Sometimes it takes being away from your family for a little while to be reminded of how much they mean to you.
As I write this, Jude and J.P. are flying home to Nashville from Jacksonville, Florida (Neptune Beach, actually), where they've been visiting our friends, Troy and Cyndi Baines, and their children, Scout and Finn (Wolf was out of town). They left while I was at work Thursday afternoon. I can't wait to see them, to hug them and for us all to be together again. My family.
To be truthful, I was looking forward to a little down time, some "me time." No rushing home from work, no limits on when I could go for a run, maybe a chance to go out and grab dinner and a drink with friends. I did those things and it was kind of nice. However, by Friday evening I was already missing Jude and J.P. terribly. By Saturday afternoon and evening, I was restless, bored and tired of my empty, quiet house. In church this morning, I felt lost, almost, sitting alone in a pew, listening to Tom, our deacon, give the homily. I felt like a part of me was missing, like I wasn't complete.
At Bongo Java this morning, after a 6 mile run on the trails in Shelby Bottoms, three different people asked me why J.P. wasn't with me. At church, one of the regulars asked about J.P. It's amazing, it truly is, the positive impression he makes on people, must by being himself. Somehow, effortlessly it seems, he brings joy to so many people. Not just his family and our friends, but people who are on the periphery of our lives, people we see occasionally who work at Kroger, get coffee at Bongo Java or work there and people we see at church.
A lady - I don't know her name, but she's one of the morning regulars at Bongo Java - pulled me aside this morning and made a point of telling me how much she loves seeing J.P. there, how he always brightens up the place with his personality and how there is just something "special" about him. As a parent, I feel that, too, but I'm incapable of being truly objective when it comes to my son. It's nice to hear that type of thing from someone else.
Soon, very soon, Jude and J.P. will be home, and we'll all be together again. I may not let them out of my sight for a while.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Rails to Trails
Wichita, Kansas
Jude, JP and I are in Wichita, Kansas for her cousin - David Walker's - wedding. More on that later.
This morning, I left the hotel room at 7:30 a.m. and drove down the road to a bike path that runs along the interstate. I parked the rental minivan at real estate office near where 13th Street splits the bike path, stretched, tuned my iPod to a podcast of a recent "This American Life" (Ira Glass) and started my run. It was already hot, with a high temperature of 105 degrees (!) expected.
I ran east on the bike path and after a half mile, I stumbled upon a gravel path that interstected with the bike path, running perpendicular to it as far as I could see, right and left. I ran in place for a minute, looked around, then turned right and off I went down the gravel path. As I ran, completely engrossed in the podcast of "This American Life," I wondered about the origins of the gravel path. I found an answer when I noticed some railroad ties on both sides of the path as I crossed over what looked to be a small, concrete bridge of some type.
Smiling, I said to myself, "rails to trails." It's a program where old, unused railroad tracks are converted to trails to be used by hikers, runners, mountain bikers, etc. I ran out and back - a total of 5 miles - in the early morning heat, then sat on a bench in a nearby cemetary to stretch, cool off and just unwind a bit. One of the things I like the most about running in an unfamiliar locale is discovering interesting routes, sights to see or, occasionally, an off the beaten path trail. Some of my most memorable runs have been when I'm on the road, unsure exactly of where I'm going, and just running.
Many, many years ago (in another life, really), I got lost in Boulder, Colorado, when I went on a long run before the first day of a trial academy I was attending for work. I ended up running 10 miles or so before I found my way back to the dormitories and hurriedly showered, arriving a little late to the first day of class.
I got lost in Washington D.C. (see a theme developing here?) on a run in bitterly cold winter weather (around 15 degrees). I ran from our hotel to the Lincoln Memorial, up the stairs to get a really good look, then to the Washington Monument and back, only to discover I wasn't exactly sure where our hotel was located. A litte embarrassing and a longer run than I had planned, but an awesome run nonetheless.
I had a top 10 run in Sonoma, California, a few years back, when Jude and I were there to attend her cousin's wedding. It was an out and back run and I never got lost, but I vividly recall running up a dirt road past acres and acres of grapes growing at wine vinyards, stopping occasionally to pluck a handful of graps off a vine to eat as I ran. I finished that run on a bike path that ended at the town square in Sonoma, which I just fell in love with during our stay there.
In Knoxville of all places, on a run I discovered an unpaved, muddy bike trail at Concord Park, less than a mile from Jude's parents' house. I'd probably run through Concord Park 25 times before happening upon this particular trail. I had not idea where I was going or where the trail went, but I followed it for 4 or 5 miles, along Lake Loudon, before finding a branch that took me back to the park and home. Strangely enough, I've never run that trail again, partly because I wouldn't be able to capture the same feeling I had the day I discovered it in the first place.
I've had phenomal runs in Edinburgh and Inverness (Scotland), San Jose (Costa Rica) and Tortolla (Virgin Islands).
The list goes on and on, really. That's why, I guess, I always bring my running shoes with me when I go on a trip. There's almost always a memorable run waiting for me, if I just go out and look for it.
Jude, JP and I are in Wichita, Kansas for her cousin - David Walker's - wedding. More on that later.
This morning, I left the hotel room at 7:30 a.m. and drove down the road to a bike path that runs along the interstate. I parked the rental minivan at real estate office near where 13th Street splits the bike path, stretched, tuned my iPod to a podcast of a recent "This American Life" (Ira Glass) and started my run. It was already hot, with a high temperature of 105 degrees (!) expected.
I ran east on the bike path and after a half mile, I stumbled upon a gravel path that interstected with the bike path, running perpendicular to it as far as I could see, right and left. I ran in place for a minute, looked around, then turned right and off I went down the gravel path. As I ran, completely engrossed in the podcast of "This American Life," I wondered about the origins of the gravel path. I found an answer when I noticed some railroad ties on both sides of the path as I crossed over what looked to be a small, concrete bridge of some type.
Smiling, I said to myself, "rails to trails." It's a program where old, unused railroad tracks are converted to trails to be used by hikers, runners, mountain bikers, etc. I ran out and back - a total of 5 miles - in the early morning heat, then sat on a bench in a nearby cemetary to stretch, cool off and just unwind a bit. One of the things I like the most about running in an unfamiliar locale is discovering interesting routes, sights to see or, occasionally, an off the beaten path trail. Some of my most memorable runs have been when I'm on the road, unsure exactly of where I'm going, and just running.
Many, many years ago (in another life, really), I got lost in Boulder, Colorado, when I went on a long run before the first day of a trial academy I was attending for work. I ended up running 10 miles or so before I found my way back to the dormitories and hurriedly showered, arriving a little late to the first day of class.
I got lost in Washington D.C. (see a theme developing here?) on a run in bitterly cold winter weather (around 15 degrees). I ran from our hotel to the Lincoln Memorial, up the stairs to get a really good look, then to the Washington Monument and back, only to discover I wasn't exactly sure where our hotel was located. A litte embarrassing and a longer run than I had planned, but an awesome run nonetheless.
I had a top 10 run in Sonoma, California, a few years back, when Jude and I were there to attend her cousin's wedding. It was an out and back run and I never got lost, but I vividly recall running up a dirt road past acres and acres of grapes growing at wine vinyards, stopping occasionally to pluck a handful of graps off a vine to eat as I ran. I finished that run on a bike path that ended at the town square in Sonoma, which I just fell in love with during our stay there.
In Knoxville of all places, on a run I discovered an unpaved, muddy bike trail at Concord Park, less than a mile from Jude's parents' house. I'd probably run through Concord Park 25 times before happening upon this particular trail. I had not idea where I was going or where the trail went, but I followed it for 4 or 5 miles, along Lake Loudon, before finding a branch that took me back to the park and home. Strangely enough, I've never run that trail again, partly because I wouldn't be able to capture the same feeling I had the day I discovered it in the first place.
I've had phenomal runs in Edinburgh and Inverness (Scotland), San Jose (Costa Rica) and Tortolla (Virgin Islands).
The list goes on and on, really. That's why, I guess, I always bring my running shoes with me when I go on a trip. There's almost always a memorable run waiting for me, if I just go out and look for it.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sharing a Moment
Tonight, after dinner, J.P. and I decided to drive over to "Belmont School" and Bongo Java. It was our first time to go to Belmont U. since last Thursday, when I was forced to hand down the weekend ban from Belmont and Bongo Java as punishment for J.P. "not listening."
Now, I'm not a complete hardass, obviously, but lately, we've been trying to teach J.P. that when we're out and about and we say "stop," he can't just keep walking or worse, take off running. That's what happened Thursday evening, at Belmont, as we were leaving. I told J.P. to "stop," and he immediately started running toward the parking lot. In the city, where we live, that's dangerous.
As we got into my truck, I asked J.P. what music he wanted to hear. "Avett Brothers," he said. "Sad song" (also known as "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa"). I found the cd, then cued up the song as we drove up Acklen Avenue. I watched him in the rear view mirror as the first notes of the song began playing. He smiled just a little, then kind of nodded his head to the music.
"Left on Laura, Left on Lisa" is special to me for a couple of reasons. First, it's my favorite Avett Brothers song and, really, the song of theirs that really grabbed me when I began listening to them. Second, J.P. liked that song from the first time I played it for him, in my truck. He used to ask me to play it over and over again, as we drove around town. I hadn't played it for him in quite a while, so it brought back memories, pretty poignantly, as we listened to it this evening.
For me, that's the power of music. It's also what makes music so unique. I can hear a certain song - one I haven't heard for weeks, months or even years - and instantly I'm transported back to a place in time when I first heard it or when I listened to it a lot. The memories are palpable, tangible even. That's the way I felt tonight.
As we crested the hill on Caldwell, the sun was hanging below a cloud in on the western skyline partially obscured. It was raining, too. A beautiful evening. I pulled over to the side of the road for a minute, watching the sun setting and looking at J.P., as we listened to "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa." It was one of those moments I wanted to frame and file away.
Now, I'm not a complete hardass, obviously, but lately, we've been trying to teach J.P. that when we're out and about and we say "stop," he can't just keep walking or worse, take off running. That's what happened Thursday evening, at Belmont, as we were leaving. I told J.P. to "stop," and he immediately started running toward the parking lot. In the city, where we live, that's dangerous.
As we got into my truck, I asked J.P. what music he wanted to hear. "Avett Brothers," he said. "Sad song" (also known as "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa"). I found the cd, then cued up the song as we drove up Acklen Avenue. I watched him in the rear view mirror as the first notes of the song began playing. He smiled just a little, then kind of nodded his head to the music.
"Left on Laura, Left on Lisa" is special to me for a couple of reasons. First, it's my favorite Avett Brothers song and, really, the song of theirs that really grabbed me when I began listening to them. Second, J.P. liked that song from the first time I played it for him, in my truck. He used to ask me to play it over and over again, as we drove around town. I hadn't played it for him in quite a while, so it brought back memories, pretty poignantly, as we listened to it this evening.
For me, that's the power of music. It's also what makes music so unique. I can hear a certain song - one I haven't heard for weeks, months or even years - and instantly I'm transported back to a place in time when I first heard it or when I listened to it a lot. The memories are palpable, tangible even. That's the way I felt tonight.
As we crested the hill on Caldwell, the sun was hanging below a cloud in on the western skyline partially obscured. It was raining, too. A beautiful evening. I pulled over to the side of the road for a minute, watching the sun setting and looking at J.P., as we listened to "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa." It was one of those moments I wanted to frame and file away.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Fireman
Saturday, Jude, J.P. and I went to a friend's house for her twin daughters' 3rd birthday. Our friend lives, literally, across the street from a fire station (Engine No. 8/Ladder No. 27). After lunch, the fireman hosted the children at the party (and parents) at the fire station. The firemen were so gracious and J.P. was, simply, in heaven.
The firemen extended the ladder on the ladder truck, which actually was pretty cool. I had no idea how high up in the air the ladder could be extended. They rotated the ladder around, after which a fireman climbed all the way to the top. The children were tranfixed and just stared, wide-eyed.
Eventually, J.P. wandered back into the garage, where Engine No. 8 sat with its doors open. With encouragement from Steve - one of the firemen on hand - J.P. climbed up into the fire truck. His mouth fell open as he gazed in wonder at all of the equipment in the fire truck. Over and over, he said, "Wow! This is awesome!" He tried on a hat and, much to our amusement, tried on a mask, as well. By the time we finally got him out of the fire truck, everyone else had walked back across the street to the open presents. J.P. would have stayed there all day, if we had let him.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
45!
Last Saturday, one week ago today, I turned 45. Talk about hard to believe. 45. Damn. I've lived out of college longer than I lived before I went to college, or something like that. I don't feel 45 and I sure don't act 45. Most people don't think I'm 45, until they look at the top of my head. That's something, I guess.
Friday evening, we celebrated my birthday with dinner at Rumor's Wine Bar in 12South, near our house. It's a good neighborhood hangout for us and we go there fairly often. Jenn - the manager - is a friend and she really took good care of us, meeting with Jude earlier in the afternoon and storing an ice cream cake in their refrigerator. In attendance were my mom, Jude's folks, Jude's grandmother and aunt, Jude and J.P.
Our friends, Hal and Kim, were there, too. Hal is the unofficial "Mayor of 12South," so it would be unusual not to see him at Rumor's on a Friday night. J.P. spent as much time on the front patio with Hal and Kim as he did with us at our table inside, which actually worked out pretty well for everyone (except maybe Hal and Kim). J.P. adores Hal and it was entertaining to watch them together. At one point, Hal and J.P. were sitting on one of the benches on the front patio, coloring and writing on a flip pad Jude had brought with us.
Saturday morning (my birthday), I went for an 8-mile trail run at Shelby Bottoms. For the first time in a while, I found "the zone" as I was running and really felt good, cruising along on the trails, listening to Bob Dylan on my iPod ("Highway 61 Revisited").
Saturday evening, Jude's folks watched J.P. while she and I went to a wedding in Brentwood. Thomas Reid, the son of one of the attorneys in our office - Lori Reid - was getting married. We made an appearance at the reception at the Carnton Plantation in Franklin, then went to dinner at Cabana in Hillsboro Village, near our house. Cabana is an old favorite of ours and a restaurant we used to frequent quite often before J.P. was born. It was nice to stop in and have a relatively peaceful, grown up meal and really, just to talk.
Friday evening, we celebrated my birthday with dinner at Rumor's Wine Bar in 12South, near our house. It's a good neighborhood hangout for us and we go there fairly often. Jenn - the manager - is a friend and she really took good care of us, meeting with Jude earlier in the afternoon and storing an ice cream cake in their refrigerator. In attendance were my mom, Jude's folks, Jude's grandmother and aunt, Jude and J.P.
Our friends, Hal and Kim, were there, too. Hal is the unofficial "Mayor of 12South," so it would be unusual not to see him at Rumor's on a Friday night. J.P. spent as much time on the front patio with Hal and Kim as he did with us at our table inside, which actually worked out pretty well for everyone (except maybe Hal and Kim). J.P. adores Hal and it was entertaining to watch them together. At one point, Hal and J.P. were sitting on one of the benches on the front patio, coloring and writing on a flip pad Jude had brought with us.
Saturday morning (my birthday), I went for an 8-mile trail run at Shelby Bottoms. For the first time in a while, I found "the zone" as I was running and really felt good, cruising along on the trails, listening to Bob Dylan on my iPod ("Highway 61 Revisited").
Sunday, July 10, 2011
A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood
Occasionally - though not as much as I used to - I still have friends or acquaintances who ask me (or think about asking me, without saying so) why I live where I live. What they're really asking, in not so many words, is "why do you live in the 'hood?" I wish I had a video tape of the morning J.P. and I shared today, because I would show it to anyone who asks me that question. I think it would explain why I love living in the city more than anything I could tell them.
J.P. didn't sleep well last night (he has a cold), so we got up early and watched "Sid the Science Kid" together, followed by an episode of "World World" (that's a recent discovery). We arrived at Bongo Java about 8:15 a.m. and although it was already hot and humid, it was nice enough that several people were sitting on the front deck, drinking coffee and eating breakfast. As J.P. and I walked up the stairs, we saw my friend, Derek Hughey, sitting at a table and reading the New York Times on his iPad. We said "hi," then walked inside to order breakfast.
As we got in line, J.P. walked around behind the counter to see who was working. He said "hi, how you doing?" to Megan and a couple of the other young ladies, or barristas, who were making coffee and taking orders. While we were in line, Will, Ashley and their daughter (14 months old or so) walked in - they're regulars on Sunday mornings and have been for quite some time. We smiled and waved to them, as I sat J.P. on the counter and placed our order.
As we walked outside, J.P.'s hero, Chad, walked in. He works at Bongo Java and J.P. adores him. J.P. said "hi," then gave him "five." We walked outside and Derek waved us over to sit down at his table to have breakfast. After a few minutes, Derek left to go home and J.P. and I finished breakfast. We walked across the street to where I had parked. There, we saw Allen, a guy who lives around the corner from us, on Acklen. He was walking to the church he attends on Belmont Boulevard. We talked for a minute or two, then went home.
When we got home, J.P. and I walked down the street to talk to James, one of our neighbors. He walked down from his front porch and showed J.P. a pair of magnetic balls he'd bought at Fall Creek Falls. J.P. was fascinated by the way he could roll one of the balls toward the other one, on the sidewalk, and they would smack into each other and stick together. We talked to James for a few minutes, then walked home to get ready for church.
In a span of a couple of hours, J.P. and I had breakfast together and, in the process, ran into several friends and people we have met in the neighborhood. To me, that's what our neighborhood is all about and that's why I love it - running into people you know, people whom you've met and made friends - and just talking - about nothing and everything. People of all backgrounds, from all walks of life. Initially, it's the neighborhood you have in common but, as time passes, you realize you have so much more in common - family, children, church, sports - all kinds of stuff. That's our neighborhood.
J.P. didn't sleep well last night (he has a cold), so we got up early and watched "Sid the Science Kid" together, followed by an episode of "World World" (that's a recent discovery). We arrived at Bongo Java about 8:15 a.m. and although it was already hot and humid, it was nice enough that several people were sitting on the front deck, drinking coffee and eating breakfast. As J.P. and I walked up the stairs, we saw my friend, Derek Hughey, sitting at a table and reading the New York Times on his iPad. We said "hi," then walked inside to order breakfast.
As we got in line, J.P. walked around behind the counter to see who was working. He said "hi, how you doing?" to Megan and a couple of the other young ladies, or barristas, who were making coffee and taking orders. While we were in line, Will, Ashley and their daughter (14 months old or so) walked in - they're regulars on Sunday mornings and have been for quite some time. We smiled and waved to them, as I sat J.P. on the counter and placed our order.
As we walked outside, J.P.'s hero, Chad, walked in. He works at Bongo Java and J.P. adores him. J.P. said "hi," then gave him "five." We walked outside and Derek waved us over to sit down at his table to have breakfast. After a few minutes, Derek left to go home and J.P. and I finished breakfast. We walked across the street to where I had parked. There, we saw Allen, a guy who lives around the corner from us, on Acklen. He was walking to the church he attends on Belmont Boulevard. We talked for a minute or two, then went home.
When we got home, J.P. and I walked down the street to talk to James, one of our neighbors. He walked down from his front porch and showed J.P. a pair of magnetic balls he'd bought at Fall Creek Falls. J.P. was fascinated by the way he could roll one of the balls toward the other one, on the sidewalk, and they would smack into each other and stick together. We talked to James for a few minutes, then walked home to get ready for church.
In a span of a couple of hours, J.P. and I had breakfast together and, in the process, ran into several friends and people we have met in the neighborhood. To me, that's what our neighborhood is all about and that's why I love it - running into people you know, people whom you've met and made friends - and just talking - about nothing and everything. People of all backgrounds, from all walks of life. Initially, it's the neighborhood you have in common but, as time passes, you realize you have so much more in common - family, children, church, sports - all kinds of stuff. That's our neighborhood.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Speaking in Tongues
Today, as I was driving home after work and an early evening run in my old neighborhood (Forest Crossing in Franklin), J.P. and Jude called me on my cell phone. Jude handed her cell phone to J.P. and he said, quite clearly, "Daddy, I need to ask you a question. Will you meet us at Frothy Monkey for dinner? I want to have a grilled cheese, fruit, chips and my own milk."
Seriously, it was like I was listening to a 5 or 6 year old child. Obviously, I'm prejudiced, but his vocabulary, his diction, his train of thought, etc., was so impressive. I laughed, shook my head, then told Jude (when she got on the phone) that I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. I was proud, too, really proud.
Almost every day, when we're out somewhere with J.P., a complete stranger comments to us about how well he speaks for his age. Most of the time, people we run into can't believe J.P. is just past 3 years old. His vocabulary is so impressive, as is his ability to string together complete sentences that communicate specific thoughts he has.
I don't have an explanation for it, other than Jude and I are just very fortunate to be blessed with such a bright child. He doesn't watch a lot of television - he never has, really. He may watch one episode a day of "Sid the Science Kid" or "Super Why" on PBS, but that's it. We read to him a lot and we always have. I think that helps. We've never been big on "baby talk," either; instead, we've just talked to him like a normal person. Carley Meade's daily interactions with him, one-on-one, as his nanny, certainly have helped, too. I guess it's a combination of all those things.
Mostly, thought, I just think we're really lucky. And blessed.
Seriously, it was like I was listening to a 5 or 6 year old child. Obviously, I'm prejudiced, but his vocabulary, his diction, his train of thought, etc., was so impressive. I laughed, shook my head, then told Jude (when she got on the phone) that I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. I was proud, too, really proud.
Almost every day, when we're out somewhere with J.P., a complete stranger comments to us about how well he speaks for his age. Most of the time, people we run into can't believe J.P. is just past 3 years old. His vocabulary is so impressive, as is his ability to string together complete sentences that communicate specific thoughts he has.
I don't have an explanation for it, other than Jude and I are just very fortunate to be blessed with such a bright child. He doesn't watch a lot of television - he never has, really. He may watch one episode a day of "Sid the Science Kid" or "Super Why" on PBS, but that's it. We read to him a lot and we always have. I think that helps. We've never been big on "baby talk," either; instead, we've just talked to him like a normal person. Carley Meade's daily interactions with him, one-on-one, as his nanny, certainly have helped, too. I guess it's a combination of all those things.
Mostly, thought, I just think we're really lucky. And blessed.
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