The Windy City

Jude and I took the boys to Chicago over the weekend for an informal reunion with some of her friends from Tulane.

We stayed downtown a block or two off Michigan Avenue.  The boys had a blast and I fell in love with Chicago.  Again.  It's such a user friendly city and so easy to get to from Nashville.  Highlights, in no particular order:

• My Saturday morning 4 mile run along Lake Michigan, followed by an awesome 5 mile run along the Chicago River Sunday morning.  The Sunday morning run was a top 10 run for the year. 
• The weather.  Oh, man, the weather was beautiful, particularly after the hot and humid beginning to the summer in Nashville.  
• Breakfast and coffee, Saturday and Monday, with the family at Le Pain Quotidian on Michigan Avenue.  Fantastic, creative, organic food and excellent coffee.  Great service, too.
• Watching J.P. and Joe interact with Terry and Meig's boys - Terry, Tommy and Holden - and Jim and Colleen's boys - Nate and Andrew.  
• The Chicago Sports Hall of Fame at Harry Carey's restaurant.  A big, big hit with J.P.
• Miniature Golf with Jude and the boys at Millennium Park.  
• J.P. rock climbing at Millennium Park.  Actually, that wasn't cool.  It scared the shit out of me to see him climbing the wall, 30 feet above the ground, even if he was attached to a harness and carefully monitored by an employee from below.  I've never felt so helpless as a father.  
• Musical beds in our hotel room, as I slept in a double bed with Jude, J.P. and Joe on different nights.  
• Taking the architecture boat tour on the Chicago River through downtown with Jude's friend, Terry Sullivan, leading the tour.  
• My brief stop off at the Hemingway House and the Hemingway Museum in Oak Park, IL, followed by a couple of beers at the Oak Park Brewing Co.  Quiet, contemplative time for me.
• Cooking out at Terry and Meig's house in Oak Park, IL, and watching the boys play football, hockey, basketball and baseball in the driveway and back yard.  
• Finishing "The Sportswriter" by Richard Ford as I sipped a beer at the Chicago Athletic Club bar and waited on Jude and the boys to return from the Aquarium.  Actually, not going to the Aquarium might have been the highlight of the trip for me.

It was a good weekend away.  Chicago is definitely somewhere we will return to in the future, hopefully for a longer stay.

Emotionalism

It's Father's Day and I'm sitting a Craft Brewed and sipping a Bearded Iris "Homestyle IPA" before I to pick up a pizza from Mafiozza's for dinner.

I spent an alternately relaxing and stressful afternoon at my mom's place.  So many times, I find myself unwinding with a beer after I see her.  Not several beers mind you, just one beer and some solitude.  I think taking a few minutes for myself helps me process my emotions and get them under control before I get home and interact with the boys and Jude.  I need that, at least right now, I do.

When I arrived about 2:30 p.m., my mom and I almost bumped into each other as I exited the elevator on the second floor at Maristone.  She was up and using her walker with the intention of going downstairs to eat lunch.  The problem, of course, is that she ate lunch at noon like she always does but couldn't remember it.  I suggested she let me make her a peanut butter and banana sandwich in her apartment and she readily agreed.

We talked for a bit while she was eating her second lunch of the day.  I changed the channel to the U.S. Open golf championship.  I don't play golf at all but my law partners and I always bet with each other on the outcome, so it was fun to talk to her about who she needed to root for in order for me to win money from Mark and Chas.  By now, I'm used to her asking me repeatedly - and I mean repeatedly - where they're playing, who a particular golfer is, etc.  I'm used to it but it still makes me so sad because, somehow, that's the saddest thing of all - that such a huge sports fan can no longer follow a sporting event on television.

So many times over the years, we talked on the telephone on weekends and discussed in detail the sporting event of the moment.  Wimbledon, the PGA Championship, the NBA playoffs, the Predators,  the Titans, the British Open, the Olympics . . . the list goes on and on and on.  If it involved sports and was on television, she would watch it.  The more drama involved, the better.  And we talked about it.  Sports was the currency that we traded in for so many years.  It was out native tongue, our common language.

I fell asleep for on the couch while we watched golf and when I woke up, she wasn't sitting in her chair.  I could hear her in the bathroom, so I wasn't worried, particularly since she had remembered to use her walker.  My heart sank when she walked out of her bedroom and was surprised to see me.  She didn't believe that I had been there or that I had been napping on the couch.  She also didn't believe that I had made her a peanut butter and banana sandwich.  In short, she was confused and agitate, which is hard for me to deal with.

She argued with me about whether it was time to go down for dinner.  Finally, I convinced her it was, and I got her in her wheelchair and wheeled her down to the dining hall.  15 minutes later, she had wheeled herself back upstairs because she didn't like what was for dinner and the servers were mean to her, which is complete bullshit.  William in the dining hall is my guy and he looks out for her.

I gave her a sandwich Tracy had made and left in her refrigerator and she settled down, as we continued to watch the U.S. Open.  I left after she finished eating.

It's just so hard and exhausting and I feel emotionally spent.  I know that we're not unique and that many -  hell, most - people go through this with their parents at some point.  Knowing that doesn't make it any easier for me to got through it now.  Most importantly, I hate it for her.  That's what kills me.  This strong, independent, outspoken, intelligent women has been reduced by this terrible disease to what she is now.  It's unfair to her and she deserved so much better.

Guy Town

After enduring one of the bottom 10 days of my professional career yesterday, I'm taking a break this morning.  After a cup of coffee at Bongo Java, I'm going to walk across the street and watch my goddaughter, Kaitlyn, play basketball as part of Belmont U's high school girls' basketball camp.  She'll be a senior and I don't get to see her play nearly as much as I would like, so I moved some appointments around on my schedule to make it happen.

Jude has been in D.C. for work since Tuesday but is coming home tonight.  As always, it's been a rare treat to have the boys to myself for a couple of days.  We don't get much "hang out time," where it's just the three of us, figuring things out.  When we do, I try to make the most of it.  I think it's good for the boys and I know it's good for me.

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As an aside, it's tough, sometimes, to leave work at the office.  J.P. and Joe help me with that, though. Like yesterday, when I arrive home after a particular shitty day, it almost always lifts my spirits to have them there waiting on me.  It's their gift to me, I think, and one they don't realize they're giving me.  It's made more special by the fact that it's fleeting, as soon enough they will be teenagers, on the go, and completely disinterested in what kind of day their old man had or when he is getting home.

Today, when I sat down at a table in Bongo Java that I don't normally sit at, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia.  Like stepping into a time machine, I vividly recalled a Saturday or Sunday afternoon when I sat here, probably posting on this blog, while J.P. slept beside me in the Baby Jogger.  I felt a tinge - well, more than a tinge, actually - of sadness for what I have lost since that day, that time.  J.P.'s early youth, my 40's and, most importantly, my relationship with my mom.  In those days, I would have talked to her on the phone, laughing, joking and likely discussing the latest big story in the world of sports.

She had a tough day yesterday, but I just don't want to talk about it right now.  We're getting to the point where there are fewer and fewer answers and and more and more questions.

Sometimes I want to ride the wave of nostalgia - like a dream at night I don't want to wake up from - as a means of disengaging from the stark reality of day-to-day life, especially as it relates to my mom.    It's kind of like trying to hold on to the feeling of dreaminess that Frank Bascombe experiences in Richard Ford's "The Sportswriter" (one of my favorite novels and on I'm re-reading this summer) after the death of his son.

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Tuesday night, Carly, Jon and I took the boys to PM for dinner.  J.P. ate sushi with me and, believe it or not, Joe tried sushi for the first time (crunchy shrimp roll).  Afterwards, we threw the frisbee at Belmont U. as darkness fell, then walked home.  It was a splendid evening spent with two people who are as close to being part of our family as you could possibly be without actually being blood relatives.  

Last night, the boys and I walked to the 12south Tap Room, got takeout, and walked back home for dinner.  We watched part of the Lakers-Celtics "30 for 30."  They enjoyed it, although J.P. found some of the video clips of the violence during the civil rights movement disturbing.  Then, off to bed and up this morning for "film study" on Youtube.  In order, the boys selected highlights of Dominik Hasek, Alex Ovechkin, a couple of Dude Perfect videos and J.J. Watt.

Guy town indeed.

When the Music Ends

The last note of music has sounded at Bonnaroo 2017, for me, anyway.

I decided to shut it down after last night and skip Sunday's festivities.  The toe I broke in January hasn't reacted well to all of the walking and standing I did, listening to music, the last three days and nights.  By the time Doug, Mike and I left last night, it was red, inflamed and terribly painful to walk on.  Since I am going to Predators-Penguins, Game 6 (Pens up 3-2) tonight at 7 p.m., I thought a little discretion was in order, so I'm enjoying a quite midday cup of coffee at the Blue Chair before I pack up and head back to  Nashville.

It was a good weekend with the boys.  The cabin was perfect for us.  Doug Brown made a cameo appearance yesterday - his first trip to Bonnaroo - which was pretty awesome.  He's not a music guy nor a festival guy, so it meant a lot to me for him to drive up from Atlanta.  The three of us got to spend some quality time together and share a beer or two, which happens all too rarely these days.  In many ways, we have a shared history - so many of my stories from high school onward cast Doug and Mike in starring roles.  It's good to get together and reminisce about times past and to catch up on current events in our lives.

As always, the music was front and center.  I particularly enjoyed Mondo Cozmo, the Strumbellas (probably the band I most wanted to see this year), Creature Comfort, Belly and the Head and the Heart.  U2 was nothing to write home about, I thought.  Bono is a little too preachy for my tastes.

Sadly, it was harder to unwind and let go this weekend than in years past.  For one thing, my mom was on my mind, thoughts of her struggles always lurking just beneath the surface of my conscious mind.  I felt guilty, at times, enjoying myself while she is fighting what will be the last battle of her life.  Also, work intruded on my weekend, as a pair of clients texted me - literally - while I was watching a band.  That's probably on me, though, as I insist on giving my clients my cell phone number.

Anyway, time to head back tor reality, throbbing toe and all.  Let's go Preds!

Bonnaroo 2017

It's here.  Bonnaroo 2017.

I didn't get away as early as I wanted to yesterday, but I got away.  Barely.  I got to my friend's cabin about 3:30 p.m., unpacked, then headed straight to "the Farm."  The line of cars was a bit long and the line to get in to Bonnaroo was the longest I've ever seen it, but patience prevailed and I made it inside.  As I walked through the front gates - after having my backpack halfhearted checked for contraband - I took a deep breath and felt the stress of my day-to-day life float away.  It happens that way every single year up here and it's in large part why I will never miss Bonnaroo again.

It was a breathtakingly beautiful night, probably the nicest it's ever been at Bonnaroo.  I had a couple of beers, listened to some music, watched the beginning of the Predators' game 6 debacle against the Penguins (a 6-0 loss), ate, browsed the art and craft exhibit and listened to more music.

The highlight of the evening occurred while I was watching a band by the name of Mondo Cosmo.  I got there early, so I was up fairly close to the stage.  About 15 minutes into the show, I got bumped from behind by a young, college aged guy making his way determinedly to the front, buck ass naked. Everyone around me was pointing and laughing, then shrugging their shoulders, as if to say "it's Bonnaroo."  Very, very funny.

I drove home and began a reread of Richard Ford's "The Sportswriter."  It's he first book in what became the Frank Bascombe trilogy.  "The Sportswriter" - when I read it 20 years ago - was my introduction Richard Ford, who became one of my favorite writers.  It's a little surreal to revisit the book now, reflecting back on how different my life was when I read it the first time.  I'm not sure life ever goes according to plan but that's why it's life, I guess.

This morning, I'm sitting in The Blue Chair Cafe & Tavern in Suwannee, drinking a cappuccino and listening to an astonishingly good playlist of 60's and 70's music playing over the speakers.  Bob Dylan's "It Ain't Me" is playing now.  some locals are sitting at a nearby table talking not so quietly, Dylan's harmonica playing in the background.  Now, appropriately, Dylan's "My Back Pages" is playing, one of my favorite songs of his.  "I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now . . . "

It's a beautiful morning on the mountain, at Sewanee.  I love it up here.  There's something magical about Sewanee for me.  The campus of the university, the outdoors and, really, just the feel of the place.  Matteson will be arriving at the cabin soon, followed by Derek and Bill.  So, these are my last few moments of peace and quiet and I'm going to enjoy them.

Surviving the Gauntlet

I didn't sleep particularly well last night and woke up early this morning, determined to get a cup of coffee somewhere at 6 a.m.  Sadly, I discovered that 8th & Roast doesn't open until 7 a.m. on Saturdays, like all of the other coffee shops.  I made the best of a quiet, peaceful interlude by setting up shop across at a table from Bongo Java for 45 minutes and reading Frank Deford's iconic 1978 Sports Illustrated profile on Jimmy Connors.

I'm feeling a bit relaxed this morning, like I finally have my life back.  April and May at work were unbelievably busy months.  In terms of billing time, it appears that May was the busiest month of my career.  Coupled with my mom's failing health and coaching 3 baseball teams, I haven't had time to come for air.  This morning, I'm taking a few minutes for myself before I head back to the house to greet my family, along with J.P.'s friend, J.D., who slept over last night.

One of the things that has kept me going the last two months is knowing that if I could just get through a 2-day trial I had on June 1 - 2, Bonnaroo would be around the corner, June 8 - 11.  Every time I got down or stressed about work or my mom, I reminded myself that if I could just make it to June 3 (today), I had 4 days of music, friends and good times to look forward to.

And, so, I made it.  I survived the gauntlet.

Through nothing but divine providence and good luck, I was able to arrange for my friends and I to stay in a cabin at Sewanee for free.  That in and of itself is something for me to, because I love spending time at Monteagle and Sewanee.  I'll be able to run it he mornings on the trails, maybe do a little hiking and grab coffee at a coffee shop I know on campus at the University of the South.  I'll do some reading and listen to a whole lot of live music.  For me, it doesn't get much better.

But for now, it's off to start the weekend in earnest.