I'm sipping my coffee, sitting at my favorite table in the corner at the Frothy Monkey and listening to Neil Young before I head down to see my mom this morning.
The Christmas decorations are in bloom, which I love. Employees' stockings are hung from the winding staircase leading to the upstairs office. White Christmas lights line the windows and hang from the office doorway. The early Sunday morning regulars are shuffling in sitting in their usual places.
I typically get here early on Sundays, around opening time at 7 a.m. I like to watch the coffee shop open up. Josh, Grant and the other employees laugh and banter easily back and forth, comfortable in the rhythm of their conversations. There's a familiarity to it all which I find comforting, like an old sweater or a pair of old jeans.
Josh and his wife, Rachel, run the Frothy Monkey in 12South. I don't know them well, although Josh and I exchange small talk whenever I stop in. They're two of the most positive, optimistic people I've ever met in the way they deal with people and seemingly in their approach to life. It rubs off on all of the employees and, as a result, the vibe at the Monkey is unmatched at any coffee house I've visited in town, although Honest Coffee Roasters comes close.
I've never seen Josh not seem happy to be here. Grant, his friend and a talented barista and fellow musician, is the same way. Always friendly, always has a kind word for me. Neither of them know that part of the reason I come here on Sunday mornings is to recharge my batteries and gather my emotional energy before I visit my mom. He's almost like a bartender, speaking to the regular customers about sports or asking about their morning as he makes a predictably excellent coffee drink.
Virtually every new employee seems to take on Josh's personality (and Grant's personality). It's a leadership thing, no doubt. Frequenting coffee houses as much as I do, I've learned that so much of the vibe flows directly from the manager. The Frothy Monkey in 12South is a perfect example of that.
Time to get up and get on with my day, a good Thanksgiving weekend almost behind me.
Sunday, November 25, 2018
Saturday, November 24, 2018
Grandparents' Day and a Twinge of Jealousy
Yesterday, I had coffee with a high school classmate of mine, Joe Imorde. Joe is a great guy who grew up in my neighborhood. He joined the army after college at Western Kentucky and served 20 years before ending up with his family in Virginia. I rarely see him, so spending an hour together was a treat.
I've known Joe's family for years. His sister married my law partner, Mark. Joe's parents are the best and I was happy to hear they're doing well. His dad plays golf almost every day and his mom stays busy, too. I also felt a twinge of jealously as I thought of my mom's plight, confined to a wheelchair in a small wing of NHC Place as the world continues to shrink around her. Why her?
I try to avoid those type of thoughts, emotions and existential questions. They're unanswerable and to ponder them too long is like staring at the sun for more than a split second. Too long contemplating the injustice of my mom's fate sends me into an emotional tailspin. So, I compartmentalize and move forward. Always moving forward.
Grandparents' Day for the boys was Tuesday at University School. Jude and I attended the dress rehearsal on Monday. It was bittersweet, of course, because I knew my mom wouldn't be able to attend. Still, it was the one and only Grandparents' Day that the boys would participate in together, since J.P. will move on to middle school (gulp) next year. Needless to say, watching them sign and dance, together, was special. I was too busy taking photos to cry when all siblings danced together at the end of the performance. I can't say the same for Jude, who ended up passing some of her Kleenex to other moms.
I've known Joe's family for years. His sister married my law partner, Mark. Joe's parents are the best and I was happy to hear they're doing well. His dad plays golf almost every day and his mom stays busy, too. I also felt a twinge of jealously as I thought of my mom's plight, confined to a wheelchair in a small wing of NHC Place as the world continues to shrink around her. Why her?
I try to avoid those type of thoughts, emotions and existential questions. They're unanswerable and to ponder them too long is like staring at the sun for more than a split second. Too long contemplating the injustice of my mom's fate sends me into an emotional tailspin. So, I compartmentalize and move forward. Always moving forward.
Grandparents' Day for the boys was Tuesday at University School. Jude and I attended the dress rehearsal on Monday. It was bittersweet, of course, because I knew my mom wouldn't be able to attend. Still, it was the one and only Grandparents' Day that the boys would participate in together, since J.P. will move on to middle school (gulp) next year. Needless to say, watching them sign and dance, together, was special. I was too busy taking photos to cry when all siblings danced together at the end of the performance. I can't say the same for Jude, who ended up passing some of her Kleenex to other moms.
Notice the focus and concentration. Singing and dancing is my either of my boys' favorite things.
J.P., thinking, is it over yet?
The turkey costume is killer. We still have J.P.'s.
J.P., dancing with Mom.
J.P. and me before the performance. He was an usher.
Ushering.
Joe and Myles, his book buddy. Joe's almost as big as Myles.
J.P. and Mom.
Do they look like they were glad it was over?
Ms. Hagan taught J.P. in kindergarten. This year, she's teaching Joe.
Tears. Nothing but tears during the sibling dance.
Joe, dancing, sort of.
Saturday, November 17, 2018
Saying Goodbye Twice
It's hard to say goodbye twice.
My sister, Tracy, and I had a rambling telephone conversation on my way home from work last night after a long week. We compared notes on my mom, as we often do. Knowing that she remains the tie that binds us together would make her happy.
I had given Tracy and Alice my tickets the Belmont-MTSU basketball game on Monday night. I have great seats on the third row, almost dead center court, between the benches. The Curb Center is a great college basketball venue and Belmont has a very, very good men's basketball team. My friend and childhood neighbor, Scott Corley, is the athletic director. Grayson Murphy, a good friend of mine's son, is a redshirt freshman and starting point guard for the team. And I can walk to the games.
Tracy and I were lamenting how much mom would have loved going to Belmont basketball games with me. She was such a huge college basketball fan. So many of my early sports memories are of her taking me to Vanderbilt basketball games and living and dying with her as they won or lost. It was something we shared and those are memories I'll always treasure. I can easily see my mom transitioning from going to Vanderbilt basketball games - where she had season tickets for more than 40 years - to going to Belmont basketball games.
Scott Corley would have doted on her. She would have met Coach Byrd and become a huge fan. She would have loved watching Grayson Murphy play. She loved guards, especially point guards - shout out too her favorite point guard of all time, Kaitlyn Hearn (aka the Short Answer) - and she would have been so taken with the way Grayson plays the position and the game. She would have loved getting to know my friend Russ's mother-in-law, Connie, also a season ticket holder. Going to Belmont basketball games at the Curb Center would have been a bookend of sorts, something we shared. Again. It makes me terribly sad that we didn't get to do that together.
It also makes me sad that I never really got say goodbye to that version of my mom. I miss her terribly, all the time. It's like a dull ache in my heart that never really goes away. I compartmentalize, I smile for others, I immerse myself in my work, I find quiet time for myself to recharge my batteries and sometimes, when I'm alone, I cry. Not a lot, but sometimes.
As Tracy and I lamented our loss and, more importantly, my mom's loss, we reminisced about how much and how quickly things have changed for my mom since she moved into Maristone two years ago this month. In some ways, that seems like a lifetime ago and, in other ways, it seems like yesterday. That's another post for another day, though.
"It's hard to say goodbye twice, isn't it?" I quietly said to Tracy, as I sat in the dark, in my Yukon, driving to J.P.'s basketball practice.
Like magic and through the miracle of modern technology, she answered through the speakers in my Yukon, as if she was sitting right beside me.
"It sure is." Then, she sighed and we were quiet for a moment.
It's hard to say goodbye twice.
My sister, Tracy, and I had a rambling telephone conversation on my way home from work last night after a long week. We compared notes on my mom, as we often do. Knowing that she remains the tie that binds us together would make her happy.
I had given Tracy and Alice my tickets the Belmont-MTSU basketball game on Monday night. I have great seats on the third row, almost dead center court, between the benches. The Curb Center is a great college basketball venue and Belmont has a very, very good men's basketball team. My friend and childhood neighbor, Scott Corley, is the athletic director. Grayson Murphy, a good friend of mine's son, is a redshirt freshman and starting point guard for the team. And I can walk to the games.
Tracy and I were lamenting how much mom would have loved going to Belmont basketball games with me. She was such a huge college basketball fan. So many of my early sports memories are of her taking me to Vanderbilt basketball games and living and dying with her as they won or lost. It was something we shared and those are memories I'll always treasure. I can easily see my mom transitioning from going to Vanderbilt basketball games - where she had season tickets for more than 40 years - to going to Belmont basketball games.
Scott Corley would have doted on her. She would have met Coach Byrd and become a huge fan. She would have loved watching Grayson Murphy play. She loved guards, especially point guards - shout out too her favorite point guard of all time, Kaitlyn Hearn (aka the Short Answer) - and she would have been so taken with the way Grayson plays the position and the game. She would have loved getting to know my friend Russ's mother-in-law, Connie, also a season ticket holder. Going to Belmont basketball games at the Curb Center would have been a bookend of sorts, something we shared. Again. It makes me terribly sad that we didn't get to do that together.
It also makes me sad that I never really got say goodbye to that version of my mom. I miss her terribly, all the time. It's like a dull ache in my heart that never really goes away. I compartmentalize, I smile for others, I immerse myself in my work, I find quiet time for myself to recharge my batteries and sometimes, when I'm alone, I cry. Not a lot, but sometimes.
As Tracy and I lamented our loss and, more importantly, my mom's loss, we reminisced about how much and how quickly things have changed for my mom since she moved into Maristone two years ago this month. In some ways, that seems like a lifetime ago and, in other ways, it seems like yesterday. That's another post for another day, though.
"It's hard to say goodbye twice, isn't it?" I quietly said to Tracy, as I sat in the dark, in my Yukon, driving to J.P.'s basketball practice.
Like magic and through the miracle of modern technology, she answered through the speakers in my Yukon, as if she was sitting right beside me.
"It sure is." Then, she sighed and we were quiet for a moment.
It's hard to say goodbye twice.
Saturday, November 3, 2018
The Terrifying Randomness of Parenthood
I was in mediation next door to my office on Wednesday afternoon - Halloween - when one of our staff knocked on the door and asked me to step out of the conference room so she could talk to me.
"Call Jude," Lisa said. "There's been an accident at the playground and Joe is hurt." My heart sank and I rushed outside to call Jude.
As always in times of stress, Jude was calm and cool when I reached her. "I'm on the way to University School. Joe fell on the playground and his arm is hurt. I don't know any more than that."
Jude agreed to call me when she got the nurse's office at school and assessed the situation. It turns out that Joe had fallen, or gotten pushed, off a tunnel on the playground he was walking on and had stuck out his left hand and arm to soften the blow as he hit the ground. He was crying quite a bit when she arrived and saying his arm hurt. The nurse didn't think it was broken but Jude thought it best to take him to see his pediatrician anyway.
Dr. Godfrey examined Joe and suspected he had broken his arm after all. He called ahead to the radiology department at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital so Jude could get Joe in without waiting. X-rays revealed a fracture in the ulna, nearer the elbow than the wrist. He was casted from the wrist to above the elbow and told to come back in four weeks.
Shit.
Joe's been awesome about it the whole time, never complaining, at least no so far. He trick-or-treated (as Luke Skywalker) that night. He's slept well, maybe because I made a big deal out of giving him the pillow I've used four different times when I've broken bones in my left hand over the years. He's miffed about missing basketball, particularly after he scored six points in the first half last week (turning to the crowd after each basket and making the money sign with his hands). Overall, he's been great.
Me, not so much.
Joe's broken arm is a reminder of the randomness and helplessness of being a parent. I do everything I can to keep the boys healthy, send them to best school and keep them safe, and still, Joe gets hurt. I know it could have been worse but I can't shake this feeling of helplessness, like I'm in boat on the ocean with no way of steering in any particular direction. The wind and the current are going to take me wherever they want me to go and I'm just along for the ride. That's parenthood, I guess.
I'm also struck by a feeling of mortality as it relates to the boys. I want them to be indestructible and impervious to outside forces or random chance the might conspire to injure them. But, they're not. Something else for me to worry about, I guess.
Joe will be okay, though. And we've got a long way to go, raising two athletic, active boys. Damn, it's going to one hell of a roller coaster ride, isn't it?
"Call Jude," Lisa said. "There's been an accident at the playground and Joe is hurt." My heart sank and I rushed outside to call Jude.
As always in times of stress, Jude was calm and cool when I reached her. "I'm on the way to University School. Joe fell on the playground and his arm is hurt. I don't know any more than that."
Jude agreed to call me when she got the nurse's office at school and assessed the situation. It turns out that Joe had fallen, or gotten pushed, off a tunnel on the playground he was walking on and had stuck out his left hand and arm to soften the blow as he hit the ground. He was crying quite a bit when she arrived and saying his arm hurt. The nurse didn't think it was broken but Jude thought it best to take him to see his pediatrician anyway.
Dr. Godfrey examined Joe and suspected he had broken his arm after all. He called ahead to the radiology department at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital so Jude could get Joe in without waiting. X-rays revealed a fracture in the ulna, nearer the elbow than the wrist. He was casted from the wrist to above the elbow and told to come back in four weeks.
Shit.
Joe's been awesome about it the whole time, never complaining, at least no so far. He trick-or-treated (as Luke Skywalker) that night. He's slept well, maybe because I made a big deal out of giving him the pillow I've used four different times when I've broken bones in my left hand over the years. He's miffed about missing basketball, particularly after he scored six points in the first half last week (turning to the crowd after each basket and making the money sign with his hands). Overall, he's been great.
Me, not so much.
Joe's broken arm is a reminder of the randomness and helplessness of being a parent. I do everything I can to keep the boys healthy, send them to best school and keep them safe, and still, Joe gets hurt. I know it could have been worse but I can't shake this feeling of helplessness, like I'm in boat on the ocean with no way of steering in any particular direction. The wind and the current are going to take me wherever they want me to go and I'm just along for the ride. That's parenthood, I guess.
I'm also struck by a feeling of mortality as it relates to the boys. I want them to be indestructible and impervious to outside forces or random chance the might conspire to injure them. But, they're not. Something else for me to worry about, I guess.
Joe will be okay, though. And we've got a long way to go, raising two athletic, active boys. Damn, it's going to one hell of a roller coaster ride, isn't it?
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