Putting It On

     Zig Ziglar, a famous motivational speaker with humble beginnings in the sales industry would talk for great periods of time, jumping up and down on stage, even in his elder years...about an attitude of gratitude and its importance that it should and must play in our lives.  Now, let me be perfectly clear.  I was naturally a pessimistic individual, and if you are unfamiliar with the term permit me a moment to elaborate.  I can find a dark cloud within any silver lining.  I would simply need a moment or two.  The glass is half-empty and usually filled with stale soda.  Brighter side? Paaleeaze!  I have been, however, attending regular meetings and am now considered a "recovering pessimist".  I get my one year token in...ah, who am I kidding?  I'll never make it that long.

     Through the many graces of my higher power, and much patience on the part of my lovely wife, I am slowly, but...slowly with style and then some learning how to be grateful for what I have and dressing in an attitude of gratitude.  If you are like me, and are in some pessimistic recovery program then you know precisely of that which I speak.  If you are seeking a way to begin to become humble and thankful, but are unsure of where to start...I may have a couple of suggestions.

     1. Begin small.  Hundreds of thousands of people all across this great nation of ours just took their last breath, are currently on their deathbed, or just lost a loved one.  Can you still breathe?  Are you able to sit up, walk around, and eat healthy Krispy Kreme Donuts?  Did you put your own clothes on yourself? Brush your own teeth?  Comb your own hair?  If you just answered yes to any or all of those...give thanks.

     2.  Take a look around.  Do you still have your parents with you?  Many do not.  Do you have friends? Spouse? Children? Consider them a blessing and give thanks.  Do you have clothing? Money in the bank? vehicle? job? paycheck? Home? Freedom to practice your faith? One does not have to Google too long before discovering that many in the world do not have clothes on their back, Benjamins in the bank, change in their pocket going jingle-jingle-jingle.  Many do not have a job, let alone one they enjoy.  They do not have a vehicle to get them back and forth, to and fro.  You probably know folks who do not receive a check at the end of the week and if you ever visit the big cities have definitely come across a few who do not have a home they call their own in which they bake cookies with their grandma, play games around the dinner table, or host thanksgiving.  Give praise.

     3.  The first two will seem like child's play compared to this, ready?  Give thanks out loud, to someone, for someone, for something.  Write a note and hand-deliver it.  Pick up the phone and call.  Go directly to your boss, your parent, your teacher, your child, and verbally...eye-to-eye offer gratitude for the work they do that you'll never see; for the lessons they have taught you, or for the effort they make at school and at home.  Do this very thing, if nothing else, and you will walk away on air giving the other person wings, but...then again...that's just my humble opinion. 

Ketchup

I remember long ago when I heard about the Atkins diet for the first time, and thought with my own will power and diet prowess that this would be no problem...until that was of course I paid a visit to the local grocery store and began shopping for the usual suspects.  One after the other my wife lovingly pointed out with style and then some "that" was not permitted.  More than half of the items we would normally eat or otherwise purchase were not allowed on this horrid diet.  Most disappointing...was the ketchup!  The ketchup?  Indeed.  How could a man spit in the face of such a God who designed and gave us the blessing of ketchup, and permitted man to bottle it and set it up with other bottles of ketchup to meet and fall in love and produce mini bottles of ketchup and grow up and be sold in the markets for a profit...win-win situation is what that was! 

     I vowed that evenings at one day I would put initials behind my name, create a Ketchup and Bacon Grease diet, sell it to regular meat-eating people and buy stock in America's favorite topping.  That was until I was told that I would have to learn how to read if I wanted to go to college...and who's got time for that, right?

     And...here we are 4 months after January, continuing to write down a few things we will probably, most definitely do, if properly motivated before the time comes when we postpone that goal, because we simply don't have time for it, but we'll get to it eventually.  Topping the list - weight loss.  Might I make a few suggestions?  A goal properly set, is half-way reached.  This means that you need to write out your goal.  Why do you want to lose wait?  If the reason to lose the weight is not more compelling than sitting on the couch for half a year, you will never make onto the treadmill.  Picture yourself losing the weight; having already lost the weight; think about how great you will feel who you hit your goal!  Set a date, firm it up (eg- I WILL be at 200lbs by June 1, 2021.)  Then make a plan - How will you reach that goal?  When will you exercise?  How will you exercise?  How often will you be at the gym?  What time will you be hitting the gym?  Focus on the feeling after the workout...not the pain during.

     Now, put it into action.  Do something everyday that moves you closer to your goal.  Tape the goal to your bedroom door, your bathroom mirror, and the interior of your desk (not everyone has to know that you are aiming to get back into your speedos by the summer)

     Eat less in front of the TV and focus more on your food and it's wonderful flavor as opposed to responses and likes from all your "friends" on  Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram based on the snapshot you just took of your dessert.  As long as you are watching what you eat, exercising towards your goals set in concrete, I doubt that  you really need to cut back on the ketchup, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Never Met a Raindrop

     I can't help but to shake my head as I hear people complain about rainy days, and how they just can't believe it, and refuse to call it anything resembling good if it does not meet with their criteria of 76 degrees and sunny!  What would happen, I wonder if we began thinking about the change in weather as a blessing?

     Think about that droplet of rain there, and how many more help provide a lake for your kids to jump into, and allow you to go boating and skiing and tubing.  That droplet there gave a kiss to the flower, and helped bring life to the plant, greened your lawn, brought beautiful bell peppers to your butcher block, and brought luscious watermelon to your picnic table.  Those droplets falling on a tin roof inspired a song, allowed your baby to fall asleep in peace, invited your wife to dance, provided a photographer some income, permitted farmers to harvest, gave you memories of eating plump corn on the cob with your cousins, slicing an apple for your son, and peeling an orange for your daughter.

     That rainfall gave the birds something to drink, and a puddle in which your kids may jump and splash.  It provided company for your coffee and atmosphere for your favorite book.  It notified certain park visitors that dinosaurs were nearby, revealed redemption to a wrongly accused Shawshank prisoner, led one man to sing out loud about a glorious feeling, and rained frogs on un-suspecting individuals whose stories would soon collide and simple state that, "This is something that happens." from a 1999 Magnolia.

     There are folks of faith who believe it was a global sign of judgement and still others who saw it as nothing short of a blessing.  It was the first name of a highly-functioning autistic infamous card-counting gambler who would literally "lose it" if he were not permitted to watch Judge Wapner.  

As a wise man once said, All sun and no rain makes a desert, but...then again...I guess that's not just my humble opinion.

The Wee Small Hours

The world is fast asleep and yet there you are...awake, and perhaps for no other reason than to enjoy a few moments of absolute peace. The crickets outside murmur a low hum which can barely be heard through the open window cracked ever-so-slightly allowing the cool, evening breeze to wisp inside as you curl your feet under your legs, Indian style, wrapping the rest of you in a fur blanket, turning the floor heater on low and pulling your macbook close in anticipation for genius to strike at any moment...as it normally does about this time.

For some, the wee small hours are a time of utterly-painful memories as they reach for a loved one who once lay beside them with a gentle body heat radiating a sigh as the two crept closer in the mid winter chill, but that side of the bed has since grown cold as their loved one of many years has passed leaving tears of joy, heart-ache, and emptiness. But, for others, these precious few moments come with a whirlwind of ideas for their next art project, millian-dollar start-up, or infamous, blog post. The family is fast asleep, the fridge just kicked off, and all that remains are the crickets just a few feet away and a hurricane of ideas waiting to be caught by those patient enough to wait for them. You crack your knuckles, sharpen the number 2 writing instrument with the 7" chef's knife until it screams uncle, power up your iPad and caress the edges until the first idea rears its beautiful head from the muck and the mire of a long, strenuous day filled with noise and distraction.

Artists seem to function best at night, do they not? Or perhaps early in the morning, but that of course is after a long night of vinyl and incense to kindle the creative juices from their dull, charcoal-like slumber and awaken the fire which went dormant mid-day. Have you found yourself at a road block? Do your friends have to bring you back from the white screen of death or crippling pressure of a blank canvas with a few hand waves or smelling salts under the nose? May I recommend searching for your muse at a different time of the day? Some folks seem to strike the proverbial gold after a good nights rest and their favorite cup of Joe early in the morning. Again, it's quiet. The hustle and bustle of the day has yet to hit the ground running. Most households are still in dreamland and after the sleep you may not be so encumbered by the day's activity, work, etc that your energy is drained and by 8pm you can barely stay awake long enough to make fun of the spoiled brat trying to carry a tune as the next American Idol, and would otherwise not even had made the journey if he hadn't been lied to all their life by their biased mother causing the tone def child to simultaneously be delusional and entitled.

Still, there are many who by 10pm are just getting their second wind and suddenly they are ready to go another 5 or 6 hours on the cuspin of the adrenaline rush that comes with the prospect of a sharply written paragraph, business plan, or sketch of the best ever leather bomber jacket. While artists and designers should never discount the difficulty and sacrifices made which come from weeks and weeks of life invested into numbers and projects in a closed board room producing valuable data from which companies, cities, and nations are built. Likewise, can we offer the same grace to those who sit in coffee houses, lofts and city parks who pour over white paper and blank canvases creating, promoting, writing, drawing, sketching, coloring, folding, erasing, thinking, singing, praying, believing, dreaming, and doing? It is probably a good thing to keep in mind that the same space created for those who sing, dream, and dance was also designed for others who crunch, calculate, and build, but...then again...that's just my humble opinion.

The Emergency Dopp Kit

     Perhaps you can relate to this - You woke up late, alarm did not go off so you are hurried through your shower, breakfast, and wardrobe selection, or perhaps you are forced to do all three at once - eat your breakfast while taking your shower and thinking about what you might throw on before you scramble to the office for your first meeting.  And, this is where an emergency dopp kit can become very helpful.

     Need some help?  Allow me.  First, you must choose a proper kit.  I might suggest you begin with your local thrift shops as they can be a great resource for all things boutique, and then work your way up from there if you do not find the bag which meets your approval.  This is a small bag, normally constructed of leather, and you should expect to spend anywhere from a few dollars to a few thousand dollars based on where you shop.  You might also try Cragslist, Ebay, Amazon, or Overstock.com. You might also try some boutique online stores - Satchel & Page, Popov Leather

     To give you a few ideas of how to stock yours, I have made a short list of how and why I stock mine:

1. Toothpicks - No matter how hard I try, I often get some food stuck in an awkward place in my teeth, and need help so that the people with whom I will be talking do not get distracted by some stray ribeye or french fry.  

2. Chapstick - chapped lips sink...well, you just want your lips to be moist for the wife, 'nuff said?  

3. Tweezers - for what the toothpicks do not remove.

4. Lint-free cloth - hard to see your messages if you can't see through your specs.  

5. Earbuds - Sometimes you find yourself waiting and the tunes or the environment is less than stellar.  This is an easy, momentary escape.  

6. Hand lotion - Soft hands with a firm grip.  You came to play.  Get rid of the dryness.

7. Hand sanitizer - I know who has touched the handle on my door, but no clue who has touched those handles on those doors.  

8. Cologne - I want to smell fresh after a workout at the gym, or more importantly when I pickup my wife for a surprise lunch.

     This is certainly not the end-all be all of emergency dopp kits, but in a pinch when I have something stuck in my teeth which I can't remove with my chapped hands and I find myself leaving a less-than-stellar restaurant with questionable door handles playing terrible music...this kit will do nicely, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

The Best Wardrobe

     I was traveling in to my office the other morning under a 2 hour delay for surrounding counties due to fog and...well, weather.  The fog was beginning to lift with the morning sunshine as the sunrise crept from behind the dense fog in an attempt to make an appearance.  The chill was thick in the air and the frost lay heavy on the ground like a tired old man.

     I peered to my right just in time to catch a gentleman wrapped in a heavy flannel coat and boots with hands tucked deep into his jean pockets standing next to what looked like a an over-sized blue marshmallow, but obviously a young child wrapped to the brim with winter wear resembling Ralphie's younger brother, Randy, from "The Christmas Story" (1983) standing no taller than his father's knees out in the slightly-blistering fall morning.  In a much-hurried world where we barely make time to brush our teeth, comb our hair, and grab a sliver of toast along with our morning cup of designer Joe before we make the commute to the office spending what once was 1/3, but has since pushed its way to 1/2 our life behind a desk in front of a box or perhaps traveling to another city/state to meet with other people who are sitting behind a desk in front of a box wishing we were back at home, but deluding ourselves into believing that we are doing all of this so that our young ones will "have everything that we never had" when at the end of the day, all they really want is for us to stand beside them at the bus stop in the cold dark of the morning and hold their hand.  Now, allow me to elaborate here before you begin yelling at the screen and throwing your coffee at the sink.  I am no spring chicken, and I fully realize that it is not always as simple as telling your employer that you need to be at home when your child arrives or that you will not be at work EVERY morning by 8am because your son or daughter doesn't get on the bus until then.  This, if nothing more, is homage to the few who both have the opportunity to invest that small amount of precious time in such things, and making the effort to do so.

     We wear so many different hats throughout the day that our head hurts by the time we return home.  Whether you are serving your community in the medical field, sales, or industry, you work your fingers to the bone and invest so much energy into perfecting your trade to...impress your boss, get that raise, surpass your coworkers, get noticed by the CEO, or maybe it's just because it is the right thing to do and you wish to be a good role model for the next generation, more specifically your own child.  I can think of no better wardrobe to wear, than that first of an honest and faithful Husband, but next to be a loving Dad, who will NOT sacrifice what little time we have with our kids for a few more hours at the office.  Have you ever heard someone's last words be, "Oh, if only I would have spent more time...at the office."  Clothes are nice and projecting a certain positive image is great, but when it comes to your kids, nothing compares to wearing the name tag, "Dad", but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

How to Save Face

     There are many industries in which the menly men folk work hard outdoors, or inside all day long where a clean shaven face is both unnecessary and frowned upon.  Having said that, there may fall a day upon which your significant other requests that the Forrest of protective bristles not just be mowed down for a certain occasion, but removed completely.  Fret not, for I have a few suggestions by which you may complete the task with which you have been saddled, and to do so with style and then some.

     Buzz down as much as possible.  If your grizzly has wondered clear past your collar, or somewhere thereabouts, than there are a few steps you need to accomplish before you reach for the straight blade.  Grab a set of buzz/clippers and clear out the bulk down to your bare skin as much as possible.  

     Next, grab a clean washcloth, drench with the hottest water you can stand, and massage that mug for no less than 2 minutes.  This will not only get some of the remaining bristles out of your way, but also helps to open your pours and begin to soften the remains.  Repeat if necessary.

     Use some pre-shave oil.  Drop a teaspoon sized or less amount of this good stuff into your palm and work into the face, apply elbow grease now as needed for pressure is helpful in kneeding the skin with the oil and softening the beard in prep for the blade.

     Lather it up.  There are a variety of shave creams and gels on the market today. Have you tried shave butter?  It is an excellent alternative which has morphed from a fad into a tool of choice for the decisive gentleman.  Shave butter doesn't lather and clog up your blade, and it's clarity permits you to actually see what you are carving rather than guessing that somewhere underneath the fluffy white is your face awaiting a clean shave.

     Blades are sold in as much variety as creams and butters, from the number of blades to the handles, weights, and finally quality.  I have yet to personally use a vintage straight razor, but when a barber used one on this questionable character ... Let me tell you the wifey benefits far outweighed the cost in the chair.  'Nuff said.  Simply put, razors have a shelf life and after a couple of uses it may be time to retire the blade.  The duller the blade the worse the shave.

     Ok, so you have swooshed away the prickly inhabitants, and it is time to finish up.  Grab that warm cloth once more, wet with hot water, wipe everything on that face one last time.  Now splash with cold water to close the pours, follow with some after shave splash to cure any nicks or cuts and after a couple of minutes massage some balm into that beautiful mug.  Something with menthol, ,eucalyptus, or tea tree will provide both some cooling effects as well as a fresh feeling.

     Follow the aforementioned tips for the best shave ever and you will enjoy all the benefits of a clean shaven face, yet imminently more important ... so will she, but then again ... That's just my humble opinion.

Keeping America Beautiful

     Up until recently I have always spent my lunches pouring over work, or in meetings, or working lunch meetings, but now I find myself investing a few minutes at a nearby park swatting away the bees and increasing the pollution threat by exhaling harmful carbon dioxide. (Hey, I do what I can.)  I was polishing off an apple with a few last bites when in rolls an 80's era Ford truck and an elderly gentleman stumbles out of the drivers side and I thought to myself, "I didn't pay for this ticket, but I'll gladly accept the entertainment."  He makes his way to the back of the beat-up truck, opens the lid and downs the tailgate to reveal a not-so-mint condition couch to which my grand-folks would lovingly refer as a "davenport".  You should have seen the badly-contrasting flannel covers weaved together in between the dangling lint, grease spots, and ripped fabric.

     He peeked back at me a couple of times before he grabbed the bottom of the monstrosity and dragged it from the pickup bed to the curb of the park and began to stumble his way back to the door, which is about the same time that I grabbed my phone and opened my camera and voice note apps as I was unsure as to which would be needed, and quickly walked towards the truck from the distant pavilion from which I sought office salvation.  He rolled down his window and the conversation went something like this..."How are you guys doing this afternoon?"

     "We're donating it to the park."

     "You're doing what, now?"

     "We're gonna' donate that to the park."

     "You're going to donate...that...couch...to the park...?"

     "We're from Fort Wayne."

     "Ok...but the park doesn't need any more couches.  They got some in just last week (snicker, laugh)  This couch doesn't have any cushions on it"

     "Oh?  We didn't know that.  We're from Fort Wayne, we're sorry about that."

     I helped the old man prop the couch back into his truck and directed them to a nearby disposal, and in my short time on this rock called Earth...never have I seen a couple, young or old, try to pawn off their cushion-less junk of a couch, which would better serve as a pinup-poster for bed bug homes than as firewood, let alone something to donate to a non-proft organization to simply get the stanky item out of your home while making yourself feel good about it because those people can no longer say that you never gave them anything due to the fact that they now have the lice to prove you did...give them something.

     May I offer a thought here?  If it is not something you would accept as a donation into your home, business, or non-profit...there's a good chance that no one else will either, and it might be time to call in the Father to render its last rights, exercise any demons which may be possessing the 40yr old davenport, mattress, or exercise equipment,  and let the poor thing die, but…then again…that's just my humble opinion.

Bacon Will Save Us All

     The aroma still lingered in the air and wooshed at me like a hurricane in perfect form where just a few short hours before I had stood at our trusty stove with an iron skillet sautéing bell peppers and bacon in none other than...you guessed it, bacon grease.

     If you were ever to look into the hoarding business with interest, might I recommend hoarding bacon grease.  Some look at it and ask why, most dream about it and ask, "yes, please!"  This beautiful gift from our creator useable and fry-able in nearly everything to enhance flavor and bring about heaven on earth after a bad day...or perhaps to celebrate after a good day, or if you are so inclined...may in no uncertain terms choose to cook and ingest on any day happening to end in the letter "y".  From steak, to popcorn, to mushrooms, there seems to be no end to its use in cooking and with a dash of seasoned salt complimented by fresh ground pepper you could easily close your eyes, believe you are in a 5-star restaurant with bus boys in tuxedos preparing the table next to you for a celebrity couple as you slowly raise the knife from your bacon-wrapped fillet, topped with caramelized onions and shrooms sauteed in, yes, bacon grease.  You being a smart and well-versed newspaper subscriber can probably just imagine the aroma, yes?  I don't have to paint the picture of an antique silver fork piercing a perfectly-seared, 28 day aged, well-marbled ribeye lifting the succulent piece of tender beef off a dinner plate from Royal Copenhagen and slowly permitting your tastebuds to enter into a whole new dimension while you close your eyes savoring every moment and thus fully acknowledging from that in the famous words of Reverend Brown from Coming to America, "There's a Gaaawd, somewhere!"  And you ask yourself, "how did I win the lottery to be blessed with such a much sought-after commodity?"  In the future you may very well hear, "It's worth it's weight in bacon," because one can only eat so much gold, and after some time even Flaming Hot Cheetos may lose their freshness and accidentally go stale through some curse of the evil one, however when it comes to bacon one can never get too much of a good thing, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Rules of the Saturday Sweater

     The chill befalls the ground as we await the notice from the individual employed in safest job in the world, the Weatherman (or woman), as they tell us to secure our crops and our windows as the frost is about to appear, and we can sense our sweaters literally itching to get out of the seasonal storage, break light from the closet and show their face once again to a world soon to be covered in white and danced upon by funny people bundled to the beanie caps with warm winter clothing.

     You must understand, however, that we can not simply throw this on and walk about the city scape like wardrobe anarchists aimlessly roaming the streets as if they were named after us, while not necessarily a bad idea, like Mom always said, we have rules for a reason.  Trust me, they are in place for your protection.  

     Rule #1. This season, pick your Saturday sweater like you would select your steak - thick, chunky, and well-marbled with color, and for this season you'll want to keep an eye out for the highlight brights and burnt oranges, pinks, purples, jewel and industrial colors.  The thickness will provide a layer of warmth from the morning and evening chill allowing you to easily throw on a white tee underneath and finish the weekend look with your favorite pair of denim.

     Rule #2. Make sure it fits.  Just because it's Saturday does not permit you to wear clothes with an improper fit - not too tight and not too baggy.  You certainly do not want your sweater to be so tight that it is no longer comfortable neither do you want the top to be so baggy your arms are swimming, or perhaps drowning in the sleeves.  You can always roll the sleeves, but if your sleeves are like dust in the wind, you are in the wrong decade and it is time to update.  The colors will come and go with the season, but a well-fitting chunky sweater is more "wing-tip classic" than "bald-head trendy" and will treat you right for years to come.

     Rule #3. Spend more on your sweater than you did on your jeans.  Think long-term.  Search for a brand that puts the colors together in the fashion you prefer and with which you are comfortable not just in your own home, but also in public.  Sometimes, you can find a steal at the local thrift shops.  Keep your mind open to the possibilities and your pocket book will retain more green.  I have found brands ranging from "Saks 5th Avenue" to "Burberry New York" to "Tommy Hilfiger".  It all depends on when you shop and how diligent your search.  

     When you can't pry your sweater from your wife's clutches, and your kids are already asking you if they can "borrow" your brand new Saturday sweater...you know that you have chosen wisely, but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

Classic

     Some things need to be left alone.  I was recently sitting in a local restaurant, trendy, sutle colors with a soft background music which for this very reason instantly peeked my curiosity, but immediately afterward made me wish I was somewhere over the rainbow.  I threw up in my mouth just a little bit.  I'm sure you have been there before.  Allow me to explain.

     A much overplayed song from the 80's graced the speakers of the busy lunchtime restaurant, "Rock On" by Michael Damien...but this was not Damien's version.  It was some horrible remake that hurt my ears and was garnishing flavor from my salad.  Little did I know, that the version I heard was in fact the original "Rock On" sung by David Essex and was not the song I heard popularized by the hit movie "Dream a Little Dream" starring the Two Corey's - Corey Haim and Corey Feldman.  Ironically enough, the moment was saved by Heuey Lewis and the NEWS.

      It helped me then realize how young people can foolishly choose things like Alien Ant Farm's cover of "Smooth Criminal" over the original and much beloved from 1987 by Michael Jackson.  I myself am not a fan of most remakes, and of course if you read the above paragraph I have just told you that I am a hypocrite.  Don't get me wrong here, it is not that I boast in that in any way.  How was I to know that just a decade earlier David Essex had performed the original version and here I am jammin' to an awesome remake which, at the time was soaring through the charts.

     I recall just a few years back when Hollywood started hitting the remake scene hard in rebooting the classics from the 1980's like "The Karate Kid" (1984 - Ralph Macchio, Pat Morita), "Footloose" (1984 - Kevin Bacon, John Lithgow), and "Arthur" (1981 - Dudley Moore, Liza Minnelli).  I couldn't help, but think to myself, "What a monstrosity?  How dare they go after the classics!"  If you keep up with movies to a certain degree than you are already familiar with the "rumors" surfacing not too long ago about Hollywood stripping themselves of any dignity by attempting, though failing to find funding, to remake heavy hitters and all-time favorites like "Ferris Bueller's Day Off", "The Breakfast Club" and a few others.

     The reality is that there is nothing new under the sun and when it comes to movies and music, the version from Michael Damien is what I knew, the one with which I grew up, and have never until this moment heard the original.  I became so accustomed to that tune from the 80's that this song from the 70's eluded me in tone and form, but when it comes to today's teenager, the version which they originally heard just a few years back, though a remake, may in fact be the only one to which they are privy, and thus for them it IS the original, because it is all they have known, which means simply that it is up to us Levi's 501-wearing, plain white t-shirt donning, seasoned adults who have sat for hours in a dim lit room, kicked back in a leather chair listening to vinyl with a rocks glass nearby while incense swirls in the air overhead to introduce them to talented 1st's like Crowded House, Johnny Cash, and Tears for Fears, but that is just my humble opinion.

Back in Season

     I find it simply fascinating that we as humans who crave such variety in our life, from daily food choices, phone cases, and even to the style of garbage bags...that we still have a preference of when and how we choose our variety and for what purpose those options are decided.

     We have a rule in our house that no Christmas movies are to be screened until half-way through November, and not after January.  The boys will sometimes sneak one in while my wife and I are out on a date, but otherwise, the same goes for our Christmas music collection.  Why you ask?  Does it matter?  It's kind of like that new purchase, the prolonging of that new car, new tie, new pen, builds anticipation.  Could I answer that question with one word? Tradition.  Why would one want to watch "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles in March? Or screen Christmas vacation in September?

     Oddly, the same rules seem to apply to many foods we eat.  Cold, sliced watermelon in the heat of summer, and pumpkin-spiced candles and coffee...in the fall, which brings us to the point.  Millions of wide-eyed cooks across America are pulling out their crock pots and iron kettles, dicing up veggies and frying up the burger...of course I am talking about a fall classic, Chili.

     Everyone has their own recipe, and of course you've never had chili done right until you have tried theirs because it's the best! or they use the best ingredients! or they've had the recipe in their family for 400 years!  The truth is it can be as simple or as complex as you prefer, depending on your priorities.  Some prefer an 80/20 ground beef, while others will use nothing less than sliced New York strip. He will use Dole, while she may use Heinz.

     The obvious point, is that you do not need to be told what tastes the best for you, I am guessing that you can decide that part for yourself.  A couple of suggestions I may have, since you are reading on, is to try your best to use the freshest ingredients possible, slow cook it rather than speedily boil, and if you can pull it all together a day in advance it will greatly increase the opportunity for the individual ingredients to permeate in harmony bringing you the best cup of chili!  Play with the ingredients, the amounts, the cuts, the brands, the seasoning, add a little more of this, perhaps a little less of that.  There are literally hundreds of recipes out there, find one, and then make it your own.  Suit it to your taste.  And if you happen to be in the market for a new chili recipe or perhaps the best you have-ever will have tasted…I might be obliged to share my own.

Back in Session

     You swirl your morning espresso slowly to the winding tune of the crickets just outside the open window in your kitchen as you peruse through the last paragraph of your morning read.  It's quiet, but not an erie quiet as one might recall in the movies where you are just awaiting the flash of some monstrous being to jump out from the shadows with a chainsaw.  This is a peaceful quiet.  The kind you hear about from friends you would like to hurt badly because they have just returned from their Caribbean vacation  where they never left the powdery white beach, the temp was always 85 and the air was just right for drinking.  The kind of quiet you see in commercials selling you the newest medication for your ailments.  It is the quiet before the storm, the one for which you have been dreading these past few weeks as you begin to hear thumps from the ceiling.  You realize they are beginning to come back to life.  They slowly tread down the stairs like zombies in a 1950's b-rated flick.  This marks the first day of school.   

     For some, the parents rejoice loudly break open the bubbly, and begin to celebrate, but this may not be the very posture you currently walk as this milestone for you comes way too early.  Why, it was only yesterday you we're seeing them off to their very first day of kindergarten.  You carefully smoothed the creamy peanut butter unto the wheat bread as if it were being made for the Prince of Vernai.  Then slowly ... Oh so gently, top the peanut butter with a few clean swipes of their favorite jelly before slicing the crust like a ninja and sealing the sandwich in a freezer bag tough enough to travel alongside a dump truck going through a nitroglycerin plant and still come out unscathed, for nothing ... Nothing would infect the food on which your son and daughter would be dining during school hours later on that day for lunch.  You probably checked, double checked, perhaps triple checked their school bag to ensure they had enough writing instruments, paper, folders, cinnamon bears, ruler, compass, road map in case the driver got lost, bread crumbs to leave behind for a solid return in case they had to hoof it uphill in the ... light fall breeze both ways.  Knowing your high level of newspaper reading intellect you may have even snuck into their bag a note or two of encouragement for their big day.  You recall how difficult it was realigning schedules when you were a kid, seeing new faces as you pass through the the all too familiar doors of learning, teaching, playing, building friendships, meaningless fights and arguments, as well as meaningful conversations and memories you never want to forget - the big game, the friendly maintenance people who always wore smiles and helped you find your first class, and then that one teacher ... Who always took a little extra time until what he was saying sunk in to what you were thinking.  And now, it's their turn.  You can still see their little faces all a glow as the bus rounded the corner.  Their excitement for what lies ahead nearly rivaled your worry and dread that your little one was growing up and you couldn't hold on hard enough.  While you fully intended to stand there making sure it would be ok and you'll be there to greet the when they get off the bus, they instead took the high road and while you sobbed uncontrollably they patted you on the sleeve and offered you their other pop tart if it would help ease your pain along with the very words you were to speak, "It will be ok.  I'll be back soon."  Those powerful words of bravery echoed as they jumped up and down awaiting their turn to climb the small steps into the yellow submarine on wheels and turning to offer you one last smile and a wave you wouldn't soon forget.

     You exhale a light sigh, and then with style and then some begin the morning routine as the hustle and bustle fires up with teeth brushing, hair combing, and chair battles of who is sitting where and who ate all the peanut butter crunch and why are we slapping the cat on the nose with the bacon again!  For the sake of nostalgia you might whip up a few sandwiches sliced like a ninja and tossed in the lunch bags along with apples, oranges, and bananas knowing fully well it will get quickly traded at the lunchtime casino for nutty bars or some other really nutritious Little Debbie organic treat, but hey, you did your best, right?

     You walk them to the bus stop, but by now they might be less apt to want you stand right there as they await their ride, after all, they have their friends think about now.  Perhaps you stand a little ways off, but still in clear view of the ones whom you have fed, protected, disciplined, wrestled, jumped on trampolines with, played laser tag, stayed up all night playing video games and eating Domino's and Doritoes, and nursed many wounds.  They are older now and may not look back for one more wave.  Their rep is at stake.  Their friends are watching and trying to talk to them, and then, your question is answered as they turn around with the smile for which you had so hoped, and wave good bye.

     The engine of the bus fizzles in the distance as you turn towards a silent house interrupted only by the tick-tock of the anniversary clock.  The aroma of this morning cup of espresso has since dissipated along with the much feared, but much loved hustle and bustle of the morning routine in rounding the kids for the school day and while even though mere minutes has passed, you miss it dearly.

     Fear not, my stylish, trendy-blog subscribing friend!  For these memories as you have fashioned them will not end with the day, but shall exist in their mind as it does in yours for years to come, and just as they have said it before, "It will be ok.  They shall return soon," ... but then again, that's just my humble opinion.