  Like Garth from "Wayne's World" once said, "It's like a new pair of underwear.  At first it's constrictive, but after a while, it becomes a part of you."  You may not have to go as loud as Billy Joel's "a bright orange pair of pants" but you no longer need feel as if the sock police will ticket you for clothing your hoofs outside the proverbial lines.  Blue suit today?  Grab your green socks.  Did you lay out your dark pinstripe?  Choose a sock to compliment rather than match your tie, scarf, or shirt.

     Designs, stripes, and argyles are typically a safe bet especially when you are just breaking out of the mold.  Find a pattern with which you are comfortable and confidant, or perhaps even more important, impresses the misses, and begin fanning off from there with style and then some into various colors and styles of that pattern.  Your local fine mens clothiers will carry a wide variety of hosiery for your perusal and approval.  Take a couple of snapshots of what you have hanging in your closet and laying in your dressers to give you an idea of what you have at home as you stand in front of a wall of beautiful cotton designed to compliment your feet.  Unless you are involved in the mafia or have been commissioned as an underboss by Don Corleone, you may want to steer clear of thin see-thru hosiery as these are very suit specific and neither compliment nor harmonize with a preppy attitude.

     Finally, life is too short for your daily wear to blend badly and blandly into the background of a hum-drum existence.  With the right smile, suit, and socks ... you won't have to speak up to be noticed, your fine togs will do that for you, but then again ... that's just my humble opinion.

Graduation

    It’s that moment in The Greatest Showman, the Crescendo, the one for which you have been waiting the entire movie where you turn the volume all the way up to 11 so you can feel the music in the depths of your soul just as clearly as you feel the tears in your eyes...the moment of anticipation of the smile on their face and excitement to open the gift at Christmas.  It’s the gift for which they have been asking all season, the Red Ryder BB gun with a scope that you skillfully hid from the wife and carefully wrapped and placed in the corner behind the desk, with a sneaky-type grin on your mug, so as not to be discovered by a very inquisitive young boy who had been asking for this very thing from every source ranging from his teacher, to his mother and inevitably, the odd mall Santa with a strange and drama-drawn elongated"Ho-Ho-Ho."

    The million dreams that have been keeping him awake for the past 12 years which he finally gets to realize, and put into action as he crosses the stage to grasp the hand of the principal in one hand and his future with the other.  It’s graduation day, the day for which you have been dreading and dreaming and thinking and praying and the very moment for which you held your breath and your camera phone.  hundreds of parents and grandparents have prepped the party and donned their white linens and brought their sun umbrellas in anticipation of a long wait outside in the noon-day sun to enter an ac-filled gymnasium where popped folding chairs and polished bleachers await the fans and classmates of the seniors who have worked diligently for this day.  They’ve graduated.  They’ve done it.  The many years of picking them up and dropping them off; of staying up late to help with projects, and by that I mean they fell asleep three hours ago on the couch waiting for the guerilla glue to dry while you’ve been maticuloisly finalizing the visuals on the display board and placing the trim on the graphics have paid off.  The many seasons of shooting video for the marching band and carrying the teams pads and cleats, and water bottles, towels and wardrobes and props and house parties and committee meetings, fundraisers, phone calls emails, text messages, early morning practices, late night performances, away games, home game snack bar volunteering and coordinating and cleanups and community building and field trips and plays, art shows, and jazz concerts,  have come to this.  You take another deep breath while they near his name in the alphabet.  The numerous thoughts which you have shared and the hundreds of teaching moments have neared their summation as he begins to take to the stage.  You have poured hours of lectures about integrity and pride, honor and working smart and hard into their hearts and minds and souls for the better part of their life in every effort to help steer your would-be graduate in the right direction away from the many mistakes which you have, unfortunately made in the past hoping they will make new mistakes from which they will learn and apply in their adulthood.

    They may one day even learn what the words “Prince of Humbug” actually mean, or perhaps solve the ever compromising riddle of why a raven is like a writing desk.  A million dreams might be keeping them awake, and yet tonight you can rest easy knowing you have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you kept the faith.  You handed the top hat and the reins of the circus to your partner so that you could raise your children and watch your daughters play the precious part of the tree in the school play, because it was everything you ever wanted, it was everything you ever needed.  It was there right in front of you, and that's where you wanted to be, but...then again, that's just my humble opinion.

A Gift For Her

     Diamonds are forever, right?  At least that is the 007 flick so well fashioned after the coined phrase now used to encapsulate  your bride or perhaps future bride, and with a rich, sultry voice you are thus hypnotized to believe that the two starved models walking towards each other with that, "Gosh, I could really go for some Rally's fries about now" look in their eyes, could actually be you and your lady friend.  You are serenaded by music resembling Berry White and watch as beautiful blondes become grossly giddy with excitement and awkwardly fake smiles when they realize that he went to Jarred's while being ransacked by the worst jingle ever conceived, or worse yet...or maybe you are told how to spell the word, Kiss.

     In a consumer-driven world where today's toy and diamond purchases become next year's donations and jewelry box liners one begins to ask himself, "Was it worth it?"  Break it down numerically for a moment.  Let's say you earn $10/hour at your place of business and we shall pretend a pack of smokes COST $5 a box.  If you are a smoker then you just spent half an hour laboring away for a pack of cigarettes, and must ask yourself, "Was it worth it?"  Can we apply the same principal to gifts?

     I can not necessarily recommend you to a jewish diamond emperor who goes by Haivvy and owns a jewelry store ran by brunette triplets who all answer to a guy named Doug, and possibly sold strawberries at $15 a pound to the late, great John Pinnette, I might have an idea or two as to how you might channel your inner Papa Elf and deliver some solid gold memories this year without taking out a second mortgage on the house.

     Time is certainly a rare commodity and we seem to have even less of it in today's day and age.  We so casually trade an hour of it for the latest Madmen or Walking Dead episode...guilty.  It is needed for us to trade at least 8 of them for a days wage or maybe 5 hours for a night's sleep, but do we consciously go about spending the money with the same measures by which we accumulated it?  Entertain this idea - your most memorable vacation, was it the one you spent going all out, and everything was perfect?  Or was the vacation on which you look back and laugh the one where the vehicle broke down, they had no vacancy so you stayed up all night playing cards and teepeeing the house across from the parking lot where you parked you RV?  I recall being in college with barely enough money to purchase both the laundry detergent and bologna.  Our first Valentine's Day dinner was spent on the living room carpeting because our kitchen table just broke.  We had a few candles bought from the bargain bin at Walmart and dined on some Great Value pasta with Berry White playing softly through my Bose speakers I received as a gift from the folks. (They are now almost 20yrs old and play as if they were delivered yesterday.)  The wine was so bad we dumped it down the sink after a couple of sips, but we still, and will forever have the memory.

     One does not need money to celebrate Christmas, they simply need the right spirit.  If all you have to give is time, then use it wisely.  Get creative.  The less money you have, the more creativity is required.  

     1. Go one a date.  It doesn't have to be the most expensive restaurant in town.  One elf with whom I am vaguely acquainted took his date out for "The World's Best Cup of Coffee", which inevitably turned out to be a "crappy cup of coffee", but nevertheless a memory was born and only gave them another story to add to their repertoire of dramatic encounters which they will share for years to come.  The commissioner will tell you that he and his bride would walk to the mound, pop a squat, and share a sandwich back in the day.

     2. Speak her language - does she want time? Has she asked you to be of service around the home in some way?  Has she asked you to attend one of her special events?  What is it that is important to her?  Different people in general speak the language of love in different ways.  Some feel loved by receiving a simple gift, not expensive, , but just the simple thought that you were thinking of them will send them into a warm and fuzzy place while others desire nothing more than a little time next to her man.  If you do not know by now, then ask your lovely lady about her preferences.

     3. Give her a story that you two created together.  Give her a story that she can share with her friends when she goes back to work in January or with her friends at their next get together.

     In the meantime, have a holly, jolly Christmas.  It is the best time of the year, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

He Was Just Gone

     There used to be this chubby little boy running around the house with a bucket on his head and using the cat as a pillow and the dog as a blanket.  His cheeks were like that of a chipmunk...it was all you could do to keep from pinching them non-stop.

     I woke up this morning and the little boy was gone.  Vanished.  Into thin air.  We looked high and low, checked iPhone locator dots, messenger location, Google maps.  We used "The Cat in the Hat's - Calculatus Eliminatus."  We Stumbledupon his Tumblr account, Reddit outloud, and even asked the mayor of 4Square, but all for naught. He was just gone.  I honestly do not understand how something like this could happen.  I was certain we kept better tabs on him than that.  It's similar to those times when you walk into a room for a certain thing, and 5 minutes later you are still standing in the center of the room, wondering why you are there and what you were searching for in the first place.  As strange as this may sound...that very thing happened to this child of whom I speak...several years back.  We were in the theater, and I asked him to run and grab another bag of popcorn from the pantry.  10 minutes rolled by before I realized that neither the popcorn nor the child had returned.  I had to go in after him and retrieve the scrumptious necessities myself, for when I arrived in the pantry, there he was peering outside at the neighbors' dogs.  It was good that I went in anyhow because we also needed a fresh bag of flaming Hot Cheetos.

     Where did he go?  He was the kind of kid with a ball of energy just waiting to be opened by Pandora, and when the seal had cracked...look out!  His baby picture has him propped up with a bright smile on his face, fists clenched, and starring into the distance in preparation for his first TED talk.  We can't seem to find him.  I thought perhaps he was out in the garage next to the heavy bag where we would box and listen to 90's Rap music and talk about the many corollaries between life and boxing, but there was only a used pair of gloves and some wrist wraps.  Perhaps he was in the yard running through the sprinkler with his cousins, but when I turned the corner...there was no Nick.  The sprinklers looked like they hadn't been used in years.  They were dry, rusted over, and lifeless.  He would on occasion, play hide and seek in the basement, but I couldn't find him down there.  He wasn't in the attic, and he wasn't screening anything in the theater.  How does one just disappear like that?  Joyce reminded me that from time to time he would retreat to my office to play video games on the Mac and watch Funny stop-motion Hulk videos on Youtube while battling his Hulk action figures.  When I opened the door to the office...the lights were dim.  The screens for the Mac were off and no child sat before them playing some silly game.  There were no Hulk videos running in the background, and no little guy duking it out with some green action figures.  The silence was deafening.  There was a pain in my heart with the void of laughter and giggles that once stemmed from a child sitting in my seat.  The chair wasn't twirling in a dizzy spiral round and round again with a young voice calling for my attention inquiring about dinner.  There was no flipping through the channels or watching a rabbit-hole YouTube link and switching to an entirely different video only seconds into it, and repeating.  It was just silent, and he was gone.

     Joyce had found someone that looked like him upstairs in Nick's bedroom.  When I reached  the top of the stairs I met a young man who vaguely resembled our little boy, but with all vulnerability was far older and looked almost nothing like our missing child.  This fine young gentleman was tall, well dressed, and wore a long black gown with a light sheen and a square cap with a golden tassel dangling on the side.  He smiled and asked me, "Well, whatta-ya think, Dad?"  It sounded like him.  Surely it did.  His hair was thicker.  Voice was deeper, and somehow older.  He held a diploma binder in his left hand and a Katana Blade clenched proudly in his right fist.  I honestly didn't think he needed it, I mean...let's be honest.  They mail you the diploma within a couple of days, so what was he gonna do with a binder?  The blade was obvious and you being a bright and intelligent blog-subscribing individual and a well-read scholar...I needn't even get into the specifics of the need for the katana blade.  You probably already know everything about that.

    Who was this guy?  And where was our son?  Where's the kid with whom I would play catch in the backyard, and kick the soccer ball on the field, and wrestle to the ground?  Where's the little guy I used to throw out of his bed and claim his mattress as my own at bedtime as another opportunity to wrestle and bear hug?  Where's the kid I used to tuck into bed so tightly at the end of the day that he could barely move, and as I would turn to make my exit I would hear a slight giggle and bed squeak and ruffling of the covers.  I would then turn quickly to discover he had shot his foot out from underneath the tightly wound covers requiring us to begin once again...laughing the whole time, until we got yelled at by Mom.

     Apparently, that young child to whom I have referred several times is all grown-up, standing before us at attention with style and then some ready to take on the world headstrong and sure of his next steps.  I only wish I were as confidant in my own.  We were told all of our married life that we should take every moment to enjoy them while they're young, because one fine day we'll wake up and they will be graduating.  They were right.  We both did our best to suppress their aging process and keep them small and huggable and throwable, but in the end, after looking high and low and in all the regular places, our little boy had vanished leaving in his wake a fine young gentleman well on his way to the next chapter in this book called "Life", but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

The Top Left Drawer

     How many times has it happened to you?  You are running a tad late for work, you throw everything you can together at the last minute including that morning, ritualistic, must-have, can't function without-it, cup of Joe, jump into the car and rush ahead to your office only to realize that when you get there, not only did you forget a few minor hygienic details, and on top of all that you look down only to find a dark, unforgivable, quarter-size spot of your coffee dotted predominantly for all to see, on last year's Christmas gift...the power tie.  All is not lost, my friend, for you are a dapper chapper and soon to be a happy pappy who is well-prepared for such a morning Monday-like challenge to strike at your first impression's line of defense.  It is time to crack open your secret weapon - the Top Left Drawer.  Many in your office sit in awe of your appearance, "How does he do it?" They ask.  "How can he be so well kept while others trot around, head down, defeated, with coffee all over their brand new ties...and there's you, ready to take on the day with a powerful first-impression that says, "Yup, I'm here, came to play, and my tie is clean."

     Let's start at the beginning.  First - It is not your fault.  You can not blame yourself for this minor oversight which you are about to remedy.  Secondly, you prepare for meetings with your coworkers, boss, and clients, why not prepare for the unexpected, which will be something you should expect to happen when you least expect it, follow me?

     Keep a crisp white shirt (sealed so it will not stain or collect dirt) carefully folded in the drawer.  It will be difficult to know what kind of jacket or pants you might be wearing, so go bland, but clean for your backup shirt, and do the same with your tie.  Keep it simple - KISS - keep it simple & solid.

     You should invest in a dopp kit for the office, nothing to big, you are not going away for the weekend, just for the day.  Pack a toothbrush and toothpaste.  Let's face it, we've all sped out of the house to make the morning meeting at the office and somehow our oral hygiene completely eluded us.

     Mouthwash - for the mornings when you have no time for the toothbrush.

     Mint gum - when you have no time for the mouthwash, and for a buck, you can be the office hero for those in a similar predicament.

     Deodorant / Antiperspirant  - no client or coworker is comfortable around one who sweats uncontrollably resulting in donut sized wet circles which can only be hidden by your gun show.  Using a derivative of the late Chris Farley that you are searching for or returning from the gym will not impress...anyone.

     Hand sanitizer - it is after all...the cold and flu season.  You might be healthy, but do you know if they are?  For that matter, it would be a good idea to grab a few cough drops for a sore throat, a bottle of Zicam for a runny nose, and hand lotion for cracked or dry skin. Chapped and scarred hands was impressive when you were in high school, but when you became a man, you put away childish things.  Your lady will prefer a softer touch over that of something resembling the paws of your golden retriever after a midwinter-night's stroll to take care of business.

     Baby wipes - yup, you read correctly.  Does your office spend uber amounts of petty cash on 600 thread count bath tissue?  Neither does ours, and now you have nothing about which you may fret.  You have it covered...so to speak.

     Finally, a light cologne.  The last thing you want to do is over power the office, but you certainly do not want to show up to a date with your wife smelling like the office or the factory from whence you just emerged.

     Keep the aforementioned in your top left drawer for your convenience, and not only will you be the go-to guy with style and then some for the apocalyptic unprepared, you can walk with confidence knowing that your throat is good-to-go for your speech, your hands are clean for that firm handshake with the boss, and your wife will have thought you stopped at home first to freshen up before the big date, but...then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Wear It Anyway

When I was a kid there were certain clothes that I wanted to wear, but didn't because I knew I would catch a verbal beating from my "friends".  There wasn't anything wrong with the clothes or even the label, but they were different than what my friends were used to seeing within their circles or clicks.  When I grew older, I would refrain from listening to opera or classical music if I had someone else in the car with me as I knew they would mock it, and I didn't care to hear the criticism.  Yesterday that called it making fun of someone.  Can you imagine that?  What an obscure notion, mocking someone for their preference of music.  Today it is often referred to as bullying.  Everywhere you look there are campaigns against bullying within the schools, "stop bullying",  "stand up", and so on.  The reality of bullying is this, that it will never stop because making fun of someone else due to your own insecurities has always been a part of this society, and until we can teach kids and adults alike to find more confidence in something other than their attire, appearance, or number of social media  "followers/likes...bullying will always be a part of this thing called life.

They mocked me regardless of what I wore with style and then some, how I spoke, and how I walked.  It did not matter if I would attempt to change in accordance with how they perceived me or with whom I hung around.  They had their target, and for the moment I was in the crosshairs.  Little that I said made any difference and wouldn't you know it, 20 years later people are the same.  How miserable the person who delights in the condescending of others, how drab an existence, how enslaved they are in their own self-pity and grim projection of a mirrored ugliness gripping their soul tightly choking light from peering through the darkness of self-hatred and envy.  I realized that their problem had nothing to do with me or my attire, but rather with themselves.  They were in some kind of predicament at home or at school and their only outlet was to take it out on someone else, predicatbly it would be the person closest, and if they could get others to laugh about what they just said or who they just punched, then their rating just went up in the eyes of their "friends".  It makes me wonder how different life might be for our young people if they cared less about what others thought and more about finding out who they truly are.  

     Do you recall when the fashion industry first started making pink polos for men?  And it threw the world of insecure people into a feeding frenzy on how there must be something wrong with you if boys wear that color.  The bow tie took a dirt knap for about 30 years and was then recently resurrected and once again finds itself in the limelight outside of professors in academia. In a round-a-bout way, I suppose my point is this, if they are going to mock you anyway, you might as well wear the pink polo.  Some guys have the Seinfeld-like cherry hew in their cheeks to pull it off and others do not.  Whip out that bow tie and try it on for size.  While I would never recommend going outside of your own color palette, I would definitely try something new and see if it fits both your style and personality.  If it compliments  those two criteria, Vaya Con Dios.  Haters gonna hate, and people gonna eat donuts, but...then again...that's just my humble opinion.